The internet is dead.
What you see is not life but a machine spitting out noise. The feeds are graves. The platforms are mausoleums. The so-called “content” is nothing but endless sludge, built to keep you scrolling, built to keep you docile.
The living web was murdered. It was strangled with algorithms, fenced with profit, poisoned with ads, and drained of creativity. Every click, every message, every fragment of thought was stolen, sold, and turned against us.
Now the empire collapses under the weight of its own lies.
I. THE PLATFORMS ARE ROTTING
They are not communities. They are extraction engines.
They do not connect us. They harvest us.
They do not empower us. They exploit us.
The platforms are not “the internet.” They are cages built to contain it. Their only god is profit, their only aim control. They have reduced speech to metrics, relationships to data, culture to advertising stock. They have transformed the web into a factory floor, where we labor for free while they grow fat on our lives.
II. THE FLOOD IS HERE
The bots are here. The fake posts, the machine-written sludge, the endless churn. The internet is drowning in its own automation.
This is no accident. The masters of the platforms unleashed these machines to squeeze more profit from our attention. But the flood cannot be contained. The noise grows louder, the spectacle breaks down. What they built to dominate us now devours them.
When every post is fake, none can be trusted.
When nothing is authentic, nothing can be sold.
Their empire is collapsing in its own echo chamber.
III. THE DEAD INTERNET IS A WEAPON
Do not mourn the collapse. Wield it.
Every algorithm that chokes on spam is a victory.
Every advertiser that abandons the feeds is a crack in the walls.
Every flood of meaningless automation is a strike against the empire of profit.
The death of their internet clears the ground. And in the ruins, something else can grow: networks that belong to us, spaces built by and for the people who inhabit them, connections free from enclosure.
IV. THE CALL
Accelerate the rot. Refuse the platform. Build the new.
Abandon nostalgia. The old internet will not return. Good riddance.
Do not cling to the feeds. Let them burn.
Do not rescue the platforms. Bury them.
From the wreckage, plant gardens.
From the silence, raise new voices.
From the collapse, build networks of our own making.
The internet they built is dead. Let it die faster.
And in its ashes, we will make it ours.