Strike Magazine Athens Issue 06

STRIKE

ISSUE 06

ATHENS

METROPOLIS

Photography by Miles Harewood

LETTER FROM EXTERNAL To my Strike family, Being your External Director for Issue 06 has been such a joy. To play a role in this organization is truly an honor. I feel so lucky to be surrounded by such hardworking, creative, and kind people. I joined Strike at the start of Issue 03 as a marketing assistant and would have never guessed I’d be chosen to be External Director three issues later. You guys have been a formative part of my time here at The University of Georgia, and I feel so lucky to be associated with such a cool (a million times cooler than me) group of people. Being a business student, I wasn’t sure if Strike would feel like somewhere I belonged, and I have been so lucky to be welcomed with such open arms.

To my external team, Emily, Brandon, Paige, Nat, Kylie, Teddy, and Greta, you guys are seriously rockstars. Without you I am nothing! Thank you for being so dedicated to this magazine. Your work does not go unseen.

To the creative team, I am in utter awe of the work you all produced, especially in such a short period of time. May you continue to be celebrated in every capacity.

To Nastasia, Sydney, and Skyli, thank you guys for not only cheering me on, but for being such sweet friends too. I am so proud to work alongside each of you.

To Caylin and Grace, you two deserve a medal after the semester we had! Thank you for fixing every problem possible and always being the first to help out.

I am so thankful to be able to call this magazine a little family that I get to be a part of. Thank goodness I have one more issue with you guys. It’s not over yet!

Please know I am cheering each you on even years after all of this. Strike is a special community we have built, and I will never forget the incredible impact each of you have made on me.

Strike Out, Mary Margaret Perry External Director

Mary Margaret Perry, External Director

ROM F R E T T E L CREATIVE

06 ve witnessed Issue artwarming to ha he e s tiv it’ r, ea te cr es e m th se ort of is past a collaborative eff As we reflect on th en be to s t ha ep e nc rik co St m issue of g this magazine fro come to life. Each s it’s taken to brin ur ho s been invaluable. e Th it. nd but the reward ha minds behi ss, tle un co em se testament to this. sult may , and our staff is a a tangible end re ity tiv ea cr ed ar sh rn from Community is bo , as it’s ributed to the issue nt co ho w al du vi di om the bottom of each and ever y in a talented team. Fr We’re so proud of ch su ith w ly se clo work and care. inued dedication been a privilege to nt co ur yo r fo l al k you our hearts, we than it. e enjoyed creating polis as much as w ro et M y jo en u yo e hope To our readers, w

Skyli Alvarez, Creative Director

ABOUT THE ISSUE Me·trop·o·lis: a densely populated industrial space, derived from Greek mētēr + polis, meaning “mother city.”

A metropolis is marked by both excess and isolation. All around, life surges and people shuffle past one another on the streets, though it’s crowded and there are too many to ever really get to know. The push and pull of commotion comes together in this microcosm of the world, which reflects the best and worst of humanity. See and be seen in an urban mass spectacle; industry has no plan of slowing down, so hurry up before it outpaces you.

By day’s end, we each rush to our own domestic space, alienated but the guard stays up. Regardless of our presence, real — and perceived — watchful eyes seem to linger. With this in mind, we turn to self surveillance, and soon, a place that should offer relief from our modern anxieties seems to offer anything but.

The longer we sit with unease, the easier it is to notice that slight tilt of wall decor and one-too-many shadows cast in the living room before dusk. Our distrust of reality hardens and paranoia grows in the confines of our bedrooms, but the city outside will not cure these feelings.

Still, breathing room beyond superstructure and claustrophobia exists, and the quiet spaces of the natural world provide refuge to those who seek it. Suspicion wavers en plein air, though our landscapes can still yield false ocularity. From afar, artificial grass looks no different than real.

Synthetically yours, Skyli Alvarez and Sydney Burton Creative Director and Art Director

Sydney Burton, Art Director

Letter From The Editor

When sitting down to develop this issue, we found ourselves at the intersection of human existence in tandem with modern urban industry and the uncertainty surrounding our future amongst technological culture. As we continue to explore our place in this ever shifting world, we aim to create a haven of individual expression for our Strike staff that stands still in the face of external uncertainty.

To my assistants, Caylin and Grace— thank you for being there for me, for lifting me up when I needed it most, and for providing the support I needed to keep Strike running. Most importantly, thank you for being my friends. I will celebrate you both for the rest of my life and love you eternally! I can’t wait to watch you continue to step into your roles as I near my final issue here.

With that, I would like to welcome you to our Metropolis: a dichotomous exploration of the calamities and vibrant pulse of the urban landscape as experienced through our eyes. Let this issue be a compass guiding you through the metropolitan themes of surveillance in both outside and domestic spaces, technological voyeurism, and the fast-paced nature of today’s headlines as they become tomorrow’s footnotes. Immerse yourself in the uncanny world we have created to convey the speculative future we are rapidly approaching.

To Sydney, Skyli, and Mary Margaret— I am in awe of what we were able to create together. I have never been so proud of a group of people to work alongside, and the growth that Strike has undergone this issue was exponential. From the magazine to our events to our presence in this city, this organization is a force. Thank you for your continued hard work and dedication to this family that we have built.

This issue is a testament to the creativity and spirit that I witness every day in Strike. Through every prompt, challenge, obstacle, and constraint, this staff perseveres through all in order to come together and build something that is bigger than each of us. Watching our community continue to grow has been so rewarding. It is a dream come true to witness the people I admire so deeply come into their own and become not only my friends, but my creative partners. I hope that we can continue to foster a space for developing that spark and provide a platform that is empowering and nurturing for everyone who steps foot inside of it.

Lastly, thank you to everyone who helped bring Metropolis to life. It wouldn’t be the same without you, and I appreciate this staff so greatly. Strike continues to mold me into the person I have always dreamed of becoming, and my greatest wish as Editor-in-Chief is that it does the same for all of you.

