The curious case of the Hula Burger, a short-lived 1962 McDonald’s experiment featuring a pineapple-and-cheese sandwich, serves as a poignant, if peculiar, emblem of the internet’s unique capacity to resurrect forgotten history. Conceived alongside the Filet-O-Fish to cater to Catholic customers observing Lent, the Hula Burger was a commercial failure, swiftly disappearing from menus and memory. Yet, its spectral presence persists today, thanks to online accounts like "Discontinued Foods!" which chronicle such culinary missteps with an enthusiastic following. Intriguingly, the number of individuals now aware of the Hula Burger likely far surpasses those who ever purchased one, highlighting a broader digital phenomenon.

Indeed, the internet has evolved into a vast repository for "dead things"—a thriving cottage industry dedicated to preserving and celebrating the defunct, the obscure, and the lost. Millions find delight in new content from channels like Defunctland, while "lost media" communities on Reddit and other platforms foster obsessive searches for unreleased films, forgotten video games, and obscure cultural artifacts. This continuous comparison of contemporary art to bygone practices underscores a generational immersion in what can only be described as a digital morgue, where the past is perpetually accessible and re-examined.

This environment has profoundly shaped a generation, leading to new forms of artistic expression that reflect its unique anxieties. A prime example is the recent A24 film "Backrooms," a runaway box office success that, despite its confounding popularity, has straightforward goals and transparent origins. "Backrooms" is an adaptation and expansion of an online viral hit, uniquely steered by its original creator, Kane Parsons, known online as Kane Pixels before his transition to Hollywood.

Parsons' digital footprint offers clear insights into his influences. His YouTube channel reveals a deep affection for anime like "Attack On Titan" and video games such as "Portal," indicating a sensibility more aligned with gamers than traditional film buffs. He frequently cites "Mr. Robot," a series often lauded for its compelling portrayal of modern technological alienation, as a major inspiration. His online moniker, "Kane Pixels," itself hints at a creator forged from the myriad tiny pinpricks of light that constitute the screens through which so many now experience the world.

This background culminates in Parsons' distinctive brand of "liminal horror," a genre often perceived as easy to mock but profoundly melancholic upon deeper reflection. The core premise—a pervasive fear of empty spaces—becomes deeply resonant when contemplated within the context of contemporary societal shifts. Why fear emptiness? Perhaps it is the unspoken knowledge that these spaces were once vibrant and full, a state unlikely to be recaptured. This generation is surrounded by older individuals who vividly recall a time when public congregation was commonplace, spontaneous, and mundane. In stark contrast, modern public interaction is frequently a source of low-grade irritation, characterized by understaffed services, understocked shelves, and a workforce increasingly relegated to isolated roles, such as moving packages for those who prefer to remain in the solitude of their homes. This underlying sadness, rooted in a perceived loss of communal spaces and authentic public life, forms the unsettling core of Parsons' work, making the anxieties of digital-age alienation palpable.