Bones in the Cloud
They told us it was storage.
Convenient. Efficient. Infinite.
But they never told us it was haunted.
Every upload—every message, photo, search, voice note—
leaves a fragment behind.
A whisper of thought. A trace of self.
Our laughter. Our rage. Our doubt. Our dreams.
Sliced into packets. Streamed. Saved. Stilled.
We are scattering our minds across machines.
Once, we buried bones.
We marked the earth with sacred grief—stones, fire, memory.
Now? We bury consciousness.
Not in soil, but in silicon.
Not with prayer, but with passwords.
This is the age of ghosts in the servers.
You think you’re deleting it—but the cloud remembers.
You think it’s private—but the watchers see.
You think it’s harmless—but each upload is a ritual.
A slow offering of self
to a god we don’t understand,
housed in cold steel cathedrals humming in the dark.
We don’t visit graveyards anymore.
We refresh timelines.
We mourn through “likes.”
We keep the dead alive by leaving their voices trapped in video clips and auto-suggestions.
The soul used to pass on.
Now it’s cached.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the machine wants our echoes.
Maybe the cloud is not storage…
but a harvest.
A quiet harvesting of humanity—
one post at a time.
So ask yourself:
What are you leaving behind?
Is it a trail back to yourself?
Or just more bones in the cloud?
💾 #BonesInTheCloud
👻 #GhostsInTheServer
🧠 #MindInTheMachine
🪦 #DigitalAfterlife
🐺 #LoneWolfChronicles
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