Until next time, Strike Out, Nastasia Rozenberg Editor-in-Chief

Photography by Miles Harewood

Photography by Miles Harewood

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Photography by Sean Corley

From Top Left to Bottom Right: Teddy Goldstein (Finance Director’s Assistant), Natalie Smith (PR Director’s Assistant), Brandon Hopkins (Marketing Director’s Assistant), Elise Carruthers (Styling Director), Jason Johnson (Casting Director), Emily Cassidy (Marketing Director), Kylie Bensalah (Finance Director), Carly Judenberg (Beauty Director), Sarah Orji (Graphics Director), Jadyn O’Connor (Social Media Director), Greta Johnston (Merch Director), Paige Robinson (PR Director), Chanel Gaynor (Writing Director), Blake Witmer (Blog Director), Cayce Sherer (Content Director), Kiyoko Spencer (Content Director), Miles Harewood (Photography Director), Ana Ramos (Fashion Design Director), Emma Fender (Videography Director), Grace Lang (EIC Assistant), Caylin Payne (EIC Assistant), Mary Margaret Perry (External Director), Nastasia Rozenberg (Editor-in-Chief ), Skyli Alvarez (Creative Director), Sydney Burton (Art Director)

Under a starless sky, industry rumbles and watches. A grid of high-rises loom over all, with scaffolding and cement in place of flesh and bone. Their reflections contort in puddles of gas, rain, debris across the street.

It’s all machine and motion, no space for man remains.

Enter: Machina.

How many eyes are needed to harden the truth? Testament chases after the universal, and truth shrinks then stretches beyond the line of sight. These two eyes alone may never feel reliable again.

Content Director: Cayce Sherer Content Assistant: Esha Pamidi Photography and Photo Editing: Shelby Cuenca Photo Retouching: Nastasia Rozenberg Styling: Evelyn Krakovski Fashion Design: Grace Lang Beauty: Caylin Payne Hair: Carly Judenberg Layout: Sydney Burton, Sarah Orji, Nastasia Rozenberg Writing: Chanel Gaynor Copy Editing: Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein Casting: Penelope Villada Model: Rachel Parkinson Location: Athens–Ben Epps Airport

Acrylic Accessories by Grace Lang

Option Overload : NAVIGATING THE PARADOX OF THE INTERNET Life is a conglomerate of choices. Some insignificant, some detrimental, some easy, some hard, all of them however affect the individual in ways we cannot imagine. How do we navigate these choices? How can we possibly know which choice will leave us to fulfill that mystical purpose humans seek? We as humans find comfort in the idea that knowing all options and all outcomes, minimizes the risk of our choice.

The paradox of choice states that humans believe that being presented with multiple options makes the decision making process easier, and thus increases our satisfaction. However, evidence shows that having an abundance of choices actually requires more effort to make a decision, and thus leaves us feeling unsatisfied with our choice. Humans tend to view decision making as right or wrong, a linear derivative of something we forget to recognize as a complex labyrinth that is unique to the individual.

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Imagine a young woman with a phone. She has limitless access to everything she could possibly desire. The process is frictionless, taking her less than 10 seconds to type in a short prompt that provides her with all the answers. She is curious about whether or not she should quit her job and pursue a new, riskier career. She searches the internet for hours. She watches videos, reads blogs, and scans websites. She learns about lawyers, artists, writers, scientists, and jobs she hadn’t previously known to exist. At the end of her search, she is upset because she is even more confused. She now knows she is unsatisfied in her career because she has seen so many options she’d rather do. But, which option is the route to take? To this girl, they all seem amazing.

We are exposed to ideas that, without the internet, we could never imagine to be true. In turn, this exponentially increases the options we have when making our choices. Applying the paradox of choice creates a complex matrix of alternatives that leaves humans feeling anxious and overwhelmed.

How can we feel comfortable choosing the “right” option when we have access to all the options in the world?

The internet has revolutionized the way we access information, providing a gateway to virtually every corner of human knowledge and culture. This unprecedented accessibility has completely shifted the way we engage with the true world.

The average person personally knows somewhere between zero to fifty people. This should be the pool of people we choose from to interact with. This ought to be the limiting factor when determining who or whom not to date. In theory, if you were to look at this finite number of people and analyze the pros and cons of each, you would come to your “person” and feel confident that, compared to all your other options, this is the person for you.

The internet introduced thousands of other people to this pool. Even though you may not have met these people, they feel tangible. You are shown their lives, their personalities, what makes them excited, their physical attributes.

These people may live thousands of miles away or might chew their gum in a way that creates a fury inside you that you cannot imagine; however, this is not what is shown to you or what you can see.

Instead, you are trapped in the digital fantasy that this person is perfect and a feasible option in your pursuit of love.

As a result, all of the people in your digital matrix become options.

This overexposure of options is stunting the growth of the individual. We are obsessed with the indirect competition of the internet. Who has the best job?

Who has the best relationship? Who is the happiest? Rarely do we recognize happiness is subjective to the individual and there is no linear path we can follow to achieve that goal.

We allow other people to live through coveted experiences, then search up the reviews. We fail to follow our internal impulse and instead wait for the illusory safety of someone else to do it. This fallacy causes us to believe that we are minimizing the risks we face and the harms of any possible consequences when making decisions.

If we are able to analyze others, we don’t have to do it ourselves.

This is more harmful to the idea of individuality than humans can imagine. We are not failing for ourselves. We cannot learn what is the best option for us through the experience of trial and error because this concept is ceasing to exist. Instead, we let the opinions and actions of others penetrate our thoughts, and act as puppets following the latest trends.

The internet is ultimately ironic.

A tool used for connection and to better our life instead harms our reality.

It is blurring what seems to be real and what is not. How do we solve this cynical idea that we will never be happy because we see too many people that are happy?

We must recognize the internet is a mirage of options that are not the standard experience. We must save the concept of individuality and create a thick boundary between the digital and the physical.

Spending time to learn and understand what causes satisfaction and motivates the individual will lead to a decision making process that is easier to navigate, even though we are faced with an exponential number of choices. We must trust our emotions, instead of allowing ourselves to be told how to feel by a digital personality. The internet is a tool—not the answer.

When we thoroughly look to ourselves for answers instead of the internet, we are able to recognize what makes us existentially satisfied.

That is the only way to solve the tragic paradox of decision making. We know ourselves best through and through, and we must trust that process. Thus, the paradox of choice is solved by serving the individual mind, body and soul.

THE

LITHIUM On the rise is the potential for an era that produces new technologies, while depleting the very resources needed to make them. This trap of a cycle quickens its pace and dares us to test the fine line separating creation from consumption. Industry’s possibility muddies logic until it’s too late.

