Whenever I slide through Facebook I am more and more turned off by what the Internet has become. I see angry people posting angry blurbs with angry people commenting back. Anger mixed with the obituaries. Other than a peppering of cat photos, that’s it, that’s all.
Welcome to the Internet of the 21st Century. No longer a refuge for the freak superstars squirreling away in their bedrooms. The people got hold of my space and transformed it into the new normal. The new normal is the same as the old normal that used to exist offline. The old boss moved in and kicked the new boss to the curb. He added commercials, put the populace on a social media intravenous drip, and worst of all made it normal. Man created cable television and man insists on mirroring that concept in all that he touches. Man takes new thing and turns it into old thing, because he’s afraid to try new things.
We used to care about what you thought. I don’t mean the things you think of now. I mean the things you really thought. The things it took a novella to get out of your head and down onto the keyboard. The things that poured out from the depths of your circuits and entered the depths of the Internet’s circuits.
It wasn’t about your political affiliations or how offended you are by someone else’s opinion. In fact we used to laugh at people who got offended on the Internet. Now Internet offense is in vogue. The people have arrived and with them come their silly rules. Rules they like to think are real tangible things in a made up world. Their protect-the-children and hide-your-eyes mentality spills all over the crevices of my digital wonderland like six kids projectile vomiting in an airplane.
I keep coming back because there is an Internet that exists outside of Facebook. It’s not much better and there are just a few pockets of individuality left churning. I come back hoping to find a glimmer of hope that will lead me back into the true Internet underground. I keep looking for the hidden magic door. Yet even in the darkest corners I find people acting like normal people who have lost their substance.
Ultimately I reminisce about the Internet like a sexy gay punk artist reminisces about New York City 1980. Places where the underbelly provided epic amounts of beautiful dirt and artistic grime with sin and true poetic sorrow to bask in. Now stands a shiny statue of Micky Mouse with big-eyed onlookers staring up thinking about absolutely nothing important.
The Internet shall grow into a sanitized wasteland of human drivel and butt-hurt. It will spin and swirl like a black hole until the humans drink it down to destruction. When they are finished it will look like a paralyzed twitching robot resembling that of the 1986 film Short Circuit.
For me, it has already begun to look like more fun to be offline than on. But that shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. In the words of Bukowski then, now and forever: “Wherever the crowd goes, run the other direction. They’re always wrong.”