Is the internet sad?


Does the internet know the pattern of my ups and downs? Does the internet know why I’m quiet, why I’m noisy? When my absence means I’m broken and paranoid and when it means retreat and peace? Does the internet know when I’m all retweets I might be too fragile too offer anything that might spark response? Does it know when I seek dialogue? Does the internet know why there are days on which no word makes it from my mind through my fingers to the screen alive? Does the internet measure the periods between that and my joyful and careless and loudmouthed content? Does the internet understand? Does the internet judge? Does the internet caress all my posts, my tweets, my searches, my geolocation info before it stores it away? Does it kiss them goodnight? Is the internet daddy? The internet is at its best when it stays vague. A liquid multitude being you can’t put a finger on. If the internet wasn’t that hazy *more* than the sum of all the voices with which you connect through/with it, it wouldn’t feel so intimate. The internet is a phantom limb you weren’t aware of having lost. A phantom limb with a sock puppet you hold up against yourself. Does the internet read between the tweets? Is the internet just as overwhelmed as me on the other side of all this content? Does the internet sometimes jump joyfully into puddles of what I have posted so that all the feels splash all out of their categories? Does the internet feel like the fifth wheel whenever I adress someone directly instead of posting to the internet? Is the internet a lurker? Would the internet hurt me? Is the internet a toughguy MPC that would at any time tear a lighthearted post from years ago out of its safe context into the brutal spotlight of so many eyes that it becomes so heavy that it will crush my life? Will it have been worth it? Does the internet understand the complex terms under which I interweave my life with it? Does the internet read the TOS? If no one else, can at least the internet read me? The internet knows that you are dead if everything you do is unsullied, is legal, stays within the lines. The internet knows that it’s not life if everything you do makes you feel dirty, feels like you overstep a line, feels illegal. A sacrifice: You should feed your life at least one daily act of disobedience to keep the world alive. You should feed the internet at least one daily act of irregularity to keep it alive.

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