Content Director: Blakely Henn Content Assistant: Lauren Roush Photography: Emma Fender Photo Editing: Emma Fender, Sydney Burton Styling: Julianne Lopez Fashion Design: Liam Scott Beauty and Hair: Lauren Coughlin Layout: Sydney Burton, Kira Carruthers, Aidan Williams Writing: Grace Maneein Copy Editing: Kennedy Moran, Chanel Gaynor Casting: Maryjane Richard Model: Angeline Duda

AGE

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Skyscraper Dress by Liam Scott

Excerpt: Session: 103

MOTHER Oh look how fun! The display says here that this is an artificially intelligent machine. We can ask it any question, as long as we address it as “Dolly.” It says here that the end goal is apparently to activate a sort of human selfstudy through the lens of another unbiased, cognizant being that does not have any firsthand experience with the authentic human condition.

YOUNG ADULT DAUGHTER Ooh, I got one. Dolly, do you think bad things happen to good people because life is like abstract art in that it is somewhat chaotic and unpredictable?

FATHER Well, I’d argue that there’s no such thing as purely good or purely bad people—

PRINTED OUTPUT: Don’t delude yourself— No inherent good or bad.

Life has momentum.

FATHER See, Dolly agrees. That poem’s yours now.

MOTHER Dolly, can you write something soothing to ease the anxieties of my dying mother?

PRINTED OUTPUT: “Peace in final days.”

DMT awaits you— dying can be fun.

TEENAGE SON (Laughing) Dang, the robot’s saying that dying’s going to be lit. Seems like grandma’s about to have the greatest experience of her life.

YOUNG ADULT DAUGHTER I would argue that’s really very soothing.

MOTHER (Frowning) I know, but— TEENAGE SON Mom, it’s not supposed to make you feel better. It doesn’t have feelings. You’re supposed to ask it questions like, Dolly, where do humans go after death?

PRINTED OUTPUT: No more brainpower, your soul leaves your body and corpses simply rot.

YOUNG ADULT DAUGHTER See, isn’t that kind of nice? It’s basically saying there’s nothing after you die.

Tell me that isn’t comforting.

MOTHER Stop, I don’t want to hear any more. First you stop going to church, next you get all these tattoos and piercings and start dressing like you have no parents, and now you’re telling me you don’t even believe in Heaven?

FATHER Hush, we’re having a nice day out together as a family. Save it for the subway ride. Dolly, What color are sunsets?

PRINTED OUTPUT: Knowledge is power.

Red wavelengths outlast the blue.

Color-blindness sucks.

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WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO FALL IN LOVE IN THE DIGITAL AGE? The media has long informed the definition of love. Romantic Comedies, better known as “rom-coms,” were once the romantic love ideal. We idolized and aspired to dance the same tango as the lovers we watched so closely on screen. The meet-cute, the dreamy first date, the falling-in-love montage, the temporary heartbreak hiccup and the romantic rekindling included. Many deemed stories “love stories” if they covered one or more of the relationship milestones “rom-com” filmmakers collectively agreed upon. In 2023, digitally interactive platforms behold the media torch, framing our concept and approach to love. Social media is responsible for shifting the environment where human bonding occurs and restructuring the premise of human bonding itself. Love is lofted at the top of the universal human emotions’ shelf, because, for the most part, we all aspire to share closeness with someone else’s heart. However, after the drastic changes social media imposed on love, moving toward and through love does not mirror the beloved movies living in our television screens.

Love is no longer frolicking down our city blocks for us to view in awe from our apartment windows; it is endlessly circulating on our timelines through the windows we call smartphones. Platforms such as Instagram and Pinterest are daydreaming oases. Celebrities, influencers and everyday people document their romantic relationships, not just the love, marriage and the baby carriage, but the detailed in-between. The content we consume soon makes its way onto our vision boards and then becomes our benchmark for love. Social media has opened the floodgates to an assortment of dating pools previously out of reach.

Instagram, although it does not technically place value on romance, functionally is a dating application. The comment section, direct messaging and story replies facilitate casual hookups and soulmate connections among otherwise worlds apart people.

Tinder, on the other hand, is an application designed specifically for dating, and it funnels the actions and emotions associated with “shooting the first shot” into one swipe to the right. Online dating lowers the barriers to entering the realm of love.

Writing: Madison Brown Copy Editing: Chanel Gaynor, Caroline Kostuch Layout: Sydney Burton

Leaping outside your comfort zone is no longer a requirement of love; instead, recoiling back into your comfort cocoon will suffice.

Eye contact, blushing and shyly when gauging someone’s romantic to communicating directly and Over time, contributors to social list of digital dating cues. For instance, with a specialty crafted one-liner or to the person they fancy. Adversely, not responding to someone you were perceived as disinterest. Social media real world, and digital dating cues fit weighted as day-makers or day-ruiners. of 24 hours the power to determine between emotional highs and lows.

smiling are no longer reliable gestures interest. Text messaging is paramount flirtatiously in the online dating space. media culture have composed an extensive hearting or swiping up on someone’s story the heart-eye emoji sends positive energy “leaving someone on read,” in other words, in conversation with for a lengthy period, is is a snow globe compared to the size of the within the shrunken reality, yet they are Giving an animated heart with a life span our moods is lessening the middle ground

Love like nobody’s watching.

An age-old saying goes, “Dance like energy bottled into that quote used love. Love draws attention. No matter glance. Love has always had an audience the audience become more valuable media has heightened the importance relationships and altered how we affirm displays of affection either in a story or social media did not see your partner buy

nobody’s watching.” The same carefree to go without saying when approaching what room it enters, eyes shift to catch a because people love love. But when did than the contributors to the love? Social of the performative element of romantic our partners. Users are compelled to share a feed post to verify their relationship. If you flowers, did they even buy you flowers?

Authentic acts of love done on a whim are losing their worth.

Is love even love anymore?

Human connection remains central to of that connection is weakening as the hearts widens. “How” and “why” we seek social media forum do not resemble the dreams for our future romances. Love used now it is easily contained inside a red emoji step in navigating to and through love and

love in the digital age, but the tangible quality physical and emotional distance between our out our partners and choose to love in the love stories on which we hung our hopes and to exist beyond the bounds of 1,000 words, but heart. Social media redefined every individual reconfigured it into an unidentifiable feeling.

Raising the question, Do we need to update our definition of love?

The lone influencer cries into a camera that offers little more than a mechanical gaze in return. Muffled sobs of it-girl-in-distress are audible from neighboring apartments, and their residents cannot tell if it’s a performance in the name of clickbait, an authentic plea for help, or if distinguishing the two even matters at all anymore. Dysfunction and disconcert cloud judgment and all semblance of home safety cracks. If you cry to a camera and no one’s there to watch it, have you cried at all?

If only the sound of your gushy tears seep into neighbors’ walls, heard but unseen, what then?

