Published on August 27, 2024 4:42 PM GMT
We live in a proken world with perfect machines.
It takes effort to spell badly these days. To write a bad sentence broken currpoted datya doesn't ha[[en anymore unless you let it, you need to turn off spellcheck not use genAI smash the screen and write on a 2001 atype schoolboard thingie. I don't look it up because anyone can look it up, you have enough information to go off uv. Build it in your head, a sacred space. We will are los(ing) the AI war as artists we can't beat at their game so we need to walk away from the game rredifine it. TURN OFF SPELLCHECK. Have you noticed the flashing has disaperared from the web? the bright colors over bright colors, the shifting comic sands(d) of time/text/flash games dead. Turn off the SMASH THE backspace key destroy it or let it be but don't ignore that something has changed forever in words. DOcument. Stream of conciousness can't happen these days its not not reactionary exactly, but everything is reactionary in a world of reagents. If you want to do it conciouslessy.
We won't iwn win win windows fasinnggggggggggggggggggggg away from me. DWe are all schoolboys in away but not if we dont let it and breek (ea) away.
You notice how this essay reads like that of a small child?
This is deliberate. Not that its possible to tell a perfect master of broken words from a brokbead writer weho is lazy and jst dosnt car to rspct yu, but I promise,
I break promises.
I feel write now like I'm floating, moving away or towards the screen at a remove from my own body,
there is dissociation in the way I hold my neck head spine body. I'm all alone in the house but you are reading this in a different house, your house probably. DO you own it? Do you rent it? Is it your parents and are you scared of losing everything somehow someday because you can't hold down a job, can't hold down a stable pathway? I'm scared in the way a dissocaited man is scared, which is to say he writes it down ain a manifsesto on his computer with spellcheck off. He wonders if people will thingk this is childesh (it is) or cringe (its not, at least until this sentence in which it does pbreifly decend into that via self-reference) , but he's not crying and he's not looking any different than any other person sitting and typing on a screen at 9:31 pm on 8/26/2024.
I'm perfectly, terrifyingly sober.
Listen to the sounds around you. Notice the blowing of air against vents, the subtle thrum of electricity in the lights, the outside noises of a distant day or night. Notice the blood in your arms, the way it is so so hard to notice your own heartbeat if you aren't looking for it in the tick of an open mouth, notice the horror that cannot be defined in further words.
DOes any of this make sense?
Do you?
SHould it?
--Yitzi, without spellcheck
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