The long game is that participation in electronic communication is reduced to rubble and ash.
We all withdraw, and seek alternatives to personal remote interaction via telecommunication. We look at the text tumbleweeds blowing across the landscape, knowing they are covered in radioactive dust and asbestos from wars fought long ago in what now resembles a no mans land of WMD cola wars and Michael Dukakis pogroms. Uselessness and futility expressed in magnetic regions and energized transistors. Moldering and soon desiccated well beyond any expiration date.
Short term, our eyes and ears are raped by tabloid infographics, as a shortage of sensory chastity belts drives prices through the roof. We lock our doors and listen as boots tromp outside and morons with opinions bayonet and hand grenade everything in sight, until eventually the noxious fumes force even their horses to wear gas masks. We slap wet towels against the door jams as blister agents seep in, and eventually aerial carpet bombing exterminates millions of us. Shell shocked survivors ramble word salad nonsense and gibberish about glam rock and square dancing, as if nerd signaling niche interests will validate the street credibility of their corporate agribusiness ad-supported cybernetic implants hobbled with OEM political opinion software that cannot be uninstalled.
But eventually, the war ends when something so terrible emerges, that further sock puppeting becomes unthinkable and a cold war posture leaves only limited proxy misinformation still frothing at the edges of digital electronic systems. The occasional Nigerian robocall reminds us of the bad old days aren't as far away as we'd like to think. The blackened sky and nuclear winter still shrouds the internet as we knew it. All TCP/IP traffic ruined, we still get by with bucket brigades that hand off physical disks that resist tampering through cryptographic integrity mechanisms. Nothing is instantaneous anymore, and some prefer it that way.
We all withdraw, and seek alternatives to personal remote interaction via telecommunication. We look at the text tumbleweeds blowing across the landscape, knowing they are covered in radioactive dust and asbestos from wars fought long ago in what now resembles a no mans land of WMD cola wars and Michael Dukakis pogroms. Uselessness and futility expressed in magnetic regions and energized transistors. Moldering and soon desiccated well beyond any expiration date.
Short term, our eyes and ears are raped by tabloid infographics, as a shortage of sensory chastity belts drives prices through the roof. We lock our doors and listen as boots tromp outside and morons with opinions bayonet and hand grenade everything in sight, until eventually the noxious fumes force even their horses to wear gas masks. We slap wet towels against the door jams as blister agents seep in, and eventually aerial carpet bombing exterminates millions of us. Shell shocked survivors ramble word salad nonsense and gibberish about glam rock and square dancing, as if nerd signaling niche interests will validate the street credibility of their corporate agribusiness ad-supported cybernetic implants hobbled with OEM political opinion software that cannot be uninstalled.
But eventually, the war ends when something so terrible emerges, that further sock puppeting becomes unthinkable and a cold war posture leaves only limited proxy misinformation still frothing at the edges of digital electronic systems. The occasional Nigerian robocall reminds us of the bad old days aren't as far away as we'd like to think. The blackened sky and nuclear winter still shrouds the internet as we knew it. All TCP/IP traffic ruined, we still get by with bucket brigades that hand off physical disks that resist tampering through cryptographic integrity mechanisms. Nothing is instantaneous anymore, and some prefer it that way.