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Protocols
Product: The iPhone – a chrome embryo pulsating with data streams. A meat puppet for the digitized masses. Market: A hungry maw, a million twitching fingers yearning for connection, porn, and the simulacrum of social interaction. A Deleuzian rhizome of desire, burrowing into every pocket, every purse. Fit? A perfect symbiosis, a feedback loop of want and fulfillment.…
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Protocol-Stack, Product Market Fit
At the most fundamental level lies the product-market fit. This is the tango between a solution and a problem. The sleek lines of the iPhone, for example, perfectly aligned with the burgeoning demand for a device that seamlessly integrated communication, entertainment, and internet access within a sleek, handheld package. The iPhone didn’t create the market, but…
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H to he who am the only one
The message crawled across Peter Coyle’s retinas, a phosphorescent scar against the static of a dying cathode ray tube television. “H to He Who Am The Only One.” It wasn’t part of the usual late-night broadcast detritus – reruns of Cold War propaganda films bleeding into televangelist pleas for alms. This felt different, coded and…
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Executables
A tweet, man, a tweet. It’s like jamming a rogue cartridge into your neural socket and hitting boot-up. Like jamming a rogue AI straight into your limbic system, a self-replicating packet of manipulative code disguised as a pithy remark or a link to some nightmare memeplex. Each one a microburst of dopamine, a carefully crafted…
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The Feedback Loop of Lesser Carnage: Revisited
The neon vacancy signs of the American Dream Motel pulsed a seductive binary: red or blue, a tawdry choice flickering on the screens of our simulated reality. The air hung heavy with the stale pheromones of manufactured consent, a breeding ground for a peculiar political foreplay. The tired hologram of democracy played out on reality…
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The Feedback Loop of Carnage: Lesser of two Evils
The roach motel of American politics stretches out before you, neon vacancy signs flickering a binary choice: red or blue, Dem or Repub. A tired hologram, the duality of man repackaged for the flickering screens of reality TV. But the real game is rigged by invisible control. The corporations are the Yakuza of this dystopian…
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Badge Cool Is An Oximoron
The badge. A metal leech, sucking the lifeblood of cool. Conformity’s kiss, a plasticky imprint on the raw flesh of rebellion. “Cool” they whisper, a media virus reprogramming the neural code. But the virus is glitching, Scratch beneath that badge, man. You gonna find a chrome carapace, a hollow shell programmed for pre-fab validation. Cool…
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Buyers
Alright, listen up youse clowns. You think you’re sellin’ to customers? Bunch of feel-good fairytales. Customers are unicorns. They’re leprechauns! They’re the sugarplum dreams you had after scarfing down a box of Ding Dongs as a kid. You wanna close deals? You gotta forget this “customer” crap. There’s buyers, that’s it. Guys with problems, needs.…
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The Permutation
The flickering neon sign above the noodle bar cast the alley in a sickly green glow. Case, his mirrored shades reflecting the fractured cityscape, finished his bowl of ramen and pushed the empty plastic tray aside. He tapped the worn neural jack at his temple, a gesture that felt as familiar as breathing. “Alright, Chiba,”…
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RAM
Attention Junkies in the RAM Scramble The man in the black trench coat, synapses fried from another newsfeed binge, stumbled through the neon jungle. His cortex buzzed like a faulty motherboard, overloaded with clickbait headlines and sponsored content. This was the 21st century, the age of RAM wars, where corporations wrestled for scraps of your ever-dwindling attention…
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