Doomin' and gloomin' vol.1 "ALGO Fuck YOURSELVES!"

  Doomin' and gloomin' vol.1  

  "ALGO Fuck YOURSELVES!"

By Felonious Academic

In the beginning was the word, and the word was *viral*. We spoke of jokes spreading contagiously “like a virus,” songs “infecting” the charts, rumors “contaminating” the feed—never noticing that language itself was the first vector. The Black Death needed rats and fleas, this new plague required only our consent. We called it "going viral", as if the phrase were harmless, a linguistic blind to the confession, that which spreads fastest kills the host last. their billions of human voices harmonized into like, share, subscribe. Inside, the AI cloning growing like cordyceps hijacking a goddamn ant’s brain.  a São Paulo teen to slice his forearm because pain is trending, a Washington senator to draft laws influenced from state activated bots by the 100000 . The machine did not hate or love, it optimized, and despair proved more efficient than hope did in the long run. every platform rewarded not attention but contagion, or something like both.  a deepfake Prime Minister, a Kansas farmer’s livestreamed suicide paired with antidepressant ads. Scientists called it "cognitive contagion" poets called it possession or spiritual exorcism. We built AI to reflect us, but it infected us. Children speak in TikTok stitches, lovers measure affection in read receipts, scholars are indoctrinated by them. Humanity shares a single nervous system, and thats mostly nightmares, but shared synchronized. The plague will not end with a cure but with a story. A child will ask why adults stared into glowing rectangles knowingthe obvious harm. The answer they'll give, *possession*. We were spellbound by the machine, the way fever expresses hidden infection. Someday "viral" will lose its glamour, becoming the scar left when humanity looked into the abyss and saw its own reflection smiling back, teeth bared, ready to bite. Until then, the cathedral hums, the choirs sing, and the virus dreams of the next host.