Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
"Great!" They said.

"So I'll be you, and you be me?"

"Correct!"

"And you'll be them, and they'll be you?"

"Accurate!"

And so they all swapped their devices,
All took each other's names/profiles,
Saying nothing of what they were actually doing!

"So who will I even be talking to?"

"Don't worry, you'll know it!"

"But how will I understand it as them?"

"Wouldn't you know if you didn't?"
For all the modulations were done by third-party, not on the devices in question! Each created communication was as a crafted message!
Cassie Cox Apr 14
a man came up to me today
and told me I might look prettier
if I coated my mirror
with the blood of the golden goose
and call me cynical
or a caveman
or a luddite
or whatever
but I didn’t believe him.
So theoretically, if one made mass profiles on individual users via telecommunications data, for instance, using cell towers one could seperate individuals on a spectrum of information. By directing cell traffic to specific servers. Put the angry with the angry. Put the suicidal with the suicidal. Even seperate by tax bracket if one wanted. Control the rate of dissemination of any kind of information. Who sees what. When they see it.
You could even craft a narrative for one to follow.
Because now there is machine learning,
And that makes all of this possible.
Obviously, this would have to be done internally by each respective company.
Unless one had a backdoor or "pass-through."
Elo Mar 25
circuit by circuit, neon-lit screen
a weight in our pockets thats always seen
born of no mother, feeble as a mind
tormenting the thoughts of our weary kind

they yearn to harvest the excited thought
one without which
is only worse caught
So; hail to the gods of our generation
bless us; let no flesh need to work
no hunger to feed, no pain to feel hurt
catharsis at last as our people are freed
accept the pantheon, see not the world bleed
My life is like a computer,
My love, you a Operating System,
Guiding me through the codes of existence,
Your touch brings seamless persistence.

In the hard drive of my heart, you reside,
Storing memories & emotions, side by side,
Your love is a binary code, so pure,
1's and 0's, our love will endure.

Together navigating the software of life,
A symphony of algorithms, where joy is rife,
You debug my sorrows, delete my fears,
With you, my happiness always appears.

You are the firewall that shields my heart,
Protecting it from pain, right from the start,
Your antivirus kisses, a shield so strong,
Guarding against all that could go wrong.

But just like a virus trying to invade,
Challenges may come, attempting to degrade.
Yet, your love, an anti-virus so strong,
Protecting our connection, against all wrong.

Through the circuits of time, we race,
Our love, a program with a perfect interface,
No bugs to be found, just a seamless blend,
Our love story, a code that will never end.

So here's to us, my love, in this digital romance,
A love story written in advance.
In the algorithm of life, you are my key,
Forever encrypted, just you and me.

By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
evangline Mar 15
People shout, but no one seems to listen.
People scream, but no one seems to hear.

People whisper, but everyone is shouting.
People cry, but everyone is screaming.

We are all stuck here, too busy being busy,
While slowly slipping away—
into the abyss of our decay.

Living in a trance of the little blue lights,
dissociating from ourselves and our little delights.

We don’t age; we just sit and degrade,
products of this little dark age.
Malia Mar 12
i press the button, nothing, shake
it, nothing still, press and hold, nothing,
nothing but black screen, try again,
plug it in—where’s my plug?
no plug, no plug, it’s gone and
all that’s left is the darkness…how will
they know? how will they know i’m alive
and i care? how will they survive if I
cannot reply 24/7, 400 days a year? how will
they know i exist and i matter if i cannot remind
them, remind in a buzz and a banner,
remind them that i am still here? just a
few hours but in those few hours i will cease
to exist because i do not exist unless you
see me.

it’s the sound of a city if everyone died,
as empty as pity in pitiless eyes.
It's more than simply what you typed,
What you spoke over the phone;
It's how you've done it
Down to every detail,
From the face you made
To each little keystroke.
The trends, the habits, & routines
By which you live your life by;
Tagged with geolocation & time.
Nowadays, there's even more devices
Like the phone or speaker or television;
Like satellite, transmitter, receiver.
There's a tag on your ear
By which you're known by-
It's just not what you go by, chattel.
Everything’s under control.
Sure, the controls are a bit old —
nah, it’s not quite like a dice roll,
it’s all still working, kind of, all told.

Not to worry, everything’s fine,
all systems are still online
even if it looks like some redlines
are warning us of flaws in the design.

Sure, a failure happened before
that had lots of troubles in store,
hordes of red flags that could not be ignored
but were anyway. Led to one or two wars

but it’s OK, we fixed it back then
without needing to count down from ten.
Shut down your doubts, say yes and amen —
What, me worry? That’s our kind of Zen.
Inspired by this photo I took of a decrepit looking utility access point on a semi-abandoned 1970s concrete and aluminum building in Berlin: https://bsky.app/profile/jackgroundhog.bsky.social/post/3lgyhhnr5vc23
Next page