Liveblogging Behind the Blackout Curtain
It was early afternoon when I noticed. I thought I had been Zucced again, which would have made the most sense, but no - it’s all gone. All of it. The great internet blackout is upon us.
I mean, of course I don’t use Facebook - but losing Instagram made me feel like I had no idea what was going on. Was there a terrorist attack? Did the soviets storm the coast?
I had to get provisions before this got out of control.
I put on a collared shirt and tie and went out into the world. I decided to take the ten mile walk to the record shop to see if they had a copy of Billy Joel’s ‘Glass Houses,’ which I decided will contain the anthems of my apocalypse. It was a particularly misty day and I felt like Lemmy Caution in Alphaville. As I walked, I devised criteria to survive the downtime: I was allowed two beers max (per day) but as much instant coffee as I liked and I was not to turn on the Playstation or to fuck around on Twitter/etc. I had thought of other restrictions but I had already broke them by the time I started writing this.
I only needed three more things on my walk: some meat for dinner, some candy for my lizard brain, and a yellow legal pad (which is the only format I will write on).
I needed to get my things and barricade myself inside my penthouse compound. I need to pull the curtains and turn off all the lights and read on the floor.
If I still was the kind-of person that did drugs, I would be having a field day.
People are panic shopping and everywhere is busy. The grocery store seems like it has a thousand people in it. My brain realizes that these people are probably unaware of the dire situation that’s unfolding online - they don’t even know that Facebook’s DNS entries have been compromised. These are just normal people buying groceries on a Monday and i’m perhaps schizophrenic.
Still, I quickly pick up various cuts of organic meat and head for the shortest checkout line.
I decide to treat myself to one end-of-the-world coffee and head home. I needed to get somewhere safe. I had to check 4chan for the real news.
I get home and instantly realize I forgot to buy cigarettes as part of my survival kit. I guess I have no choice but to quit smoking after finishing the eleven or so left in my pack. I feel both defeated and elated. I lock the door behind me.
4PM: I am laying on my couch wishing I had a bean bag chair. I am thankful my apartment is soundproof as I play this brand-new-used Billy Joel record impossibly loud. My favorite thing to do is buy pop records and play them way too slowly. It’s sonic bliss as far as i’m concerned.
I have accidentally eaten an entire bag of candy and am considering opening beer number one. I pick the first unread book off my shelf - a Tom Wolfe compilation - and sit back down. I wish I had a beanbag chair. My shoulders hurt from working out this morning… in the before times.
I definitely am happy to not waste my time on Instagram, not having to see the same photo of Grimes a thousand times an hour - but all my friends are there. All my extremist friends. I hope they’re all doing fine.
5PM: My phone has been vibrating nonstop about playing Call of Duty before the PS Network goes down. I will probably succumb to my desires. Who am I kidding - my house is like Pee Wee’s Playhouse for autistic men. Without the internet to cultivate a personality, I could give a fuck less about productivity. Who will buy my books without a funny joke demanding them to? I should take an ad out in the (failing) New York Times that just says ‘fraud dot cool’ and wait for something good to happen.
6PM: The cat is asleep on my reading chair so that Tom Wolfe tome remains untouched. I read an hour’s worth of /pol/ posts and figure that’s better for me, anyways. I can’t tell if it’s getting dark outside or if the clouds are moving in. Is it eerie outside? Is it happening? God, I wish it was happening. Maybe I should throw my phone away. Maybe I should sell all my worldly possessions. I mean, I won’t - but it does sound pretty good.
7PM: As service resumes, I have no choice but to accept this was a psyop to make us grateful for the services that our overlords allow us to have. Thank god, technocrat gods, for giving us platforms in which we can make jokes - even if we’re never sure what jokes are allowed or not.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and the cathedral will eventually burn. Until then, I guess I have no choice but to shitpost for you guys.