don’t want life behind the paywall anymore, don’t want to nickel and dime my soul in the name of distraction masking itself as relaxation

maybe it’s working on a 110-year-old steam-powered memory machine — but I want to be able to cast my eye, reach out and set my hands upon tangible and touchable Life

not manufactured  by an accelerated learning enrolled AI

by an algorithm  that has no heart to feel rhythm and language — some facsimile of existence  programmed by  a programmed sociopath

//

back to what’s  real

can’t hack a typewriter or a pen to paper, don’t want to be the tool of what was supposed to be a tool

I see the faces of God down on the river, don’t need to pray to the ghost in the machine

to reach out to me