How to measure and insert pleasure in thoughts? (#tech #horror #poem)

Neural dust if you must

Look at these cretins mooching off the trust

Must be the nasal dust

Pixie’s bust

Oh my lust

Implant it in your brain

“Calm down, mr. layman, It’ll soothe your pain,” says the new picture of sane, pale and ghastly, hiding the fact it’s insane.

See it slither through the media.

Just a game.

Stay calm?

How can you not sound the alarm?

Lighters burn air, right?

That’s fair.

What about a burning forest?

Or a landfill?

Is that natural, or a mandmade, garbage hill?

Supressed and submerged.

Your mind must be fucking fucking purged.

Don’t you see Amazon is another word for “splurge.”

A forest…

Make it rain.

It’s possibly the greatest business name.

Sourcing and indexing all your purchases.

Alexa, did you hear my thoughts from my Neurolink?

Maybe, a quick scan, “Hey, that’s order-think?”

Measure thoughts?

Help some t.h.o.t.s?

No, no.

Let’s explain the game.

Before you’re chipped against your will, here’s what might happen, if you will:

Satellites, burning bright aligned in the night sky.

Wanna see stars?

You can’t?

Oh, delta strain?

Delta ate or 8; a figure; a dollar?

Wait wait, this is a hoot, let me continue my holler:

To measure thoughts, a neurolink must be bought.

Or a controlled competitor chip?

What does this mean for free thought?

Who has the right?

Medical advances?

Harmless tech?

Yeah, right. What are the chances?

It’s just pale, pasties trying to get young and tasties.

Teens and the obscene.

Imagine hormones pumping; oh, wow you feel better than codeine?

Only when you look at (person’s) face?

Only after neurolink?

No surprise. The ugly now wets the thighs.

No baths. Dirty feet. Manifest destiny. Filthy cheat.

Or cheats.

Try tweets. Maybe tots.

Little white boys and white girls, nah man.

They’re robots and brobots, and lowthots with low thoughts.

Ever bought, ever plain.

Neurolink will force them to remember the next conqueror’s name.

To what end?

To breed, friend.

Make the tan and brown, reverse how they get down.

Zap and train the women for unnatural status.

Get them to cold, rather than sewing a lattice.

The bitch can’t grow food, but damn, she’s good with the code, my dude.

After the chip, I can hit a button on my phone to control my wife’s hip.

They asked during the insertion.

I never realized there might be an inversion.

She implanted my mind.

With all I used to hate, by now I am define.

She was programmed by the next Hitler.

Or, so the goal is to get the brown man to say, as he turns to his brother, a new lover.

Even in the music, something’s in the water.

The girls are getting hotter.

Boys are becoming a trans-daughter?

Who created this?

It wasn’t Harry Potter.

Meds to bring your kids to the slaughter.

Or move them ahead to we’re their dead in the head while surfing the web as they lay in bed.

Eyes rolling back in a ten year old’s head.

Neurolink integrates with cryptos, NFT’s, Minecraft—oh no…

I guess the kid’s dead?

Overloaded and overclocked.

Oh, hormones have been reconfigured to solve my issues with an item bought.

A link to step to an Overstock.

The “technobro” should watch the clock.

In the name of god, it is plain, even to the semi-insane.

A grid of satellites controls freaquencies and heat.

What happens to clouds when you introduce a focused, beam of low heat?

Thirst and control?

Yet, in our mind’s we’re playing whack a mole?

Something’s unholy.

Don’t listen to the shortage of avacodos.

This isn’t the time for FOX to be racist over guacamole.

Don’t turn on the box to the lip flops of CNN.

Better help might be AI. It isn’t your friend.

It might even be a spy inserting itself into your social group.

Barium, strontium and aluminum to control the transmission of heat when it oscillates 24 hours, continuous repeat.

The satellites create a web of deceit, while those of poor hygiene and habits say, “This is so… Neat!”

Compliant and soulless. When outside of work, it’s emotionally goalless.

No existence.

No enjoyment.

No life.

No dance.

No romance.

No talent.

No truth.

Just a carbon copy looking to be in a quant living booth.

Sublimation and evaporation.

Kind of reminds me of the formation at a particular duty station.

Zap zap.

A new miracle, but it’s fake.

From your hands, love and even hate can radiate.

No need to hit.

Motive and intent focused on sight.

Testing equipment. Hey, hey, the weather ain’t right?

That’s not right.

But there’s no such thing as climate change.

Of course not… Yet the surface of the planet continues to get hot?

Maybe it’s data broadcasting and affecting your theta, and beta.

The brainwaves affected without the chip.

Now, Jipp Pessos make Leg Bryan foam at the hip?

I don’t believe this pro tip about holes in white girls heads. Late 2000s.

Utah. Nevada. Hidden from sight.

The next generation might have a huge fight.

Thanks for reading.

I look to look into things and make fictional connections.

I write. My writing runs the gamut.

Inpiration for this:

Neural dust

Neuro link

News about white people doing invasive technology



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