Bring it On Mother Fuckers

A post hit me this week — hard. It said the internet is rotting from the inside out: ads stacked on ads, AI sludge, recycled memes until your brain goes numb. And because of that, people will be forced back into real life, back into analog, back into what’s real.

When I read that, it was like someone cracked open my chest and read my inner dream out loud. My inner desire. The vision I aim my arrow at in this sleeping world.

And my gut response? YES. I cannot fucking wait. Bring it on, motherfuckers.

Because look at us. We’ve turned the internet into a junkie’s alleyway. People double-tap without reading, scroll without seeing, share without thinking. It’s not connection — it’s compulsion. It’s the snort of another bump of cocaine. It’s hauling in the next hit of crack. It’s an endless line of addicts twitching for their fix, too numb to notice the soul slipping out of their body.

And yet we pretend this is normal. We call it “community.” We call it “engagement.” No — it’s sickness. It’s shameful. We complain about the very poison we keep swallowing, cry about loneliness while feeding the machine that makes us lonelier.

I don’t play that game. I don’t scroll like that, I don’t numb like that. I write. And when I write, I bleed. My words strip me bare — not because I’m chasing likes, but because they’re the only medicine I trust. Bitter, raw, holy medicine.

But here’s the jagged question pulsing through my veins: is there anyone else out there who still knows how to feel? Who isn’t afraid of the plunge into truth? Who doesn’t flinch when the mirror shows what we’ve become?

Because “too much” isn’t too much. It’s the only thing that will save us.

So I’ll ask you — are you awake enough to face it? Or will you just keep scrolling, nose to the powder, lungs to the pipe?

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As a cycle-breaker,

Karen Di Gloria ⚡

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