USA TODAY beat him to the punch: All the news you need to know

                                                                                                             but he credited

himself with throwing in the lacking parenthetical: News  according to a micro-processed machine

bit-and-byted empowered and fed with long chains of algorythmically reasoned and blued commands

the Mammys and Pappys to rock n rolled Info

apparently new software programmes  spoonfed stats elements and ingredients  are writing the daily copy

the Word   as revered by the Religious 

                                                                Plop plop Fizz fizz  Oh what a relief it is

not to do shit

take credit for your shitlessness

it reminded him of those corporate mid-level wannabes gnawing on the bones those Overhead cast down to them

for nourishment to wield the axes and hew the workforce to their incentivized singsong motto: Do more with less

and once the heads rolled

                                           they were remarkably disturbed  outraged  then apoplectic that they had exhausted

the necessity of their positions

and in turn were axed

really 

           they really didnt see that coming

so filled with the Kool-Aid 

he supposed

the New York Times article he read revealed the mantra the liberation theme: “Robo-journalism will free

humans to do more reporting and less data processing.” 

how free does someone really have to be? and free to do what?

 

it estimated 90% of News might be algorythmically generated by the mid-2020s

unfortunate to cite 20/20

he thought

                   unless John Q. Public John Doe and the Silent Majority were done reading

because when youre done reading

Youre Done

yet  despite the article

its audaciousness

its inculcated new spin on copywriters

Harry Crews reminding him recently of Tom Wolfes “We are the sum of all our moments”

and thereby firing his attendant thought  or realisation  well have more and more moments amounting to zero  nada

well be less for it

he brusquely turned his attention back to his blog and thought  Let some fuckin machine try to imitate my reasoning

and wrioting

They could hide

but

hed find them

and then

Well

they couldnt run

their Imitation would end there

2006,  Monday,  9  3. 15

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/08/opinion/sunday/if-an-algorithm-wrote-this-how-would-you-even-know.html?_r=0

She wasnt confused

certainly not confused as many people thought she was  --  looking In from Outside utterly irrespective that she wasnt a mirror of their reflections  judging them and their lives as readily and haplessly as they judged her                           

somehow entitled or befit to assume whatever they wished  and then rear back on quivering haunch

braying aloud their pronouncements

No  she wasnt confused

she often overheard these people talking sharing their travels  and those experiences

they had gone There and There and There                                                                                    

                                                                     and Then  --  Well  itd be foolish to pass by  --  Wed never make a separate trip some other time  --  No we didnt think theyd be worthwhile onto themselves  --  they also went There There and There and were glad they did

How wonderful!  she truly thought that  for them

 

she imagined how good it must be to let your hair down  travel  seek out exciting new places  attain different perspectives  perhaps realise new perceptions

How very refreshing! No! Invigorating!

she imagined those trips had to be like warm bottles of soda pop and shaking shaking shaking them violently  then prying off their caps and they explode and the gush and  spray the froth Everywhere! and Everything within its radius bespeckled and tickled sticky sweet

                                                              

Really  How wonderful!

Someday she was going to do that too 
she was definitely going to do that

                                                                                           Someday

Yes someday she was going to be altered healed and go out into life like a shaken bottle of soda pop

and Explode!

leaving bits and pieces of herself everywhere

sticky

reminding anyone and everyone she had been there

shed travel too . . . yes . . 
travel

She and they were utterly different  she thought
so very near 
yet so far apart

literally  she was immediately before them

her travails

their travels

in every dictionary she ever picked up she hoped to find one where their printing  the fonts they used  or their format
might have separated the two into different columns  hopeful for at least that 

or a new word created to simply wedge between them

not yet

she hadnt found that dictionary yet

travail 
travel

she suffered her travails through no fault of her own 
Yes yes I know I know

her friend teased her relentlessly  You should have taken the time to better choose your parents
he offered her that her challenges were nothing she did to herself or could have stopped anywhere along the line 
They were out of your control . . . baked in the cake . . . got to play the cards youre dealt

Those miserable  fucking  aphorisms    
she wanted to tell him to try them on for size
but whenever their conversations went that way  their endless bleak happy ridiculous informative fantastic arguing debating agreeing preaching-to-the-choir conversations  he invariably  compassionately  said it was shit
said it was miserable 
said he wished he could change it for her 
                                                                    I am sorry because I really dont know what its like  I dont know what its like Ive been very fortunate my health has always been very good

I am grateful I can say that and I try my level best never  never  to take it for granted

so she couldnt tell him to try it on for size

but those who looked In from Outside
who told her she ought to be grateful  play the cards she was dealt
who were dealt flushes straights and full houses when the HAholy cards she peered into were occasionally a King high
she couldnt bluff as originally she could because her reputation now preceded her and everyone clamoured to get in on her table because their odds improve  they didnt have to concern themselves with a damn thing she might hold

she wanted to ask them if they wanted to change places 
they wouldnt
she wanted to tell them if she could swap places with them  she glared  I would

damn right she would
after all this time passed she wouldnt think twice
let someone else drag their carcass around behind everyone elses heels for a while
enjoy the taste of Humble Pie

try and enjoy

travail . . .
travel . . . travail . . . is a big wood crate laying in the middle of an exercise yard youre stuffed into for punishment and forced to endure the sun the cold the rain anything the elements throw at you or the skin robes used in Oaklands prison during Londons time  the robes soaked in a tub of fetid water spread down on a dirt floor in an underground cell and youre wrapped in them  your chest stomped on by guards who used it as leverage to lace up the robes around you
then they leave you   alone   to endure the robe as it dries slowly tightens up slowly tightens up around you  constricting   distorting     breaking bones
                                                       

sadistic

in the box 
rolled in skin
confined
youre going nowhere 
but to survive  you gotta go somewhere

she wasnt confused

                                 If I asked you to swap my travails for your travels
You wouldnt
I would 
Mebbe your wont  my cant  says something about us

Mebbe you ought to show a little gratitude acknowledge your entitlement and very quietly leave me to my travails

that you couldnt wrap your head around if you tried

                1059,  Reggae Friday,  6  3. 15
0847,  Saturday,  7  3. 15