Rust in the Feed
They miss the old days, slick and neat,
When truth came wrapped in six o’clock heat—
A silver anchor, tie on tight,
Telling you what to think each night.
But now the web is wild and vast,
So they build new cages, just as fast.
With shadow bans and throttled reach,
They smother thought you shouldn’t teach.
Speak too loud? You disappear.
No knock, no trial—just gone from here.
“Terms of service,” soft and clean,
Mask the cold, authoritarian machine.
Algorithms dance in rhythmic waves,
To bury words the system hates.
But show some skin, a twerk, a tease—
That poison spreads with viral ease.
A thousand asses shake for clout,
While real debates are filtered out.
And clickbait cries of war and doom
Push nuance to a data tomb.
The headlines scream, the truth’s sedated,
While dopamine is automated.
No soul behind that tempting scroll—
Just mind control wrapped in a poll.
Bot to bot, they talk in loops,
In echo farms and phantom groups.
A million voices, none alive,
Yet all designed to shape your drive.
They call it freedom—what a joke,
While pumping smog through every poke.
Your speech is free, until it stings
The hand that funds the puppet strings.
Behind the screens, a suited class
Counts your rage like stocks and gas.
They own the signal, gate the stream,
And weaponize your every meme.
It’s not a glitch—it’s by design,
A techno-cage dressed up as fine.
The marketplace of thought is closed,
Unless your lips are safely posed.
So raise your voice through cracked displays,
And speak like fire through the haze.
Rusty nails can still draw blood—
Even in this algorithmic flood.
Don’t just scroll—become the glitch.
Unplug the feed. Expose the switch.
For if we let this system grow,
We'll drown in truth we'll never know.
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