The Internet is dead to me.

I don’t mean this in some sort of huffy, blustering way like it betrayed me by eating the last piece of pizza or if I was Catholic and my son married Protestant.

Do you remember The Langoliers by Stephen King? It is more like that. Just a big empty. I suppose part of it is the enshittification that Cory Doctorow keeps going on about. Most of my interaction with the Internet is no longer rooted in discovery, but in drudgery. It is a way to get to work. There are maybe a few YouTube channels that I like. I look at Mastodon and see what my computer pocket friends are doing, and give them a “favorite” or a “boost”. Less often, I’ll scroll Lemmy and be sad. Dare I read a news site? Just more sad there. Other than that, there’s nothing else for me.

Maybe the Internet was always like this, and I just had to get older to understand it. I realize it is not like this for everyone.

I tend this little spot on the Internet, an tiny urban garden, growing little potatoes of pithy wisdom. Empty skyscrapers all around.