Lost in the Circuits

My mind is awash with paranoia. I’m sleeping poorly, my body riddled with tension. Too much vacant time, filled up sat in front of a screen.

I’ve been in a consistently dystopian headspace over the last month or so. Trump and Brexit were the precursors, but the dread seeps into the microlevel: underemployment gnaws at me; bad vibrations in my living situation becoming intolerable.

I take long walks along the river and into the woods to try and escape. There are moments of bleak beauty as the mist draws in, pre-sunset, though crows perching on top of trees seem like harbingers of some ominous future.

My room is filled with stacks of books I’ve borrowed. On the floor lies an intimidating tome about The Singularity – the idea that technology will eventually supersede the limits of the human body, and our own biologically-rooted consciousness. But I can’t bring myself to read more than a few pages.

Meanwhile, the Snoopers Charter becomes law in the UK, but no one seems too fussed. Why worry about the government spying on you when it already fills like we’re living in one long looping Hour of Chaos? Atrocities I can’t begin to comprehend are happening in Syria, but it’s Christmas time here so let’s go and do some shopping.

I realise I’ve been slipping into a disembodied state: permanently wired, locked into an information stream that brings only bad news. I feel the need, again, to step away. I’m craving open space, mountains, landscapes. Anything to break with the monotony of the flickering screen, the grey terraces outside my window, and the rattling of thoughts inside my skull.

I keep thinking back to the man I met in the woods: purposely divorcing himself from civilisation, to scrape a life from the moss, the trees, the rocks. I feel like doing the same: finding some way to step back into the physical world, breaking away from being a spirit lost in the circuits.

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