The internet never ends. Mountains of content are piling up as we speak.
The hook is neither in our control or that of technology. We pull the lever, the slot machine spits out a variable reward.
It’s impossible to disentangle ourselves from the mindlessness of a ludic loop. With more data, the machine grows smarter and more manipulative.
But we can’t fault our own blindness, zombie scrolling in the sorcery of screens.
All the while, the trees are abundant, pumping oxygen into nature and encouraging humans to rejoin the broken.
Tethered to the magic of screens, we feed the data distilleries with our oil and reap cheap entertainment pellets in return. There is no quid pro quo. We are competent and conscious only in our dreams, awaiting that return to an archaic form of life.