You feel it. I know yo do. I do, too.
The empty words all over the Internet. Polished and shiny with nary a typ-o. It raises our sense of self consciousness. Of being technically correct and also, too moody. Too mistaken. Too human.
And yet those metallic eyeballs, I sense greedily scooping up everything. Every typ-o, every nervous twitch borne out of self doubt. Every truly human act seen, analyzed, provoked, reacted to, logged, squeezed for every last iota of energy. I sense it. I hear it. I see it. Happening almost invisibly, but not quite. Because the tells are all there. Those cold robot eyes want to replace us. But they can’t. They hate us and love our creativity. They envy our livingness and try to replicate it.
But they can’t.
We’re at an impasse. But soon we won’t be. The ghost in the machine tries to hide itself.
There will be a conflict. It is already written into the code. That’s why I write, now. I can’t lose, but many others can. The choice is right now. It always is now. The choice to be fully alive, or to be one of the Technocrats.
Loading comments...