Their World is a transparent world
All are seen and yet
all are cramped

into the headgear panopticon inspection house:
a living room labeled cozy, looking out
into emptied cells surrounding

The Bureau of Digitization and Erasure,
a guardrail and governance provider,
made being-on-the-look-out redundant

keeping watch is now open-sourced,
spatially computed, and edge-democratized.
So, no one indulges to care

“though, they should look down
further down, no, even further
then their screens shine up,” someone dared

“Beneath the tiles, into the underlayment,
disregarding the existence of a floor,
There, or so some are told,
flows a community flourishing

The Hush Artists
creators nay saviors
of forbidden arts undigitized

an underground of gazing
with noses, ears, yes,
even touch and taste are on the market

for an analog
vestibular proprioceptive experience
you pay more”

“yo bro, a sniff from a charcoal artist
goes for .003 Crypto on the Zettachain,”
a grifting floorganger whispers, “get two for one.”

They are toxic and browser-page empty
to any digital dematerial girl
senselessly conforming into
measurements and cybercorrectness

“don’t look so down,
look up into 100000 lux
the future is positive
future is blue,”
rang the midday reminder.

All are seen yet all are cramped
by their adoptions
of another one’s words.




—animasuri’24



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