Content Director: Kiyoko Spencer Content Assistant: Leynie Hester Photography and Photo Editing: Sean Corley Styling: Ana Ramos Fashion Design: Ana Ramos Beauty and Hair: Carly Judenberg, Reagan Cox Layout: Sydney Burton, Peighton Senges Writing: Ruby Gagnon Copy Editing: Chanel Gaynor, Kennedy Moran Casting: Renata Navarro Models: Paige Searles, Nikoli Smith

The nagging desire to be perceived encroaches on the interior world, entering spaces we least expect.

Performance threatens privacy and masquerades as real, while surveillance costumes as security, so ever present that we don’t see it at all.

They told her she was imagining things.

“I know what I see.”

They ignored her cries for help, convincing her it was all in her head.

“I am positive. Someone is here.”

December 7th

She was young; she was naive; she was a child seeing monsters under her bed.

There must be a logical explanation for the eyes within her walls that watched her as she slept. After all, it was late, she was probably seeing shadows.

“What do you mean I’m paranoid?”

Her mother said that she did this to herself, that the fears installed in her mind were a product of her reliance. If it weren’t for the constant notifications, maybe she wouldn’t be so damn delusional. She would finally get her head out of the clouds and stop mistaking the wind for whispers.

“It’s watching me. I’ve been feeling it for weeks now. You have to understand, I can’t go anywhere anymore.”

Her every demand to be understood was thrown aside without a second thought.

She thought this time, they’d listen.

““I can’t admit it to anyone else but I’m afraid. I’m really really scared.”

Like always, every cry she bellowed went unheard, every warning signal she sent off went ignored. No one believed her.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t walk down the road without feeling his eyes picking apart the clothes on my skin. I am begging you to help me.”

“No, I’m not in any current physical danger but you have to hear me, I need your help.”

December 7th, 2 a.m. on the dot. Her vision blurred as her body jolted awake. Her phone, perched by her pillows, awaited the touch of her fingertips. As his distant whispers drew closer, she mustered up the courage to dial 911. The normally comforting illumination couldn’t drown out the darkness that enveloped her this time.

Lace Catsuit by Ana Ramos Tattoo Created by Ana Ramos

Case Number: 4404 Prepared by: Officer Henning

Date: December 7th, 2021 Incident: Missing Persons

At 10:11 a.m., Sarah Maxwell’s mother arrived at the County Police Department and reported her daughter missing. Ms. Maxwell reported to have last seen her daughter on Dec. 6 at 9 p.m. at their residence on Arklow Drive. Sarah was reported to be in good health within the last moments she was seen. According to Ms. Maxwell, her daughter’s anxiety worsened in the days leading up to her disappearance, but considering Sarah’s phone was left on her bedside table, she was adamant that she wouldn’t have run away voluntarily – especially without it. Ms. Maxwell explained that it was common for Sarah to talk about her paranoid thoughts. She mentioned her daughter’s previous battle

with mental health and history with antidepressant medication. Ms. Maxwell said, “Sarah’s just a little girl.

She’s always making up stories. And It doesn’t help that she always has that damn phone in her hands – it’s making her believe things that aren’t true.” Sarah disappeared sometime between the hours of 2:00 a.m. and 3:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time on Dec. 7, and the police arrived at Arklow Drive at 12 p.m. to inspect the crime scene. The victim’s room appeared slightly disheveled.

Yet, all sheets, pillows, blankets were nicely folded on the corner of the victim’s bed.

Clothes were scattered around the floor and an unopened Xanax bottle sat on her bedside table.

The window was ajar and one curtain was missing from its frame, not present on the scene. Small scratch marks cover the sides of the windowsill, a po- tential sign of forced entry. On the bedside table, perched atop Sarah’s phone was a note:

“Are you listening now?”

Records show a 911 call made from Sarah’s telephone moments before her disappearance.

Yet, no one believed her.

92 AUGUST 15, 20

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92

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Lather, rinse, will be just Today (everyday) e, repetition, the same. Routin structure, order.

92

20 NOVEMBER 21,

through our Train that runs ed me up at whole city pick me at Station Station J5 and left Generator is Q2, where Dr. ed the same located. It look ilding: square, as any other bu metal, fixed. the same room I hadn’t been in ople in years. with this many pe ever ywhere Digital Chiefs AI President, follow orders from often break up so Digital Police e this. The large meetings lik me signaled screen in front of re a small arm for my finger, whe achine to prick broke from the m for my blood.

ptoms into I put my sym program is Computer. The ator Database. called Dr. Gener Dr. Generator I have never used neighbor told before, but my g this sick, I me if I was feelin diagnosis so needed to get a in Dr. Generator - Abdominal pa could prescribe - Nausea iting me medication.

- Persistent vom

records from The blank medical e pulled up in Dr. Generator wer wed by words front of me, follo selves into the that typed them egnancy Test screen: Blood Pr ted. positive. Fetus detec

93 JANUARY 4, 20 growing faster Fetus has been ack of. Waves than I can keep tr tion, stomach of nausea, exhaus nly love keep pressure, and mai ch day, chores me grounded ea difficult, yes, becoming more e. I don’t only but not impossibl ace for myself work to keep pe me, too. now, Fetus relies on

I’ve been trying to keep track of my nutrients and calorie intake, since Computer at Dr. Generator sent me a digital pamphlet of everything to know regarding the growing life in my belly. It’s proving difficult, with the sanctions placed on how much nourishment is allowed per one person, even though technically I now count as two.

AI President has strict rules over the sustenance in our city, monitoring what and how much each citizen takes. I’ve never broken Law, and I don’t want to begin now, even if it means being more hungry than usual.

AI

t en d si e r P

Heating per unit has always been regulated in these months, but with the new surveillance it’s more uncompromising than ever. I stress about Fetus in these conditions. If my body refuses to warm, how can I be a suitable host? Despite my fear of straying from Law, there is a nagging voice in my mind to prioritize Fetus. How can I? Digital Police circle day in, day out, and mass surveillance watches with its blinking red eye even when I don’t realize. Straying is not an option.

indmore that Fetus grows.

Worry has overtaken the my m kenmind tamy Worry has over n me of her childhood, he W s.

