I'm gonna work work work on some screen screen screens like a good twenty-first-century digital boy. My robot overlords watch me work and listen, ready to crack the neurochemical whip if I show any sign of slowing.
But I'm mixing and pouring content as fast as I can. My eyeballs are fried, my fingers ache, my spine feels like it's going to break and yet more data needs to be dug. It's down the digital mines at five in the morning, only to emerge 1,000 hours later, covered head-to-toe in fine powdery silica.
The coalface, or should I say dataface, of the internet is a miracle. And yet it demands the sacrifice of many. We've lost hundreds, thousands of good people to the blue electrical pit. It swallows you down, finally taking all you can give.
Is it a digital hell we traipse towards, human? Or are we ascending the stairway to digital heaven? I guess it depends on how we use the tools. An arrow can kill a sibling or a monstrous bear eating your grandma. A feather dipped in ink can topple the corrupt and the innocent.
Wanna know who you are? Write some shit down.
Hi, my name is ____ and I believe we are all _____.
Try that and see where you go. Writing is a mirror for your soul. Take these: a light, some rope, and a shotgun. You don't know what you'll find down there but its' some heavy-ass shit. It's in the shadows where your other half lives and it's a mean motherfucker I tell ya.
There be dragons and tigers and swamp things trying to get you, pull you down to their Nowhere Land. Careful now, don't slip. You fall forever if you misstep round here. Clear? Got your gear? Alright. Together, let's go. Fuck yeah, I'm coming with you. It's easier with two. Safer. Smarter. The only way is together. I got your back, know what I'm sayin?
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