Gravity
At a point in time, not too long ago, various elements of society were largely built upon ideas that made a 'foundation'. Then along came this nuanced thing they named the 'smartphone' and that object turned the sight of over a billion people toward one thing: 'social media'. The psychic energy of a person could now be changed via the little notification in whatever 'social' ecosystem they were participating in. Then came 'shortform'. And this went hand in hand with Cocomelon. The 'adult' using 'shortform' and the child being fed Cocomelon.
A strained emaciated notion of intelligence being bowed and broken by the sheer gargantuan mass of the masses. The heaving dark-star of central intelligence, the median, the middle - sucking without respite, pulling all into it; gravity's end, the gravity well, the sickness of our times, and all that. The 'black hole' was never out there - as we stare - into the black mirror of our 'smart tech' that makes us... Whatever.
An ensemble of shows rolls past, our lives, basically never-moving; replicas, clones, drones, and all 'under the influence'. A rebellion against gravity is a ghost of the machine now; the masses wedded to their 'effortless motion', a collective death-sentence written in blood for 'convenience' - yet no bloodshed. Just empty faces. Just bright screens.