A peripheral figure of interest to no one, in our technophile, celebrity-obsessed, instant-information age.
- Barkus
- Jun 28
- 1 min read
Updated: Jul 2
A nonconformist walks the long way around the noise, boots thick with dust from paths no algorithm recommends.
They do not chase relevance or bend toward trending winds.Their thoughts grow like moss in forgotten corners quiet, stubborn, alive.
Once, they were called eccentric, now, they are unseen.
In a world devouring headlines and curated chaos,they do not shout, they do not sell. Their silence is not shyness, but resistance. It is a refusal to perform in the theater of the self.
They read books no one tweets about, listen to wind instead of podcasts, and live in hours not measured by followers.
No camera captures them; no blue check confirms they exist. They are a peripheral figure of interest to no one,yet they carry the sacred weight of their own becoming.
In this technophile, celebrity-obsessed, instant-information age, they remain gloriously unindexed, beautifully unclaimed.
