limited-time offer from the control grid
i got some direct mail
from the cargo cult
i could save more
the more information
about myself i revealed
even if it wasn’t real,
but most people were honest, they’re conditioned
not to lie to the entities that lie to them,
(to the production-bodies that spin fables
in order to make selling less of a crime,
to make the act of purchasing benign), they’re washed
to not like sermons about how they’re whoring themselves out
so cheaply, all for the vague goal
of buying more of what a machine
decided it was best to target to them
they never feel insulted,
that they are not good enough to have another human
make thoughtful, caring recommendations to them,
that a scrap of metal and some shoddy assemblage of lights
is left with the jurisdiction of arbitrating
further possibilities for parting
themselves and their money.
but these are the same people
who think cameras everywhere
and thumbprints for employment are fine,
"i have nothing to hide!"
just as long as no one moves in
to their glass house,
because no human’s going to
tell them what to do,
that honor will go to
shiny, ruthless perfectionist panopticons.
"it’s a sign of progress!"
the adopters are never the problem,
it’s those damn people who won’t go along to technology,
with their traceable, fallible, marketing card.
it had a monkey
on its back, a money-back