I’m Sick of the Human Spirit Being at the Mercy of Algorithms

Does The Algorithm Just Want Me to Whine? Let’s Find Out :D

Greetings from 2056. I’m writing this to you from our bunker 100 feet below ground. I guess it’s summer outside, but what do days or seasons mean when you’ve actually come to miss even the existence of the lowly mosquito?

Sigh. What am I trying to say?

I guess this is going to be a whiny rant.

Spewing rants all over the internet was never in the plan. The whole reason I even started writing back in your time was to vision better futures, you know, kinder futures, more empathic futures where we’re more present with ourselves and one another. After all, that shouldn’t have been so hard. Just deconstruct a few unhelpful notions for enough humans and pow, they start building utopias on their own. They don’t even need prompting. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

But then, happy, safe, connected humans don’t doom scroll any longer! They look at one, two ads, and then they’re done, off to gardening or dancing or fucking in the moonlight or holding councils or building starships or whatever the fuck humans do in utopian societies.

So instead I’ve just gotta give it to you raw, from here in your future. I’ve been in this 20x20 bunker with six other stinking, starving, rotting souls for the last four years not because of the bad air but because we’re all on the run.