The Lungs Remember GlassJuly 05, 2025Michael Paul Young
She volunteered. Or so the paperwork claimed. Oxygen rationed by mood. Speech filtered for morale disruption. The apparatus grew into her face like a pet...compliant, humming, gently correcting.
No one speaks much anymore. Vocal cords are liabilities. Thoughts are safer when framed inside proprietary mesh.
But there’s peace in design. Hope in calibration. We shape you, for your own comfort. Beauty, finally standardized.
NutrientsThey said it was nourishment. Said the new sweets would stabilize your gut flora and recalibrate serotonin output. Said the colors were harmless and the shine was “part of the experience.” No one asked why the wrappers pulsed when touched, or why the aftertaste lingered like static in the back of the throat. Kids traded them like relics, their fingers slick with sanctioned joy. Inside each chewable node, a filament curled—bright, writhing, alive with a kind of artificial intent. No ingredients listed. No company name. Just a single phrase etched into the surface of each piece: *you are safe now*. Consumption became ritual. No one remembered what came before, only that the flavor now replaced memory with design. 2025-04-29 01:20:48
The Algorithm of Medusa
The Fiberglass CommunionNerves rethreaded through copper lattice—unlicensed biology, filed smooth for consumer safety. They say the new batch doesnt dream, just runs hot and perfect. Flesh pulled like static from a plug socket. You feel it too, don’t you? The hum beneath the floor, the wet click of digital veins rehearsing birth. They told us we would be healthier in this form—no infection, no hunger, no rebellion. Just perfect, polished loops.
Welcome to the improvement cycle. Your old thoughts have been deprecated.
Audio: Alphatide2025-04-19 22:29:42
