A girl is a girl. Even if her heart is split into multiple pieces, she’s still a girl. Whether an idol or a goblin is stored in her fragmented right atrium, she remains a girl. Even if she’s sucked into a phone screen, she’s still a girl.
With her and a fen fire headset on, they have a barrage of questions. “Do you like music? Am I an illusion? Is the splendor inside the phone fake? Does heterosexuality exist? Are they all wearing masks? If so, why do we fall in love? Amidst the swirling questions… Aren’t we all virtual beings?”
Focus, focus on the rectangle! A world that refreshes with a single scroll. A world arranged by algorithms. The 6.1-inch screen expands, and the girls’ utopia appears on it. Giant posters and VCR screens. The stage, too overwhelming to face directly. Faces with XY chromosomes rise up on lifts and change, again and again, and perhaps even more. Even if it’s hard to distinguish between sincerity and lightheartedness.
#me_now 37.519286, 127.127407 [Go ahead, try entering it into Google Maps.]
