A time would come when everyone had shared so many pictures of themselves that it finally became obvious that there was no substantial and enduring self, but only a cavalcade of images without any solidity, appearances empty of any actual self-essence, and yet this was only liberating in the sense that, one by one, we all left our phones behind and walked out into the fresh air.
The problem was, the air was no longer fresh.
While we were carefully constructing a pictorial narrative of a fictitious personality, the environment had slowly degraded, old friends in the animal kingdom had vanished, and a dull poisonous haze hung over everything.
It was discouraging, needless to say, but life goes on regardless, and so we all went back indoors and listened to sad music, and dreamed of a different future, one in which the bombs flew back up from the craters they had made and became sleek happy birds, migrating majestically to a land filed with wise happy people who greeted them upon their arrival with plentiful seeds and clean water.
It was a blissful homecoming, and all held hands around the sacred stone, thanking and praising the sky, the sun, the moon, and all the stars that shone so brightly in that dream. The joyful celebration continued on until everyone grew tired at last and lay down to sleep.
While asleep, some dreamed of a land where people confined themselves to small rooms and perpetually transmitted pictures of themselves to each other, documenting the subtle changes on their faces as they aged, as well as the various meals they prepared, and the playful tricks of their domesticated animal companions.
In the morning, most had forgotten the dreams from the night before, but some remembered, and felt a kind of melancholy for the characters in the dream, but now the sun was up, and it was going to be another beautiful day in Paradise!