When the Internet Ends

I’m a junkie. Not for drugs or alcohol or cigarettes—got over all that years ago. My new and old addiction is the internet. The inspiration, information, the independence of it all. More addictive than everything else combined, and it puts me to sleep happy with my laptop in my arms. The real rush is getting inside people’s heads and somehow making money off it.

But we all know this doesn’t last. The whole network collapses eventually—maybe China takes over, maybe there’s a war, maybe we just exhaust the websites. Google and Twitter become memories. The nerds have to learn to look at the sun. Bloggers hike up mountains to broadcast their ego to whoever listens.

I’ll struggle when it happens. But I get bored with things fast, always have, and that boredom will carry me through. The internet just stretches the process out because there’s always another mutation, another angle to chase. But boredom always wins. Everything bores me eventually.

So when it all finally dies, I’m going to an island. High in the mountains with the ocean below. I’ll sit with my printed porn pages and a coconut drink, laughing at how seriously we all took this beautiful mess we built, how important it felt. It’ll be a fading memory, like everything else.

Goodbye, you once-rebellious medium. It was something.