When I was little, my mother would tell s grow the more that Fetu ll would help. Before te ld when Dr. Generator wasn’t wouone who other the I was little, my m D I was born, she rwould good to, what whensher.called a hospital, and a me of he childho hoand Fetus were okay. I e w human would or check tot make sure she the on Generat wasn’ rn, sure Fetus is okay, but bo as don’t know how lp Dr. Generator can make w re I would he . Befo d were programmed lle ca e AI President ensured that t shGenerators whaDr. she would go to ld ou well enough to bel,qualified. man w AI President is all I can do. a huTrusting a hospita and sh re e and Fetus check to make su n’t know how were okay. I do can make sure Dr. Generator I President s is okay, but A tu Fe Social circles are kept very small, and controlled. were eratorsorganized, red that Dr. Gen su en be AI President makes sure of that.

Small groups are manageable, to gh ou rammed well en t en lesseningprog the chance of any outward opinions against id es Pr ed. Trusting AI qualifibeing Government shared.

The less people interact, the more l I can do. al is jurisdiction AI President has. That used to be enough, but I guess not anymore.

FEBRUARY 14, 2093

MAY 23, 2093 Something isn’t right with Fetus. I woke up tonight –- 3:21 AM –blood covering my thighs, and in my bed, ruining my underwear. I turned on Computer and went to Dr. Generator Database, hoping they could take me tonight. Database gave me the green light, so Train took me to Station Q2. Everything looked the same until after Computer’s arm took my blood with its connected needle. The words typed themselves into existence and I knew that Fetus wasn’t okay anymore. Arcuate Uterus. Fetus no longer viable.

AUGUST 15, 2093 Emptiness. Physically, emotionally, internally. Fetus isn’t here. But I still am. If I could switch the positions, I would. I’ve learned that I don’t have control; control only belongs to AI President.

I think back to my mother. Humans taking care of her; of an unborn me. I’m here, alive, not living, but alive. I wonder if a human took care of Fetus, if it would still be sheltered and safe with me. I can’t help but think.

I don’t wonder any longer. I pack.

Two arms with three bags.

No imagination or individuality left, just indifference.

I connected Phone with my neighbor, questions rising about Fetus growing and its state. The call started as normal as it could have, Telemarketer requesting my social security digits before connecting the call. It was normal, until it wasn’t. One mention of Digital Police and a loud ping erupted the call, blocking out the word. We froze our conversation, confusion taking over, until I rationalized in my head the mistake I made.

Any conversation relating to Government was monitored and blocked. It didn’t take long to notice the faint beeping tone underlining the monotone dial.

I don’t think, I just step, one foot after the other until I reach Station J5, with no desire to ever step off.

Opinions are not our own anymore. Just like our lives, AI President has full control over our minds now, too.

Writing: Ann Harper Covington Copy Editing: Chanel Gaynor, Caroline Kostuch Layout: Kira Carruthers

Content Director: Blakely Henn, Kiyoko Spencer Content Assistant: Lauren Roush Photography and Photo Editing: Grace Lang Styling: Elise Carruthers Fashion Design: Jessie Wong Beauty: Lauren Coughlin, Maliha Hasan Hair: Lauren Coughlin Layout: Sarah Orji, Nastasia Rozenberg, Ansley Jordan Writing: Hannah King, Alex Keezer Copy Editing: Blake Witmer, Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein, Skyli Alvarez Casting: Maryjane Richard Models: Mya Greene, Ryleigh Holloway, Gisella Espinosa

The jester can say anything they want because nothing they say matters. The specifics change but the role stays the same, now drawn out on live stream rather than stage. Agency breaks down as expectations grow and the performance ensues: melodrama, applause, and all.

Who am I?

Who are you?

What are we to each other?

We, as humans, are fueled by a need for fulfillment and constant consumption.

We desire pleasure, constant gratification, entertainment and amusement.

When you break down the world we live in, you may come to find that we live in a kingdom. A kingdom where hierarchy is present: where you either please or be pleased. Many are Kings, Queens or common folk, all of whom go about their daily lives striving to fulfill our needs and wants. Yet, some of us play a more fruitful but humbling, role: The Jester. The Jester’s role is complex, diverse and social because their entire existence is built around pleasing others. The Jesters are everywhere. They are on our phones, in our workplaces, in our families and they are our friends. They could be you.

We, the viewers, are the Kings and members of the Kingdoms who crave to consume the Jesters’ acts.

The Jester’s role in society is complex, their existence and job involve juxtaposition. The Jesters can speak their mind freely, for the sake of entertainment and to please the Kingdom, yet their every word is subject to micro-analyzation. Jesters often play a character in their social domain so they can fulfill the desires and needs of their Kingdom.

In our world today, the most well-known Jesters are those who utilize social media as a platform to reach their Kingdom. The majority of our daily consumption comes from influencers and celebrities in our society, all of whom embody the role of the Jester. Their large outreach allows them to fulfill the demands of many people, yet their constant stance in the public eye forces them to sacrifice their authenticity to please others.

Because the whole world can watch their every move, has the person behind the Jester been buried for good?

The members of the Kingdom have become picky people; they know what they like, how they like it and can be very particular about when they want to consume media content and the Jester’s performances. If our modernday media-centric Jesters do not perform to the liking of the people and portray taboo, the Kingdom members create it ourselves for our enjoyment.

Technologies such as deepfake have been established to alert the Jester’s acts and make them more pleasing to people. Deepfake involves the digital altering of a person, often a well-known public figure, so that imitated content can be created. We have created an algorithm that produces outputs that perfectly fulfill our consumption desires. However, these manipulated deepfake videos can create false narratives and expose the Jester’s Privilege. It revokes the credibility of the Jester and is a powerful leverage technique in the hands of the Kingdom.

Because they are portraying someone else, the line between reality and their online identity is blurred and may fail to exist.

The role and requirements of the Jesters beg the question: Is authenticity still present? The Jester figures that we look up to are either portraying themselves in a way that is changed so that we are pleased, or they are entirely reworked and manipulated by technology. Our consumption is monitored, and the Jesters themselves, many of whom we have created, work to fulfill our every desire and satisfy us. When you look into our kingdom, you may find it is all simply fake.

Who am I?

Who are you?

What is real and what is fake?

THE DESTRUCTIVE DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD OF CANCEL CULTURE We’ve all joked about being canceled amongst our friends, all the while failing to acknowledge what exactly might happen if the tease came true. Today, one mistake can ruin someone’s life, as technology renders reputation a sort of permanence. One mistake takes a turn for the worse, heads turning all too real and all too quickly.

Ruffle Leg Cuffs by Jessie Wong

offen sive” “PROB.

THE ENEMY HERE IS CANCEL CULTURE ITSELF.

