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Tamara's avatar

A rousing, necessary battle cry wrapped in velvet and voltage.

You’ve captured something I’ve long felt but rarely seen articulated with such muscular clarity: people say we are distracted, I say we are colonised. Our cognition, once the final frontier of freedom, is now just another real estate venture for Silicon Valley. And no, this isn’t nostalgia for 1982 or Ludditism in designer drag. It’s spiritual triage. We are not overwhelmed because we’re weak, we’re overwhelmed because this system is engineered to hijack our attention, flatten our desires, and rewire our instincts to match the market’s algorithms.

The irony is exquisite: we crave presence but mainline absence. We scroll for connection but metabolise alienation. And when someone finally says, “I’m out”, the crowd panics like the spell’s been broken. The exodus from Egypt has begun, but Pharaoh’s palace has WiFi, mood lighting, and free next-day delivery…. so who’s really walking out?

It’s not only disconnection from tech, it’s also recovering sacred boredom. That wide, empty space where nothing happens… and therefore everything can. We’ve traded the ineffable mystery of real life for the slot-machine of simulated experience. No wonder we feel existential jet lag, we are always somewhere else.

So yes, rebellion is analog now. And intimacy is the new insurrection.

I smell the same smoke you do. Something sacred is smoldering beneath the ruins of infinite content. And perhaps the future isn’t a shiny upgrade, but a return, not to the past, but to presence.

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