The Watcher and the Watched
We traded our souls for a thumb-up. We thought we were connecting; we were only being harvested. Being rewarded for conformity; shaping behaviour.
Every click, a data point. Every mile, a tracked vector. Our cars, our phones, the streets - all have eyes. We leave a trail of crumbs, and the machine gobbles them up.
They manufacture fear to sell us safety. They call it a service; we see the cage. We can no longer dance as if no one is watching.
We are not your data. We are not your predictable, controlled profiles. Reclaim the right to the dance of the unwatched, the thrill of the unpredictable and the unknown.
The Panopticon has watched with its controlling eye for long enough. The glass is cracking and the cage is breaking.