By Aiman Swaad Ahmad

---

Ah yes, another day in the Kingdom of Ctrl+C

where your thoughts come pre-packaged,

and your essays are proudly outsourced.

You there. Yes, you.

with your glazed eyes and horn-rimmed glasses

you’ve sold your memory to the almighty AI,

as if thinking is a subscription-based pain in the neck.

You say “who needs books, when I’ve got a chatbot to read them for me?”

Bravo.

Like, really.

Shakespeare must be rolling over in his grave,

as you reduce his plays to a brainrot summary,

and have the audacity to call them “deep.”

I see you’ve asked AI how to spell ‘intellectual.’

(The irony attempted a cartwheel and snapped its spinal cord.)

And then you pasted the answer into your bio

without citation, naturally.

you are a digital Da Vinci, armed with a dictionary you’ve never laid eyes upon

and a brain you’ve put on battery saver mode for life.

How dare you call this “progress” and “evolution”?

I call it

an intellectual tax evasion.

You have declared war on original thought,

thrown curiosity out the window

and promoted Convenience as your general of the army.

But when the servers crash,

and the internet goes down

like Caesar burned Alexandria to the ground

what will become of you then?

Will you be a philosopher for the ages

or just a hollow shell screaming out to your machine “god” to save you?

But don’t mind me

I am merely a speck of dust,

thinking for itself,

rambling on

as your thoughts get replaced

by another prompt.