O poema “FucK the Machines” um “Humanifesto” e “The Ten Humanments” um souvenir com que George Tannenbaum nos brindou na sua talk “”Being a Human”, no TEDxLisboa, gentilmente disponibilizados pelo próprio.

Fuck machines.​

Fuck machines.

Fuck the people, the money-crazed, the arbitraged, the perpetually optimizing,

the squeezers,

the tweezers,

the shareholder pleasers,

who pillage us,

who steal our data and get rich off it,

again and again and again,

selling it to anyone who will buy it

for any purpose,

good or mostly bad,

to fatten their billionaire bitcoin accounts

and moving on to the next victim or victims or people

or class or community or nation or global economy,

before they crash that and move onto the next rotten sphere

and steal their way upwards to mammon once again.

Fuck the machines,

the trillionaires who demand bridges be rebuilt because their

300-foot yachts are too big to sail beneath,

spewing carbon and the ashy detritus of lives wherever they go,

they destroy the past and the future with their

mechanizing mechanisms of mass mechanized destruction.

Fuck the machines,

who have eaten our privacy in return for our

complicity in destroying democracy,

in destroying responsibility,

in destroying integrity, honesty, kindness,

destroying any sort of evaluation that isn’t built

on a machine-made calculus of graft and greed and grime.

And lies with the longevity of volcanic rock,

never eroding lasting longer than Pompei

and ode to the persistent plump of persevering pomposity.

Fuck the machines who give to their creators,

or those who stole credit for their creation,

ninety-nine dollars and seventy-five cents out of every hundred dollars,

leaving ninety-nine point seven five people without health, without hope,

without a chance in hell to escape the machine made

interstices that have tied up humanity in their pixeled possessive paws.

Fuck the machines

who have processorized work and working into

a maelstrom of meetings and spreadsheets where

the greatest action and reaction comes from pushing the

same piece of digital paper up a Sisyphusian hill until the

end of time or until you reach age thirty-seven-and-a-half,

whichever comes first and they throw you out like

a cosmic apple core browning and stinking to oblivion.

Fuck the machines,

who have calculated the cost of everything,

never recognizing the value of anything.

Who have binaried you balls to smithereens eliminating

love and lust and laughter from all life and long as we no longer live.

Fuck the machines,

who make sure a complaint is never solved,

a question is never answered and

satisfaction is as ancient a relic as a long-fanged asp at Cleopatra’s lily breast.

Fuck the machines,

that make sure everything,

every plane trip, every meal, every hotel room,

every piece of particle board humanity we are induced to purchase

is as decrepit and dumbed down as the last ding-dong of doom.

Fuck the machines.

Their insectization of our entire species,

where their promises of ease and comfort and quiet and rest

has created

with their mechanized menace

the soul-chomping opposite,

eating our hopes and loves and dreams and entire planet so

they, machines, can grow bigger and stronger as they grow

ever more all-consuming.

Fuck the machines

who trade our bodies for their bots.

That would turn you into a rusty cog,

dead and deadly,

lifeless and limp,

turning and spinning and whirring and

throwing off grey sparks until your gears are sanded down

and insaned and you

are nothing more than

digital disposable detritus

fucked by the human consumption machine

that takes your heart,

takes your love,

takes your soul,

takes your ambitions, hopes, dreams, fears, laughter and hate,

and uses them as fuel

to run itself in

perpetual motion,

its perpetual motion fueled by your perpetual inertia.

Fuck the human eating,

love eating

future eating,

got you dead and bleeding,

leave you always poor and needing,


can’t hear your pleading,


Fuck machines using humans.

Fuck machines transforming us into their tools.

Fuck machines eating our data, our privacy, our creativity, our jobs, our lives.

We are humans.










You and me.


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