Lurking in the magnetic shadows, our existence bared, bathed and buried in the RF radiation blanketing the urban jungle. It's okay because it's non-ionizing. Thats what we learned in school. A fresh breath of the diesel exhaust from the idling trains and trucks carrying their payloads safely into the hands of consumers. Hidden in our concrete bunkers, hunkered away; concealed from the Sun and it's own brand of radiation. Whispers in the darkness devoid of life, we stare into the screens which blanket us with the warming white, comforting light of our distracted lives. Endless, infinite joys to behold on our little screens, we shiver with delights: the world at our fingertips, so easy and within reach. Except not. Striving for something bigger, why bother, when all you need is but a few swipes away. All. On. The Little Screens. We workout or thumb muscles and feed our egos, the only things which are worth living for in the barren landscape. Striving, on we go - the absurdity of existence disregarded, we live on forever in a digital universe. Metadata Fiesta. At least, until the servers run dry and we vanish howling into the eternal darkroom, never to be seen again. The link is severed.
