.png)
Library
Studio
Garden
.png)
Dead Internet Manifesto
✁ version 2.0 ✁
✁ may 2025 ✁
The internet we grew up with is dead but not gone. So don’t look at it through rose-colored glasses; you’ll forget it haunts us as a ghost. There is an undead futurity of the web. The web has a spectral dimension that the algorithm both can and cannot capture. People (used to) talk about the internet like a dream; they picture(d) it as something brimming with the possibility of what “could be.” Yet our screens are stained with time as our devices age at unnatural speeds and fall out of software compatibility. Regardless, we keep clicking and tapping in and out of time and space. Could it be that with the acceleration of our combined clicks and taps, the overlapping sounds blur into a monotonous drone? Perhaps we'll come to find it resonates at a frequency that we, with our varying histories, will learn to call home.
Yet this web is home without shelter by design. It cannot save us. Maybe it's already fallen into mindless cacophony. The digital landscape feels littered with abandoned accounts and broken links. It’s easy to dismiss it all as junk. People find themselves getting into impassioned comment section arguments with AI chatbots. I find myself becoming more and more computer, and the computer more and more computer-human. There is no artificial intelligence revolution to be feared if we evolve into phantasmic simulations of one another. So when you feed AI databases with dead artists’ work, is no one in the wrong? I find myself trying to commune with the dead...
✁ may 2025 ✁
The internet we grew up with is dead but not gone. So don’t look at it through rose-colored glasses; you’ll forget it haunts us as a ghost. There is an undead futurity of the web. The web has a spectral dimension that the algorithm both can and cannot capture. People (used to) talk about the internet like a dream; they picture(d) it as something brimming with the possibility of what “could be.” Yet our screens are stained with time as our devices age at unnatural speeds and fall out of software compatibility. Regardless, we keep clicking and tapping in and out of time and space. Could it be that with the acceleration of our combined clicks and taps, the overlapping sounds blur into a monotonous drone? Perhaps we'll come to find it resonates at a frequency that we, with our varying histories, will learn to call home.
Yet this web is home without shelter by design. It cannot save us. Maybe it's already fallen into mindless cacophony. The digital landscape feels littered with abandoned accounts and broken links. It’s easy to dismiss it all as junk. People find themselves getting into impassioned comment section arguments with AI chatbots. I find myself becoming more and more computer, and the computer more and more computer-human. There is no artificial intelligence revolution to be feared if we evolve into phantasmic simulations of one another. So when you feed AI databases with dead artists’ work, is no one in the wrong? I find myself trying to commune with the dead...
About Me
early 20s
i 
experimental art, textiles, having a collage mentality
i blending various stylistic and environmental influences together into html garden
