The internet is a black hole. Matter and anti-matter swirl all around you, coalescing in a spiral. Fibres catch in your hair and on your clothing. Bits clamber over your entire body, like lice. Nothing is remembered. The persona migrates forward, into a thousand pixels shifting from one colour to another, endlessly. This momentum, as the user blankly clicks between web-pages in a motion that is quick, unthinking, and reptilian, is itself a kind of thought process. Whole thoughts form out of nothingness, arranging themselves in columns, only to be destroyed again in an instant… like the mind, important thoughts are kept on tab, and the phantom persona switches between them frequently, in order of importance.

Life is visual. As it once was. The cerebrum retracts, awaiting the next stage in human development (backwards or forwards) where, perhaps, thoughts of a higher order will be required again…