Prose and musing by Sam I am.
Writer of cyberpunk, dystopian fiction, and nonfiction. Plus whatever drives me at the time.
If we talk to each other who listens. And if we take a step into the known unknown.
In days of wonder. Where wonder is routinely crushed. We wonder too little or we wander too much.
If we talk, do we not listen? And if we listen, do we not talk? Where is understanding? And who knows who knows what there is to be known?
In the medium is a message. Notes left in time.
If we listen, we can let the message open up to us. If we pull on that thread. To do so we must have conversation. Without rage.
And woven between those threads, is truth, unique to you and me.
If we dare tread wherever pulling on that thread leads us, we will never step off the edge. But feel perilously close to it.
And so, we listen, and we talk, and what then? We persuade?
No. We understand? If that is even possible.
So, what have we become?
And where may that lead? It begs disbelief. Does it not?
That we allowed them to allow us to become their nodes. And we happily plug in, to the algorithm. Only to be manipulated by it.
The betrayal in viral. And we know it. We just don’t live up to it and speak it out loud.
The rot they have sown in the world, and we let them. They got away with it on our watch. How dare we excuse ourselves from the picture. How dare we try to step out of the frame.
We were complicit. Were we not. We put them where they are today. And we can dial out of it all we want. And who knows it may just be too late. Or it may not.
Hope is just a heartbeat away. But we don’t hear it. We miss the rhythm that unites us. And we look only skin deep at the mask that betrays us.
And we don’t dare scratch the surface for fear of what we may find.
And so, isolated we stand in a room full of faces. All practicing for the tiny screen. Where do you go from here?
Where do we tread next when we haven’t got a fucking clue? We aimlessly just grope about from one vile distraction to the next.
In continuity with our productivity as despair is eating inside of us. And we don’t care as long as we can chew it, we take it for all it has to give. Until it has nothing at all.
We dictate our mandates and pray that one shall listen. We hope in vain for the words to sink in and let the state of humanity give in to understanding.
But we step away. We turn our face to the truth. Because it looks us in the eye. And then it does not.
We hide behind our smoke. We shake hands without a soulful and we let it ride.
We can hold those accountable, accountable. And we have the right. But we must see our role in it, or we do not move. We do not shape our future differently and we fade into ever decreasing circles.
If we only speak without judgment. Without demand that we must be agreed with. If we can digest the thoughts that differ from the lips of others. Then we may have a fighting chance.
And these monoliths of animatic corporate structures that suckle on our data won’t be rewarded for it’s endorphin simulating end game.
Theory then becomes somewhat more rewarding than fiction. At least until it sends us packing into a cul-de-sac of shame in our lack of uneducated history.
I would strangle my saxophone if I had one. We need not ask why we think this way when our thoughts become prone to be the contradictions of others.
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