My senses are constantly overhelmed.
Music pumping through both ears, eyes enraptured by the digital glare, fingers ever-tapping.
The soul dances, but not with joy. It is a ghost dance, a dance of the dead.
The soul marches with increasing weariness to the unceasing tune of technology, forever and without end, chained to the vain hope of release.
The dead no longer envy the living. And why should they?
After all, both are now one and the same.
As time trips along, the nothingness we feel within will only grow, grow until it swallows the Earth whole & leaves behind the inky black nothingness of space and that which was.
We will lament one day the absence of flowers, of fresh air, of fruits, of the feel of a cool and clean wind on the face.
For that is what we lose & are losing, each day we sequester within our technology, each day we willfully allow our souls to digitize, each day we ignore the planet that fights for its life, each day we pass by the window and forget to thank the sun.
– Pihu J.