Welcome to Dislocation

Stay and live, if but a day, or an hour, at a time.

Borrow from the future the symbols of value, this body of an unborn.

The collectors will harvest your emotions, scraping the inside of your brain,

each brand etched through corrosive persistence,

leaving caverns of burnt flesh craving for substance.

Don’t linger, take a loan, do it quickly, make it big.

Taste the promise of a perfect body,

let it soak your palate,

let it glue together the tears in the tapestry of time.

Sign up, become someone, register, enlist, enroll,

join hands and join the dance online,

forget what’s behind your back,

stay in line, follow the rhythm.

Look away from the environmental refugees,

for officially there is no such thing.

Keep an eye out for terrorists,

for officially there is such a thing.

Point and laugh at the naked ones with crowns.

 

Keep calm and go shopping,

we got your food, we got your medicine,

we got you a lottery ticket.

Do not worry about the floods or the nuclear downfall,

if you’re lucky.

The internet of things keeps you comfortably numb,

sedated and insensitive to creeping normality.

The old lines are replaced; now you patrol on the other side.

The Overton window closes behind you,

the walls of the filter bubble protects you.

The connected class is limited only by itself,

in a closed-loop virtual ecosystem, a virtual economy,

chained to the

VISUAL AUDITORY AND OTHERWISE-SENSORY GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM,

produce, consume, watch the screen, keep the blinders on

fear the machines who desire your prison cell,

fear austerity, find a scapegoat.

Stay on our webpage, don’t worry about the other.

Become a follower in our commune.

Don’t unsubscribe, for the love of progress!

 

Each drone has been programmed to defend the wall,

wherever it stands, whoever it divides, at the moment.

The police in the terror zones are wearing bazookas,

sleeping in tanks and eating napalm for breakfast,

high-level AI drones who patrol beyond Clearnet.

Say hi, they’ve come for your kriminalvård.

They are guerrilla proxies far removed from the digital light,

and in turn they train proxies even further removed,

who train proxies who shoot first and never ask questions.

 

Fettered disconnection; like the video you read about,

where people reacted to kids being pranked;

representation five steps removed from reality.

There are no real wars anymore, there is no real suffering,

tomorrow does not exist, the black market is a mirage,

robbery is a mental disorder, starvation and cholera acts of God,

plaguing the unfortunate losers, intangible statistics.

Outside the Clearlife, the stream of consciousness, is just emptiness,

silence – other-wordly, other-wordy other-existence –

nothing real can survive there, nothing noteworthy.

There is nothing to see outside the well-watered gardens of the gated community.

 

Riot, marauder, terror, heathen, commie, mafia, wingnut, extremism, trolling, libtard, radicalized, the Radical Party, thug; the whispers danced in the nocturnal breeze.

 

In the light zones you are safe, but don’t stray,

stay where the light shines, even inside the light zones there are shadows,

our enemies don’t respect national borders,

the criminals can hide anywhere in the emptiness surrounding you.

(Irony aside, the actual criminals, the capitalists, of course do so too.)

Nature some call this void, but heed not their clamour,

the terrorists will steal your attention away from us

and sever our link to your mind.

They mask themselves on the streets,

hide behind VPN:s, or like in A Scanner Darkly IRL,

disobey orders and stem the flow through the wide gate on the broad path.

They deserved to be nuked into oblivion.

 

Besides, if they didn’t deserve it, the humanist court will fine the private military contractors who nuked them anyway and that’ll send the value of their stocks tumbling, which is where the real tragedy lies, you know, profit, PBUH. In the past, only the upper class knew the suffering of other people and chose not to do anything from their armchairs. Then papers connected larger swathes of the population, shaping a revolution, but once they were in power they kept the others at arm’s length to preserve the new order. Today, as before, the majority of sentient beings are invisible, while those who think of themselves as connected, as aware, as in-the-know, as the upper class of the past can find someone to play a computer game within mere seconds.

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