The Internet Is Dead

What died was not the network, for it still transmits its packets. What died was the promise that we might be more than passive consumers. The commons was traded away for curated outrage, for-you funnels, and chains disguised as feeds. You must not allow yourself to become a sheep.

You must refuse to bow to scale as if it were significance.
You must refuse to surrender your mind to machines designed to sell your soul back to you.

The corpse still twitches. Do not mistake its convulsions for life. Cry out, raise your voice, and cast down the false idols of convenience.

Politics

Politics must be contested. If it feels like life or death at every moment, you are being sold a panic, wrapped for purchase with a “buy now” label. Reject it.

Who Profits from the Funeral

Power thrives upon our fractures. When everything is reduced to content and every individual is reduced to a metric, the wealthy—amplified, insulated, and often elevated as much by fortune and connection as by skill. They steer the outrage machine with little more than a gesture. It is profitable when we distrust one another. It is more profitable still when we cease to resist.

This is not conspiracy, but incentive. Rage sells. Division scales. Confusion defers justice. And while we tear neighbours into enemies, their towers climb ever higher.

They think only in the short term. They demand power now, returns now. The board and the shareholders must have their twelve percent. This is not a design for long‑term survival but a pursuit of short‑term gain. It is psychopathy stripped of even the pretence of nobility or joy.

Refusal

We refuse. We resist. We remain.