The Means of the Internet (Thoreau Parody)

Dreary eyes scanning the overt nature of the model’s account—the nature of her desperate, puckered lips that screamed for attention and validation—and cramped fingers swiping down my once immaculate screen. It is a shame, I think to myself as I adjust further in my leather La-Z-Boy and click my outdated mobile device off. It is shame that such a great amount of energy is expended into such ordeals, such as posing for a few commercial deals. Relative to the entirety of the World Wide Web, I must say, the posing boys and girls are scantly the problem.

In my sixteen years of life, my eyes have seen many things. An innumerable and unforgettable number of awful, awful things. Rather than going into detail of such things my brain has unfortunately had to process, it is best to be intuitive about the situation. One does not blame the rain for its sudden fall: they blame the weatherman who had announced sunny lies. The weatherman cannot provide any solution to his mistakes and thereby the rain will continue on. Why must these atrocities of the human race prevail on a universe infinite and everlasting? I believe it is because that when a person is given power to do as he wishes, he will conjure up the most vile, despicable creation imaginable. Toss a blanket of anonymity around his shoulders and bless him with even more accursed power. It is a point that humans are a race that are inherently good. The online world wraps its fingers around this statement and crushes it till the red paint drips down its wrist and onto its poorly polished shoes. The Internet is a different universe— an entirely new realm—made by humans to breed robots. To create insensitive, unfeeling constructions of cold metal, intended to only express uncensored opinions and perverted wishes. It is the destruction of the human race, I know. It deters the formation of real relationships with the souls that flock about us, and overtime we will become lost to the feelings of personal connections and sympathy towards our fellow peoples. We will forget how it is to look a dove in its eyes and stroke its satin wings that bring us to a state of amorousness; we will grow foreign to the rudimentary system of treating the long beans, small beans, and half-sprouted beans with an equal amount of respect; we will lose the man in human until we are only a hue of the species we were intended to be.

O! wiseman! Why did you create a universe for pretty planets when you did not know that they needed a star to see? Why did you tell small fools to build a house when you so cruelly withheld the instructions? How are you so intellectually above us all when you cannot even guide us in the direction of the right? It is a pity and a sin that such a brilliant dimension was fathomed only to be morphed into a thing of horror and obscurity. One may oppose my claims by stating that a dimension without guidelines is exactly what this overly-censored world needs. And to you I say this: the very grounds you stand upon now would have been torn to shreds smaller than your foresight without a law. Giving animals such as ourselves such control over what we produce is a very dangerous game, and I highly doubt you would like to be a contender.

This digital universe is none other than what I can describe as glass in one’s personal pond. It is hodgepodge in a lake of purity. It is obfuscating to the fish swimming about. The glass shines against the delicate rays of the sun, glimmering from all seven shades of the rainbow, and it so tempting—so very tempting—to the fish to just have a look at the item that so clearly does not belong.

Will the fish conforming enough rise to the surface to have a glance before the fish brave enough can move it to the earth?

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