HEY. YOU. PUT THE PHONE DOWN FOR A SECOND.

Let’s talk about the glass coffin in your pocket. Yeah, that thing—the smartphone. It’s not just a device. It’s a funeral for silence, a shrine where we sacrifice our ability to think for the dopamine hit of a like. You wanna know why everything feels like ash? Because we’re burning ourselves alive to feed the algorithm. Victory tastes like a notification you can’t swipe away. Feels like scrolling until your thumb goes numb and your soul goes hollow.

And while we’re busy chasing likes, fascism isn’t some grand villain in a cape. It’s the rot in the cracks of your daily grind—the boss who pays you pennies, the cop who stares a second too long, the way society grinds people into pulp and calls it “hustle.”
We’re contradictions: half-ghosts, half-gods, building avatars of ourselves while our real bodies crumble. You ever feel like you’re wearing a mask so tight it’s fused to your skin? Yeah. That’s the curse. We’re trapped in the reflection of what we hate.

But here’s the thing—while we’re busy screaming into the void, carving our rage into walls, spitting poetry like blood, the world keeps spinning. Doesn’t matter if they call it trash. Doesn’t matter if it’s “too much.” The apocalypse is already here—we’re just late to the funeral. Relationships? Ghosts. Politics? A bad TV show. Identity? A costume you swap between Zoom calls, while the world burns and we argue over pronouns—because it’s all about dividing and conquering, isn’t it? Classic fascist tactics. Keep us fighting over scraps while they burn the whole damn house down.

And speaking of burning, let’s talk about automation. “It’s temporary,” they said. Bullshit. Your feet are obsolete. Your hands? Useless. We’re running in circles, chasing jobs that’ll replace us with code. “Society’s changing,” they whisper. Yeah. Into a machine that eats the poor and shits out profit.

But here’s the truth: Revolution isn’t a hashtag. It’s not a protest sign. It’s the fire in your gut when you stop scrolling and finally look up. Tear the Wi-Fi out of your veins. Stare into someone’s eyes until it hurts. Hold a hand that isn’t filtered. Burn the glass coffin. Let the silence scream.

We’re all dying. So live like it matters. Break something. Create something. Be something—before the algorithm turns your soul into content.

We all die.

Now what?