The Machine We Built

This is not a complaint, and I'm not going to complain because it's not my place to do so. It's an observation of perfect efficiency.

The lights are on, they're burning the stars in the night sky.

Look at this masterpiece. Look at the efficiency. The structural integrity is gone. A sane architect would evacuate. A sane species would run. But we? We are geniuses. We are "rebranding" it, the impending collapse is something different every year. f*great 

I am sitting at my desk, pure optimization. My jaw is locked so tight I could chew through steel cable. This is high-performance living. My hands are shaking? No, no thats just my nervous system trying to keep up. My heart is beating running records.

The system just works. you see it???? It works because it eats us.

We are fueling the engine with our own exhaustion, and the gears are spinning. I am feeding my own dreams into the furnace just to keep the room temperature up. And it’s warm. It’s so comfortably, disgustingly warm.

I am dying inside, and the algorithm sells me something to help. Genius. The news shows me a child drowning, dying, atrocities every day without end and I scroll past 5 ads to see a cat playing a piano. Efficiency. We have built a machine that converts human soul into ad revenue. This is a masterpiece.

I am productive.

I'm good. 

Because if I stop, if I actually slow down, I'm afraid of being left behind.

If those rusted, blood gears stop I might have to admit it isn't progress.

It’s my fault, surely. I haven’t optimized my routine.

I am a Sisyphus, I rise, out of habit.

But look how fast they spin! Look how bright the streetlights burn.

What a dream it is to be alive, what a miracle it is to be one of those who has the opportunity to die.