1. The Rise of the Hydrated Zombies

On October 3rd, at precisely 9 a.m., I began my first lecture. There were about eight people in the room — an honorable number, considering that, in my student years, 9 a.m. was when one typically went to sleep, not to school.

By October 10th, the second session had drawn twenty-one students. I looked at the first row with mild alarm: they were hydrated. Lucid. Suspiciously well-rested.

I murmured to myself: “Unholy! Disturbing on a cellular level!”

Fifteen years ago, no self-respecting student would show up to a morning lecture with such bright eyes. By October 17th, there were over sixty of them — and with that, the final confirmation: student life had changed. And not for the better. I blame the vitamin water — now sold on every corner — and that raw vegan ripple that seems to run perpetually through generations X, Y, and Alpha.

I nearly shouted:

“Ah yes, the eco-youngsters, pubescent food-nazis and the new wave of food absolutists! If Mary Shelley were writing Frankenstein today, she’d make him vegetarian. Something with tofu. And stitched vegetables. Using ethically sourced, pesticide-free thread.”

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2. Recording Is the New Photocopy

Just when things couldn’t get any more surreal, on October 2nd — a day before my fifth lecture — I received a WhatsApp message. No greeting. Just a link to a YouTube channel titled “The BrainFuckedProphet”, and the caption:

“Boom. Cortex Killer level: unlocked.
This ain’t content. It’s a neurochemical event.
You kicked off a whole movement!
You’re kind of a big deal now.”

I opened it a few hours later. The thumbnails said it all — recordings of my previous lectures.

First thought:

😱 Who the fuck did it?

Reply came instantly:

“Holy buzz delirium! 🧠⚡ Bro, that’s lore now. A girl from class, I think?”

I asked who sent it. The answer:

“Uhh… honestly? From a dude. Who got it from another dude. Who maybe got it from, like… a cat with Wi-Fi?”

Diagnosis: academic fever. A new affliction.

The videos had tens of thousands of views. Comment sections more fevered than a Reddit meltdown. I hesitated. Though I’ve been invited to countless televised debates, I hold an archaic principle — rare in these narcissistic times: I avoid watching myself.

But curiosity, like sin, is sticky.

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3. Me vs. Me (feat. Bobcat Goldthwait) – 🧠 The Strange Economy of Being Seen

I clicked on the first lecture. For 30 seconds, I stared at myself as if watching a stranger who had just assumed my identity.

Posture. Eyes. Clothes.

“Macabru.”

Though half my brain knew better, the other half was convinced I spoke like Bobcat Goldthwait and breathed like a sea creature learning the tragic inefficiency of human nostrils.

I broke the trance, paused the video.
And thought:

“The only real beneficiaries of the video age are intelligence agencies and the porn industry.”

Then I saw it — the comment section.

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4. Trolls, Lore & the Gospel According to Egreta

I hesitated.

“If I couldn’t survive my own face, there’s no way I’ll survive internet trolls.”

But the first comment read:

“Finally 🫠 something that doesn’t sound like reheated vomit! Respect to Coma’s faculty 🔥📚💥.”

Encouraged, I read on:

“James Dean 💀 and Chet Baker 🎺 had a lovechild who teaches journalism 😭✨.
Profu’ de Visceral looks like some indie movie character 🇺🇸🍂.
Colleagues, RUSH the aulaaa 💨🎥.”

And then:

“Jurnalism Visceral? 😵‍💫 bro… this dude completely lost the plot. Who tf teaches this chaos? 🤨👀💀”
Posted by Egreta_dcD, a name I’d come to recognize often and unwillingly.

But salvation came, in the form of a response from JanghinosulX:

“Talk about yourself, 💩! You already do visceral journalism — it’s all guts, no brain 🧠🚽. You eviscerate people with your trash takes.
And if you really want to know who he is? He’s the person you wish you were. He writes. You post. He thinks. You scroll. And if you weren’t so busy marinating in your own filth, I’d suggest you read him. But you won’t — because it might make you realize how empty you are. And then you’d have to kill yourself.
Do us a favor and ctrl+Z yourself back into the digital swamp you crawled out of. 🕳️🖕🪦”

With my honor defended by a user whose profile picture was a baguette with teeth, I decided it was worth knowing myself — this version of me.

For several hours, I devoured every comment. The praise. The bile. The unfathomable theories.

I realized that forums are more cosmogonic than The Tree of Life and Terrence Malick, more mystical than The Fountainand Darren Aronofsky, and more incomprehensible than Eternal Sunshine and Michel Gondry combined.

And after just four lectures, I already had my own tabloid ecosystem.

I learned I’m “almost 40 but still holding up 😏,”
That I dress well “but clearly can’t afford Bijan 💸,”
That my personal life is “a wreck, if you know what I mean 💊🥴🫠”,
That I’m single, party-friendly, and — apparently — infamous for other reasons too:

“Ladies, beware of his 🍆. It’s big, curious 👀, and has the bad habit of inserting itself into everything 🎭.”

From DoMeOver_1992 I learned that:

“He’s smart 🧠, ambitious 🚀, comes from money 💼🏡, and drowns in excess. 🍷💉💊 Classic.”

But what shocked me most was not the gossip — it was the scale. The compulsive obsession. The investment of time. What motivates this new kind of excess? Not fame. Even Egreta_dcD, the most committed troll, could fill an anthology called The Digital Hate Diaries: A Collection of Worst Takes.

So what do you gain when you click “post”? Prestige? Control? A fleeting high? I think it’s addiction — for those who comment and for those who read. And I should know. I am my own witness. I read it all. I nodded at compliments. Fantasized punishments for criticisms. And one mystery still lingers: Who filmed me? Why the YouTube channel? Was that their version of taking notes? Was that their Xerox? To chase an answer, I decided to open the October 3rd lecture with a confession. Just a small, necessary dose of autobiography.

Note to me: Next time bring a nondisclosure agreement.