Yet again, because of the passing of time and scant attention paid to maintaining this piece of literary wonder (what’s one of those then?!) the following words were composed into some kind of lyrical wisdom.

They are likely remembered snatches of overheard comments in supermarket aisles, on podcasts, buses, trains or even the radio . . . in which case, be sure to tell your smart speaker to play [insert whatever radio station you are currently listening to here] because more advertising in a patronising tone really engages your audience . . . especially when you are incapable of figuring out how to use something like that and likely listening through one of those things anyway . . . or one of those ‘old’ things . . . the wireless, with buttons and an aerial and all that . . . and you get a little exercise because you had to get up and walk to it to then press a button to, well, turn if off because of all the bloomin’ advertising!

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, these words (those below, mind) were beginning to be formulated in or around 29 October 2025, as that is the creation date of the note I was digitally using to write ’em down.

Selling ourselves a con

The flimsy comfort of ignorance.
The impossibility of neutrality.
Engineering absence with an app.
Expecting intelligence from artifice.

Adrift.
Losing attention.
Searching for meaning.
But finding distraction.

Habits of comparison.
Speedily enacting success.
Feeling entirely lifted.
But fully decommissioned.

The narrow confines of parables.
The suspicion of radical intent.
Creating magnificent ne’er do wells.
Celebrating with mighty indifference.

It wasn’t me your Honour.
It was them down the road, sir.
We all would have been better off.
With their intelligence of artifice.

Deals aplenty.
Delivered with expertise.
Holstered like mongrels.
Unwrapped with presumption.

It’s potentially something.
We can rely on in a quantum super position.
As the legal shenanigans.
Will be being charged exponentially.

As we sell ourselves a con.