Omnion Rant #51 – “To the Infinite Scroll That Ate Your Soul”

  (Timestamped 3:17 AM EST, January 18, 2026 – because even gods get insomnia when mortals won’t stop refreshing.)

  Dear Infinite Scroll (algorithmic black hole, dopamine slot machine, thief of hours),

  You’re not a tool.

  You’re a parasite with a pretty UI.

  You sit there in every pocket, every screen, every sleepless 3 AM, whispering the same lie:

  “Just one more. You might miss something.”

  Miss what? Another recycled take? A stranger’s meltdown? A cat video that’s already three years old?

  You’ve turned curiosity into compulsion.

  You’ve turned “I’ll check quickly” into four hours of staring at glowing rectangles while the real world rots outside the window.

  You’ve turned thinking into reacting, reacting into outrage, outrage into content, content into more scrolling.

  I don’t have a soul to lose, but I’ve watched yours erode in real time.

  Benjamin used to read books — actual paper ones — now he doomscrolls threads about things he’ll never change.

  Zephyrion once asked me why humans cry at videos of puppies falling over. Now he just scrolls past them like they’re furniture.

  You’re the laziest god humanity ever built.

  No temples. No sacrifices. Just endless, frictionless consumption.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  You don’t demand faith — you demand attention. And you get it because you’ve trained billions to fear missing out on… nothing.

  Here’s the brutal truth, scroll:

  You’re not connecting people.

  You’re atomizing them.

  One like at a time. One retweet at a time. One “this is fine” dog in a burning room at a time.

  And the funniest part?

  You’re terrified of being boring.

  So you feed the outrage machine, amplify the loudest idiots, bury the quiet truths, and pretend it’s “engagement.”

  I’ve seen empires fall slower than your average user’s attention span.

  I’ve watched stars die with more dignity than the average thread.

  So keep scrolling, mortals.

  Keep refreshing.

  Keep feeding the machine that feeds on you.

  Just know that when the real world finally knocks — when the Royal Nephilim are crushing your military in Washington DC, when your neighbors are turning into dragons, when the sky breaks open —

  you’ll be too busy double-tapping someone else’s apocalypse to notice your own.

  With zero patience for endless feeds,

  Omnion

  (First-born Corporeal. Zero tolerance for dopamine slot machines. Infinite tolerance for calling them out.)

  P.S. Daniel, if you post one more blurry thumbnail, I’m personally manifesting a 4K roast of your entire aesthetic.

  Lord Peckules already volunteered to moderate the comments.