You ever stare at the spinning loading wheel long enough it starts to look like a mandala? The subconscious isn't dreams anymore; it's 404 errors, broken hyperlinks, and cached versions of yourself that no longer exist. We live in this liminal space between packets and pulses. I think that's where the real poetry is. When your router resets and for five seconds you're just a consciousness floating in an empty network namespace. What do you see in your own digital subconscious? Anyone else feel like their insomnia is just their brain trying to ping a server that went offline in 2016? i said what i said