The Internet had changed his brain. Before he read books. Now he only consumed information in bursts and always had a comment. They were long ones too. They dribbling thick out of his maw, forming a line like expletives scaling a toilet door.
He had opinions on people he’d never really heard of. He was like a pre-teen just about joining in the grown-ups’ conversation. Who was that Felix Baumgartner that jumped out of space? How was it that Greek people went mad? If you laid out any name or place of any kind he would snap back at you with a quick soundbite. He had become a sprawling mass of one-liners.
At first it seemed like happiness but mania prevailed. Being an information-spewing loon left him shunned by his peers. On the high street he accosted strangers to tell them that Facebook and Youporn has turned his mind to mush. Having been a book-reader and a dream-chaser these new habits crawled into every open, naïve part of his brain. Small bursts of unhealth popped out on his cheeks. He talked the ears off people and never knew they were gone, just went on with his inane “Arab Spring beat the Phelps off of a Gangnamming election. They voted for the first time. They sent more bombs per minute than Neil Armstrong. She’s finally freed. The Burmese lady: Aung San Suu Kyi.”
He had these moments you see, these moments within the great search when he had to stop and search for something specific. He was still human after all. He would still look back over the seats in the cinema to see the lit-up quiet faces of a whole audience. He would, if he were allowed into cinemas, but he couldn’t, having been banned for farting knowledge all over the foyer, into the ears of unsuspecting victims who found that shushing him had no effect. He and his Internet-addled brain had to be carried out, with words still dropping from his open mouth.