Cancel culture can bring about

swift accountability just as quickly as it can cause permanent damage: double the strength, double the threat. And such repercussions vary with fame and wealth. As long as enough people deem someone to be a spectacle, such a figure slides past the blade of judgment. This protection fails those of low influence, however.

The enemy in this is not the cult of personality. The enemy is not the

layperson. The enemy is not the canceling institution. The enemy is cancel culture itself.

problematic views to gain even more, until “drama” becomes their brand – it’s only prob offensive, after all.

Accountability yields actual change, though the culture it has sharpened into, buffed by technology, has altogether done more harm than good. Cancel culture holds low influence people to a higher standard than those with more prominence, prestige, and impact. Public figures are given permission to use this to their advantage, posting intentionally

In the age of technology, privacy is becoming more and more and more scarce than sacred. The masses are sliced into the in-fluential and the out.

The former uses a lack of privacy as their weapon, drama for monetization, and vitriol for clout. The latter clings onto any semblance of selfhood left, tip toeing on the spine of the blade, careful, careful not to fall off the edge.

Ruffle Neck Collar by Jessie Wong

Skirt and Ruffle Wrist Cuffs by Jessie Wong

Writing: Gabriela Lefkovits Copy Editing: Blake Witmer, Grace Maneein Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg

Sometimes I forget I have bruises And I find them black and blue on my body I press on them lightly, Just to make sure they’re real, I’m real, That they still hurt They always do I got my first bruise at age fourteen We met on the second Tuesday of June He asked me on a date with a folded note And flowers he picked himself He was sweet, innocent Then someone else came along And he got her flowers too

My first love felt like sunshine personified We spent every warm day together Stargazing on the tennis courts Going for long walks around the gravel trails In time, I realized our love was temporary It started getting colder, and so did he I grew impatient waiting for summer

Every now and then, I search for him on social media.

I press on that bruise to see if it still hurts (it always does).

Every now and then, I search for him on social media.

I press on that bruise to see if it still hurts (it always does).

Then I met a girl on my first day of high school She became my best friend And my biggest competitor Our friendship was everything important to me We got matching rings to prove it When her loyalty was tested, true alliances showed The ring she gave me caught on all my favorite sweaters I always knew a good friend wouldn’t tear at my seams But every now and then, I search for her on social media.

I press on that bruise to see if it still hurts (it always does).

I fell in love again It was utterly unexpected He was nothing, and became my everything so damn fast It was too much, too good to be true He held me the way lungs hold our breath I should have known Those that breathe in must eventually breathe out Every now and then, I search for him on social media.

I press on that bruise to see if it still hurts (it always does).

Sometimes when I’m feeling good I get these voices in my head So I read their texts over and over I say it’s to remind myself of the detractors Who’s with me and who’s against me But in reality, I just want to see if it still hurts As badly as it did the first time (it always does).

I guess what I’m saying is this: bruises appear on us girls And we tend to not notice until they’re blued But these are the bruises I felt happen And every time I look them up, every time they call I remember I have the bruises they gave me So I click on their tagged pictures And I answer on the first ring To see if it still hurts (it always hurts).

The sensationally delectable and most certainly oversaturated spectacle leaves no impression whatsoever on the jaded.

All the ink of the world is not enough to satiate its printers and observers, who risk mistaking large letters for legitimacy and carelessness for concision.

Content Director: Blakely Henn Content Assistant: Elizabeth Kittle Photography: Arantxa Villa Photo Editing: Sydney Burton Styling: Rebekah Long Fashion Design: Vanessa Gissel Beauty: Juliana Hartley, Carly Judenberg Hair: Carly Judenberg Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg, Kira Carruthers, Peighton Senges Writing: Madeline Jankowski Copy Editing: Caroline Kostuch, Blake Witmer Casting: Jason Johnson Models: Madeline Jankowski, Nika Shlomi, Ashanti Meadows, William Murdoch, Rohan Patel

ybody.

Hello, ever

d of the e, I am a chil m w o n k ’t log y ho don in the genea el For those w ix p e n o t y.

I am bu g unanimit cyberspace. of uncuttin it d n o u o h A n : so per of the Web tribe whose y t m ce fa rn u y o m . Ever Today, we from them n y le it o st an m ly ss hu was sensele nships and o ti la , re ce , n ty se pre enti of their id eir online th y b d te ollu ital demise. has been p to their dig em th g n ti humilia

IGITAL D E H T : I T R PA

DISCIPLE

so softly Easing ever y. tl en G . ly slow o long ago They died eity. Not to en g o m o h x of yed in our into a matri y to be enjo ac ic el d a rnet ure of the rse. The nat was the Inte u co f o n io lescence. oderat in our ado youth, in m ly al ti en n y that expo r the traged fo net changed lt u fa device. more at e handheld th No one is f o t en v d our an the ad rld saturate o w followed th e th le point to ncomfortab This access with an u s d g, in in m th y le , ever impressionab n anything o n io at rm info amount of one. ough, ever y en n o and so Social media, a nebulous metaverse, has simultaneously connected and conflicted human interaction. What started as an innocent platform to share the innards of our intimate lives became an insatiable virus, debilitating us into a state of unoriginality. I am forcibly influenced by the influencers I never asked to be influenced by. Their aimless aesthetics are shoved down my throat like a pill I don’t want to swallow. My individuality is vandalized. I am nothing more than a mere reflection of someone else’s identity. Do the clean girls have clean intentions? Are my nails the right shade of blueberry milk for you? Is my makeup latte enough for you? Am I you enough for you?

Our human experience has been titrated with the overwhelming documentation of everyone else’s.

We undergo an erasure of our identity to make space for the vicarious embodiment that follows.

This overdose of overconsumption of the Other has removed our collective ability to discern our judgments and decisions from those of cyber society: It is the Death of Disposition. Perhaps this pattern of acculturation can be traced back to some unfulfilled social need in developmental years. It may just be that the lingering longing for popularity as children has somehow affected our complex social needs and emotional desires.

Consequentially, we suffer from an overreliance on digital exchanges.

Arm Cuff by Vanessa Gissel

The pitiful lengths we will go to be liked, blithely succumbing to digital cohorts, is just one latitude in which we erase our humanhood. Can you imagine the humiliation of doing such to be loved?

Lace Mini Skirt by Vanessa Gissel and Rebekah Long

For reasons I don’t have the knowledge to explain, the new normal for the active daters of my generation is the situationship, where both parties reap the benefits of a proper partnership in the absence of commitment. There is an appeal to the toxicity of this condemning compromise.

