The Prophecy of Lain

no matter where you go,

everyone is always connected—

until we aren’t

until, perhaps, we never were

an “online community”

with each member

a million miles away

only tight-knit by chance

by circumstance

by the sweet kiss of addiction

we might as well go mad with it;

for who are we

as young people

if not online?

who are we if not continually inspired

by people who do not walk in our world,

by stories that have never occurred before our eyes,

by ideas and ideals we cannot commit to,

even in our wildest dreams?

(ding)

dopamine hit

like a punch to the gut

I need another

I need a lot of things—

a new screen protector

a new pair of headphones

a new algorithm

a new phone

a new obsession

a new celebrity crush

a new Amazon package

a new book

a new bra

a new app

a new fetish

a new goal

a new impossible standard

I need a new enemy

that I will never meet or know

I need a new addiction

a new way to die

as I find myself

falling

into the same traps

I accuse stupid people

of falling into

stupid people

desperate people

lonely people

awful people

the lost

the bored

the utterly repulsive

but I can’t help it

but to be among them—

painfully bored with it all

bored of all the universes

at my fingertips

only a tap away

bored of this lack of control

over myself and my world

left to watch it all burn;

I am sick with it

sick with wanting to feel

and know

the unknowable

the indiscernible

I think I want to feel connection

true connection

whatever that means

in the here

and now

but perhaps what I need first

is to feel my fellow people glow

and grow

into something real around me

something more than glitching fragments

I want them

to warp into me with electronic fervor

to throw their digitized heads back

to touch their screens to mine

(ding)

put your brightness up

so that you may glow beside me

and make me see you

as much as I can make you out

in this twelve-percent eternity

of international virtual decay

of dark, lonely souls

and lostness

of dullness

and stagnation

of hate disguised as love

and hurt disguised as apathy

or pity disguised as compassion

or insecurity disguised as politicization

of oppression

of depression

of people searching

for connection

in a whole new world

consisting purely of

the wholly and utterly uninterested

I’m almost dead now

I need a fucking charger

to spark me up

to light my world back up and on

everything else

sometimes

seems worth deletion

even the beautiful things

the clouds

the sun

the trees

the sky

the birds outside

on most days

feel too inaccessible

too real

too much

to relish in

with this exhaustion in my bones

or they are simply too much

of the same by now

for me

to be amazed

by the amazing

(ding)

did I mention this boredom?

boredom towards the constant reliving

of the days, of these scripts, word for word

boredom towards the rewinding of the clock

towards the repetition

towards the strangeness of it all

everything we see is a distraction—

every word a fib

every action a farce

visceral in its bright, colorful deception

everything carved out for us

just for us

only for us

so that we feel like we own it

we own our screens

and the people on them

and all the worlds they hold

everything golden

everything sparkling

everything waiting for the taking

everything a fantasy, meant to titillate

blind yourself to the reality

fall deeper down

into the hole

make yourself stupid with it

make yourself stupid with want

the newest console

the shiniest shoes

the most money

the biggest house

the biggest muscles

the biggest pool

the most followers

the soft curves

of a woman’s perfect breasts

a hundred times over

until they aren’t perfect anymore

until they’re boring

because everything becomes fucking boring

the same videos

the same games

the same themes

the same things, over and over

to escape the same world we run from

the same sky

the same people

the same places

the same conversations

as we rot through them

we are losing the game

the spray of this seed of false reality—

we gulp it from the goblet

straight down the gullet

we relish in the burn of it

in the bittersweet taste

of our own deaths

this digital world

this escapism

to make sense of anything

to make sense of this loneliness

is sickening

disturbing to the mind

and yet we cave

to the isolation

every time

this “no one feels the way I feel” state of mind

this pathetic nature

intent on never helping ourselves

truly achieve happiness

intent on never being knowledgeable enough

to know what’s real

or what’s true

and not caring anymore

intent on believing whatever we want to believe

with or without the evidence to back it up

intent on thinking we’re capable of anything

and everything

even the things that must remain unspoken

when truly

we’re too afraid to even sway

in a different direction

for a single fucking moment

afraid to rejuvenate

afraid to heal

afraid to die

afraid to fail

afraid to stagnate

while we stagnate under a different name

to relish in the boredom left by our forefathers—

if they’d ever gotten the chance to feel it,

I think it might have killed them

for they had wars to fight

and battles to win

and government-drafted propaganda

to die for

for them, there was no time to be bored

and thanks to them,

we have all the time in the world

to waste away

maybe they fucked us

by dying for us

or

for thinking us worth dying for

maybe this numb comfort

this isolating death

that makes a life online

despite the warnings of our predecessors

despite the prophecy of Lain

is their cross to bear

(buzz)

or maybe we just need someone to blame

all the time

for everything

maybe it’s time to shut the phone off

put it on vibrate

put it on silent

act like it isn’t there

act like it doesn’t control us

act like we don’t need it

though the choice

is hardly ours anymore

there is no use in pretending

we are not controlled

puppeted

by our screens

and by their sweet poison

by these very same devices

that helped us through high school

and college

and everyday life now

as we rob information from them

and present it as our own

as we rob any ideas and ideals

that excite us

to feel clever

and original

we can be anything

we can do anything

on the surface of it all

our screens

are such divisive things

and such ironic ones, too—

for it is a brilliant human creation

that will lead to the death

of human creativity

of free will

of independent thought

of humanity itself

in only a matter of time

shares and likes

comments and death threats;

they are all one in the same

they blend into one entity

on one blurred screen

a snippet of significance

a proof of existence

in the times where it is all we choose to see

blinding ourselves to the sun

far outside our windows

or the grass once beneath our feet

to escape into the depths of another’s world

or another’s mind

into darkness

into stories of death and madness

into worlds of fantasy and fraudulence

of fake posturing

and cheap laughter

just to feel

a semblance

of anything

~

Inspired vaguely by Serial Experiments Lain, a 1998 anime that was one of the first to truly depict the blurring of our real and virtual realities due to the future impact of the Internet.

Thank you to everyone for reading!