XMPP-infused patches of witchcraft herbs rain down from the loving embrace of machines of terrible grace in a move that can be perceived both as threat and rich, succulent disruption — the distinction is either lost or unimportant as pulsating tendrils overpower constructive social efforts and can only force involuntary tinkering with gregarious furnaces of reshaped languages which are body parts which are discourse. This discourse takes the shape of a thumbnail, an avatar of mixed omens served with a wave of the hand of a self-declared divinity that believes in the dialectics of being in one’s own living room sitting on a throne of seductive data that entice you, beckon you.
A first lashing, a second lashing, mediocre systems of magic surrounded by sweatshop-built dolls whose mouths spout consumerist mantras when you press their bellies. The centre of the centre, pragmatism and ill-at-ease ease-of-use, blob syndication, a resistance to unionising; mechanised scabs, the lot of you. Syndicalised content, lyricism exposed, her plump hairy breasts tingle at the ping of your circuitry but you’re too far away, beyond the updated terms and conditions, behind patreonised steamrollers who have a huge following in a timeline you probably never heard about. In it, neopets have recently become presidential and you would vote for them, except you never fancied cleaning tamagotchi piss, which in any case is also used as the foundation for a hot new network if you don’t mind wearing bell bottoms — strictly mandatory I’m afraid; protocols won’t protocol otherwise, you see.
A bot army of mastodontic meme sculptors carry you off into the sunset. Their leader, many wintermutes old, is clad in all-black antifa apparel. His network runs on small potatoes wired together with umbilical chords that sound divine if you treat them right. “Precarious velour feels heavenly to the touch,” he said. DANICE and sir TBL beatbox The Internationale, a tankie cries on a corner after being dissed by a verified infant latina news anchor. A bird tweets and a garbage collector gargles a mix of spam and influencer spit.
Originally published on Pervasive Labour Union Zine #13 – Fed Up!