Life of mystery. Life of misery.
Here I am inside a building, in my apartment, on my own bed.
Connected through this device to a world wide web of others like me,
inside of buildings, in their apartments, on their own beds.
But this web does not connect me in the same way
to those who know of no buildings, apartments, or beds,
much less of virtual webs.
Life: no longer free, no longer natural.
But surveilled and manufactured
through webs of hope, myths and greed.
Should I surf away and pretend there is nothing more
than buildings, apartments and beds?
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