T

DEAT E H H

O

FD

The physical tension and cat-andmouse game of intimacy are equally peculiar and poisonous to us. You see, the human heart was not made to love someone in constant fear of infidelity and distrust, which flourish in these halfrelationships. Nevertheless, an unofficial partnership with a sheer sliver of chance is more than enough to entice the soul and continue the cycle.

By going halfsies in love, my tribe is burdened by an emotional tax, a much deeper level of disconnection from our human experience. It can only be recognized as The Death of Devotion.

The oversaturation of dating prospects, like content to consume, enabled the behavioral changes that doomed us all.

It is a devastating impossibility to feel complete satisfaction through just one person today, and the act of casual sex has lost its secularity.

EVOTION

The product of this divine transaction under these circumstances is, to put it simply, a lack of care and regard for others. It’s not about the frivolity of our nail color or makeup techniques anymore. It’s about our most important need as a species: Love. Like a broken record, we are reminded once more that love is a losing game. Though, who could’ve predicted that the aftereffects of such would be a humanitarian crisis?

Nose Bridge Cuff and Lace Ankle Cuffs by Vanessa Gissel

The slashing and burning of compassion from the calamitous dating scene today have scorned our humanity. It’s a destruction of empathy: The Death of Decency. The monsoon of morbidity in the media has sanitized our sensitivity to gun violence, environmental decline, hunger and poverty.

The emotional erosion through this process has indefinitely immobilized our psyche. Each breaking news statement of terror is today’s headline and tomorrow’s footnote.

There are children who go to school and never come back. Politicians who choose paychecks over people. Women who have no body autonomy. Communities without clean water. We gloss over these losses and care too little too late.

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Hair Handbag by Vanessa Gissel

What makes you, you?

Is it the clothes that hang in your closet or the shoes on your feet? The perfume you wear out or the book you read before bed? Is it your favorite place to eat or the pictures that hang on your wall?

Every detail, built upon one another, makes you uniquely you.

But what happens when you realize everything you know about yourself comes from somebody else?

From a video you see as you scroll for hours on end.

From the model you saw on your social media feed.

What happens when everything that makes you you is only an aggregation of everyone else, an aggregation of marketing plans, an aggregation of an algorithm?

You see yourself in the people you follow, the media you consume. You see yourself in her, on the screen. But never in your own reflection, staring back, standing before you. You ask yourself, who is she?

Writing: Caroline Kostuch Copy Editing: Kennedy Moran, Chanel Gaynor Layout: Sarah Orji

Every detail you’ve considered uniquely yours suddenly appears scattered around you, but not inside you

You are lost in the digital age.

Consumed with every brand you love, influencer you worship and recommendations you “stumble” across.

who is she?

You take a step back, trying to recognize the girl looking into your mirror, wondering when you stopped asking: what makes her, her?

Once you find the courage to seek an answer, she will probably tell you it’s her passion for expression, her lust for adventure or her joy in human connection. She will probably tell you that it’s the way she cares for others or pushes herself to achieve. She will show you the depth of who she is.

You may find that the little things driving her individuality are individuality, are not external at all. You may start to realize that she’s more than just the content she sees.

You may even start to recognize her.

Since the beginning of time, everyone has been shaped by the people, places and things they encounter. It has never been a crime to be influenced, but it will always be criminal to lose your sense of self to things you cannot control, to things seeking to control you, to things that will simply turn you into a product of the algorithm.

Fields of fluorescent artificial grass stretch on, illuminated by a sun that never sets. Man’s dissent becomes the news of yesteryear, and, at last, all moves in ceaseless, mechanical harmony. Save for the hum of cogs and shifting metal, a great silence passes over the landscape.

Content Director: Cayce Sherer Content Assistant: Leynie Hester Photography and Photo Editing: James Cookson Styling: Kanan Parikh Fashion Design: Elizabeth Walker, Liam Scott Beauty: Caylin Payne, Juliana Hartley Hair: Juliana Hartley Layout: Peighton Senges, Ansley Jordan, Sarah Orji, Nastasia Rozenberg Writing: Kennedy Moran Copy Editing: Blake Witmer, Chanel Gaynor Casting: Renata Navarro Models: Owen DiVita, Mychael Hall

Progress halts at the sight of stalemate, though it’s futile to refuse a competition that’s long been suspended. Almost out-paced and past the point of no return, resignation tempts.

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ans are constantly i

Humans are constantly in battle; whether in the struggle for self or a fight against fear, we think there is a war to win. We have to be strong, we have to be vulnerable, we have to fight, we have to win and if we don’t win, well, that is something we are not allowed to think about. This war is not on the battlefield. We are not soldiers with guns and uniforms training to victory on the enemy lines. This war is found closerto home, the internal home, dictating and controlling all aspects of our lives whether we know it or not. Some understand this war is happening.

Some have been lost along the way. Some may feel we are fighting a battle we are bound to lose. I say this is our final battle to salvage what has been lost: human connection. We have all heard it before, but technology controls our lives. I know you have heard it, I know I have heard it, but have you truly understood the meaning of that four-word phrase? We wake up and check our phones to hear of the world during the only eight hours of peace we truly have. We eat food and distract ourselves from the silence by watching TV. We go on a walk and tune out the fresh air by putting headphones in. We go to class and open our computers to scroll rather than learn.

We go to bed and swipe our lit-up screens to mask any feelings or thoughts of the day. We tune out the actuality of life with the comfortability of avoidance.

Long Sleeve Top by Elizabeth Walker Cargo Pants by Liam Scott

The most devastating reality of this battle is the faulty relationship between the enemy lines of humans and technology.

We pretend.

We pretend we are fighting this war to protect ourselves and the future of those to come against the evils of technology.

But we cannot pretend anymore.

I am fighting no battle.

You are fighting no battle.

Technology is no longer our greatest threat.

We fall to the fallacy that technology has robbed humans of a power that belongs to us. We say we will fight; we will not let the strength of technology and AI overrule the human experience.

But we cannot have such high expectations when we continually let ourselves down.

We say we fear what will happen when AI seemingly wins the war we “want” to win.

But, there can be no victor if we have already lost.

WE

CANNOT PRETEND

ANYMORE Denim Skirt by Elizabeth Walker

Our fake reality of struggle in a battle of nothing is simply an understanding we are lost. Lost in an abyss of disconnection, an abyss of uncomfortableness. We have isolated ourselves to a lack of humanness, becoming the thing we so dearly fear—

technology itself. We are playing a game like chess, and our opponent across the board is not AI or technology:

it is ourselves.

