Awake and Alive at the Death of Social Media

Something happened
when our world became smaller
and our lives became expansive.
Our gathering deemed a threat,
a shift began to happen—
a rift.
A separation.
Our attention spans turned
into gold—
bespoke currency of this particular
gilded age.
What’s real and not real mixed
into a 30 second soundbite,
reposted x5000
and just inflammatory enough
that our dopamine centers sparked
with new energy.
New energy sourced from stale energy.
New energy sourced from a mimic.

Forget Arab Spring,
let’s talk about the colors for spring—
color theory and
what shades you should wear
that bring out your natural beauty;
the beauty purchased from brands
positioned to send money to those who control
like puppeteers—
grabbing land and children and women,
their greed a vortex.
A black hole.
But only a few can wear black—
be careful it doesn’t wash you out and if it does
here is a new filter you can use
while we capture your face
for future surveillance
and control
because we the people is actually
a misnomer.

Forget lessons on how to blow a whistle—
instead enjoy this visit from
men in suits,
asking why you said what you did
in a space you thought was free
but has only ever been free
for a select few.
The world has grown so small,
we watch a father carry
his headless child
knowing that we paid for this.
That purchase—that beauty staple—
that coffee—that capitalistic urge to have more and do more and be more and TAKEMORE
created the monsters
ushering in the dystopian age
that has always been working and churning
behind the veil.

Forget connecting with like minds
and imagining a new world—
forget organizing.
Instead, check out this trauma-informed-thirteen-step-process-to-create-your-very-own-course-and-make-your-money-from-your-phone.
Shhhhh....
do not cry for the child
or the woman
or the people
or the land.
Raise your vibration to 5D,
know you are separate—other.
And you can show this by wearing the exclusive t-shirt expressing your awareness
for only 49.99
Who needs regenerative ideas—new ideas—fresh ideas—
when others can tell you what to think?

Our heads have been in the Cloud,
when we’re meant to have our hands
in the mycellium.
The underworld.
The pathways of soil and roots
leading us to collective liberation—
whisper networks that carry
on the wind.
We’re witnessing the choking gasps
of a system meant to connect
that has been turned into
a egregore for profit
meant to distract
disconnect
disassociate
But we can fight back,
listen for that voice on the wind
instead of the face on the 9in screen
dig our hands into the earth
until we reach
eachother