At the end of days, we'll all sleep with an emptiness in our chests. A longing for the moments that have passed us.

Lost memories will sit forever in data servers, as our minds forget all that is ours.

In those final moments, we'll scroll back on our time and realize who has held our life. We're all empty vessels floating away from the day.

Twitching thumbs wipe tears away as they search for new cries. The internet's bottomless pit of sorrow.

Software design is a product of today's time. Hardware design is meant to be void of time to support the ever-changing updates of software. Hardware design has a lack of personality because of this. Software gives it its personality.
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In a world of software and time-void hardware, our surroundings are only reflections of the moment. Hardware designed to refuse being defined by a time and instead support all future software design updates. Physical objects typically allow for the past to be held, looked back on, and cement itself in culture. But in a digital world surrounded by hardware that detaches us from time, we are stuck reflecting on the present.

Data waves travel against winds. As dead trees fall in lost forests, sounds of static drown out the moment.

For all that's gone is here today.

He pulled out his phone to capture the special moment.

Stopped at the stoplight. I watched her cry beside me. We drove off together. None of us in contact. All of us alone. Destination A to B with no in betweens. Always in control of our spaces.

Offerings of control. Control to buy.

We escape into our smartphone’s to remain entertained.
We decide what we want our surroundings to sound like through our headphones.
We keep in touch on our own time through social media platforms.
We have virtual calls from the comfort of our home.

Instead of allowing uncontrollable events to interject themselves into our lives we resort to technologies that allow us to control everything about our spaces and moments.

All floating away in our personal bubbles.
All floating away from moments.

AI hold my fate. Hold it because you know what's best. Hold it because I believe in you. I believe in all of this. You are my guiding light. You hold all the answers. You hold the future. Even when you're wrong, I believe. Because I believe in all of this. This is the answer.

Tell me where to go, tell me what to do. Show me how to see. Teach me how to think. Be there for me.

My eyes are blank receptors. Souls pass through them.
Dried blood filled eyes. I don’t cry like I used to.
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I watched him die several times that afternoon.

The light seeped into the pores of his pale face. Cold blue waves washed over his mind.

Cycles of consumption. Rewarding the biggest consumers and punishing the ones who refuse. Creative minds pushed to be consumable. Work pushed to be digestible. Developers of "content". Held highly among pale spectators.

Life through the blue light. Death in the sun.

Nights under static. The stars seem to be moving a little faster nowadays.

Answers revealed before minds think. Answer machine man speaks in universal truths. Collective answers, collective truths. Gone are my answers.

Urges for his universal truths. Reflexes towards his words. Our answers hold no weight when we all believe in one truth.

Answer machine man please respond, i've got a question!

Standing on the roof, antennas pointed to the sky. The clouds cleared for her wireless connection.

MARCHING towards EVERYTHING / ANTHEMS OF NOTHING

Right finger on his phone, phone balanced on the register. He scrolled 8 times while I was at the counter. He never once looked up at me.

Thousand dollar screens.

Data harvesting softwares.

The product is impersonal to everyone.

That's why it sells.

A universal language of abstraction.

Our conversation ended because my phone died.

In the sun, they spoke through screens. Friends meet in voids.

Bodies hold no weight when minds break space.

"But it's pretty to just be up here and and see everything, you know, see the water with the hills meet the clouds and go off into the horizon together... The small cars on the road go towards the horizon too, but they disappear... All that's left at the end is the water, the hills, and the clouds."

The silence is painful.
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Dissatisfaction with reality.

Our lives to be consumed. Memories to be filtered. All eat off the collective mind.

All keep scratching the itch.

All escape.

Dreams of progress are sold to wallets full of blood
For wind hitting concrete doesn’t sound as good as hitting trees

Yet man dreams under fluorescent bulbs
While the sun's light still casts upon dark
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The cosmos hides above bright cities
Full of thinking men for they have won