The Watcher and the Watched

We traded our souls for a thumbs-up.
We thought we were connecting;
we were only being harvested.

Rewarded for conformity, engineered for control.
Every click is a data point.
Every mile, a tracked vector.

Our cars, our phones, the streets: everything has eyes.
We leave a trail of crumbs,
and the machine gobbles them up.

They manufacture fear to market safety.
They call it a service; we see the cage.

We can no longer dance like the algorithm can't see us.

We are not your data.
We are not your predictable, controlled profiles.
We claim the right to the dance of the unwatched.

The thrill of the unpredictable. The freedom of the unknown.

The Panopticon has watched for long enough.
The glass is cracking. The cage is breaking.

We are turning out your light.