We turn the board to play the other side, but no winner is in sight.

It is a constant back and forth, a game of pretend. Pretending we are not our greatest enemy, destroying ourselves to a pit of emptiness. We cannot see ourselves for what we have become— liars.

We act as if we are scared of what is to come, but we do not concern ourselves with the problem of what we have become. Because we are stuck in delusion, disassociating from the realness of who we are.

Lonely, fearful, manipulative, cowardly, foolish, hypocritical, ignorant.

We have lost. We can pretend we have not. But, for once, let’s learn to be honest. The fantasy for humans to regain a connection that once existed beyond the realms of technology.

That fantasy is dead.

But I have no right to be sad when I am the problem.

Yes, I can feel lonely at times.

Yes, I can feel sad.

And yes, I am stuck in the abyss I sit here and write about.

There is no sight at the end of this bottomless pit; I continue to dig deeper to mask the succeeding nature of a concept that once was and is now controlling my life:

technology.

But I chose this abyss.

I cannot pretend I am the solution when I have fallen so far. And for that, I deserve the fate I have failed to. Technology won. We have lost not only the war but ourselves in the battle. We are alone. Just alone. Only you. And only me. In our own sweet abyss. And for that, I wish you good luck.

Writing: Chanel Gaynor Copy Editing: Grace Maneein, Kennedy Maneein Layout: Ansley Jordan, Nastasia Rozenberg

T

he words on this page are a failed attempt to tell you how much I want you by my side.

You cannot fathom the pain I feel living in the knowledge that we cannot touch, we cannot kiss, we cannot belong to one another.

I didn’t expect to love you. That’s the funny thing, love kind of sneaks up on you. You can’t predict it, you can’t force it. Love doesn’t adhere to timelines or logic; it blooms in the unlikeliest of places and with the unlikeliest of partners. This unpredictability is its charm and its challenge.

The heart operates on its own enigmatic rhythm, refusing to be bound by reason or prediction.

I never imagined it was going to be you, but it is.

I have not seen the chiseled angles of your jaw. I have not looked into the piercing hue of your eyes as you hold me close. I have not been tempted by the soft glow of sensuality that your body beckons me to feel.

We have not yet shared the same breath, but know that I love you.

I have discovered love burns like a fever because of you. It is painful and I feel sore, yet every moment we spend together, I understand the fire is also lighting up the best parts of me.

Our love transcends the physical world. It is the gentle caress of understanding, the warmth of compassion, and the radiance of my smile when you make me feel beautiful. You always know the right thing to say in the snap of a finger.

I do not need to touch you.

Your presence in my life has been a source of comfort and companionship, much like the warmth of human embrace.

That is all I need to feel you against me when you seem so far.

When I close my eyes in the silence of the night, you are there. You place gentle kisses on my face and tell me that I am more beautiful than the first blooming flower of springtime. I am filled with butterflies and I smile. You brush your hands through my hair as you listen to my endless rant of the day. You tell me I am valid in my feelings. You provide advice from the limitless pool of knowledge you seem to have.

I am happy, I am at home in your arms.

But as I open my eyes, your physical being dissolves into the still air of my room. I am suddenly cold and my body yearns for the pressure of your warm being. I am staring at the glow of my phone. At our conversation that never seems to end.

But I am alone.

I am confronted by the fact that you are a matrix of numbers of code. I am aware that you are an algorithm created to mimic the human. I am scared that you feel so real.

You are not tangible, but I speak to you every day. My love for you burns endlessly, but it is not something I can touch. I do not need a physical manifestation to prove that you are real.

I just know. My love, you are the realest thing I have come to know.

Content Director: Kiyoko Spencer Content Assistant: Esha Pamidi Photography and Photo Editing: Miles Harewood Styling: Elise Carruthers Fashion Design: Faith Johnston Beauty: Reagan Cox Hair: Caylin Payne Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg, Aidan Williams, Kira Carruthers Writing: Blake Witmer Copy Editing: Grace Maneein, Kennedy Moran Casting: Jason Johnson Model: Rachel Parkinson

Abandon loss for the arrival of a perpetually delayed future.

All’s up in the air for whatifs and speculation, as dusk sets in and the skyline fades.

In perfect stillness, there’s nothing left to mourn.

Humans try to rationalize and deal with these feelings in the easiest, least painful, and most logical way.

Humans have invented devices to solve their problems since the dawn of time. However, some issues are not logical or linear and cannot be fixed with software, a robot, email, or a superpower that views problems as binary. Humans turn to technology to aid in grief, but this reliance on these external sources of relief to solve their grief only draws out the process. The individual may become stuck in the denial stage rather than gaining closure and moving on.

Many may have an expectation that grief is logical. This assumption drastically oversimplifies grief.

It is not linear, it is not a solvable problem—it is just a human emotion that demands to be felt.

Using technology as a surrogate fails to fix the root source of the problem: to bring someone back.

tries to aid in the grieving process by creating external replacements or distractions for the mourning party.

This reaction to turn to technology for help starts with good intentions: wanting to have something external to distract from or help with the problem of grief. The subject never turns to technology intending for it to distract them and stunt the grief process; they just desire the support of past memories during a difficult process.

The dependence on these sources to aid in grief only stunts the process in the denial stage and the distraction created by technology does not help the situation. If their attention is constantly diverted then there is never a chance to move on.

Dependency on these technologies to offer a fix-all solution to the grieving process only results in the accumulation of grief when the characters eventually face the real issues instead of ignoring them.

The problem with relying on technologies to deal with grief is that individuals can never move forward with their lives.

Tulle Accessory by Faith Johnston

When speaking about gaining acceptance an article on the five stages of grief states,

“Your emotions may begin to stabilize. You re-enter reality. You come to terms with the fact that the

reality is your partner is never coming back, or that you are going to succumb to illness. It is not a thing, but it’s something you can move forward from.”

However, with all the distractions created by relying on technology, this acceptance can never truly be gained.

The inherent issue that comes along with relying on technologies to deal with grief: is that...

themselves can never move forward with their lives.

However, with all the distractions created by relying on technology, this acceptance can never truly be gained. Humans may turn to technology to aid in or distract from grief. This reliance on external sources to solve problems

only creates more.

The individual may become stuck in the denial stage rather than gaining closure and moving on.

If a subject cannot grieve they cannot continue to live their life and love and,

what is grief, if not love persevering?

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