ever since i was a little girl, i knew i wanted to be on the computer a lot
experimenting with the fabric of time (I’m napping without an alarm)
me and the voices in my head planning my future posts
stop complaining about your life. there are literally multitudes of my own self living in my notes app.
i’ve finally touched grass.
born to be silly, forced to “cybersigilism”
everyone will be online all at once, and it will be beautiful
but where is the real me? oh right. there is no real me.
we made it out the group chat
you seem great, but i’m already married to the narrative
i’ll screenshot anything. i’m a historian.
another long day at the screenshot factory and my work is far from done.
destroyed my old self, so i could build a new one
i’m gonna go for a walk online
in my darkest moments the light emanating from my phone screen always guides me home
hey you haven’t opened instagram in ten minutes.
i’ve come to terms that i’m a npc
congratulations. you have reached a digital resting point
haters will see you eliminate the boundaries between physical reality and digital fantasy. and be like “she doesn’t even inhabit a corporeal form, she’s not wifey material”
yes, i make the content, but consider, the content too makes me.