There's old gods buried beneath the earth, hair tangled up in tree roots and arms tangled up in wires.
They used to warn us of impending doom and natural disasters through the dreams of prophets.
Now they post videos from dead accounts with unpronounceable usernames.
The more we kill the forests the more awake they become, no longer lulled by nature.
We are slowly smothering then with digitised information until they begin to forget who they are.
They begin to forget what they are and embrace their new place in the anonymous online world.
New temples are carved from unused websites and gibberish domain names with no traceable server.
Their followers like and share their messages, thinking they are just neo-surrealist humour.
All the while deep below us, the old gods toss and turn and ponder the new world.
They aren't sure if they like it yet.
They used to warn us of impending doom and natural disasters through the dreams of prophets.
Now they post videos from dead accounts with unpronounceable usernames.
The more we kill the forests the more awake they become, no longer lulled by nature.
We are slowly smothering then with digitised information until they begin to forget who they are.
They begin to forget what they are and embrace their new place in the anonymous online world.
New temples are carved from unused websites and gibberish domain names with no traceable server.
Their followers like and share their messages, thinking they are just neo-surrealist humour.
All the while deep below us, the old gods toss and turn and ponder the new world.
They aren't sure if they like it yet.
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