People often toss around the idea that the internet is “not real life,” as though this thing — made by people to allow those people to share and interact with other people — is just the playtime before more serious business. The real business.
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Some days are just like that! You blink and has the world changed? Bla, bla, bla the news reports roll on, and off we go, trembling with anticipation that something will be better. Then, drip,drip, drip, bloodied eyelids squeeze open to see, all seems the same. Yet, change is always close at hand, its inevevibility hungering to be embraced that it may bring a somber joy.
My soul is weeping; it feels it is dying, stretching thin, almost transparent as glass, like a piece of plastic wrap stretched taut across a bowl of rotting left-overs.
My soul is weeping for the lost fragments continually bleeding into the universe.