Territory is fought over with a Chihuahua-like barbaric zeal that makes no ground. Scraps are fought over with a cruel purpose that is wholly disproportionate to the nowhere gains that are made in its favour.
The architects of trivia dominate the landscapes like citadels over their private voids. Threads erupt with words delivered in spitting tones that speakers, in person, would never give them.
In person, web users would be afraid of each other and would probably form soppy friendships. On the internet, they become pretendy enemies fighting over wayward causes that amount to nothing.
Beyond Punching Distance
The internet is a breeding ground for bullies; a ruined cathedral for holier-than-thous to practice their rites; an arena for bravados to ply their trades of torment against their willing victims (no one is forcing you to use the internet; you’re there because you want to be).
Spleen-venters soak the threads of the web in torrents of bile, as if preparing the way for the coming Apocalypse. But their bile is a concoction of impotence coupled with bucketfuls of festering ego.
Social media is a watering hole for the scum of the earth to sup up their filthy brews of denigration and spite – to fill their heads with brain-killing poisons of their own making. Flocking herds of goons, crackpots, loonies and freaks piss in the once-clear waters with a contempt for the benefits it might otherwise bring them.
Slaking the thirst of the intellect is beyond the reach of those who have none.
Words are blasted like a verbal infinity over cyberspace, each word a star that collapses in on itself with a brief flicker of worthless light. And cyberspace becomes too vast to look upon – too expansive to read. Its inhabitants merely scan the horizons for comets to blaze a trail of meaning before their short-sighted eyes, before it peters out and vanishes.
The internet is a dark place that glows through the brightness of the screen like a fireside warmth. It is irresistible.
The Eyes of the Gods
Beyond the veil of stars and the impenetrable pall of information, the eyes of the gods are watching – the powerful, silent, prying gods, ever watchful of the habits of the minions, assembling and assessing them, assimilating their private searches, compiling databases to wield against them, as and when the need arises.
Freedoms are diminished, punishments meted out prior to the trial. We are all guilty by association of our digital footprint, under investigation as a matter of national security.
There is no recourse to objections against invasions of privacy when the internet doesn’t belong to you – it isn’t yours. It doesn’t matter that you allow it to exist by using it. It doesn’t matter that, in the world of the internet, the user is God – even while the user doesn’t know it is God. And a God that doesn’t know it is God is a non-existent entity.
And, this way, the collective dictatorship of the ruling elite has realised its dream of controlling the masses without the need for a secret police.
Acquisition of data by stealth, without being seen, has allowed them to access the thought processes, habits and belief systems of the minions without hindrance – and with a critical lack of discretion for which there is no pressing need (because none of this is publicly visible).
Into the Maw
All they can do, the hapless minions, is howl their protests at the moon of the Government’s anonymity. The value of privacy has been demoted to the level of dirt, and the Government spits on the dirt and rubs its foot in.
It is a common dirt – the same dirt that encircles the banks of the watering holes of social media, around which the dimwitted hordes enjoy the spilling of their brain-fluids into the murky pools from which they drink their mindless fill.
Such is the world that the online user inhabits – a world of ego-maniacs amassing like wasps, all without stings.
A world that deserves nothing more than its fullest exploitation and the misanthropic tapping of its vile reserves.
And that is all.