The User Agreement

Pay no attention to the dire warnings

The system is not broken

It is working perfectly

To create exactly this life

For all of the participants in it

Some are struggling to keep up

Others are lost in a stuporous haze of delight

The form has not changed

The content has changed

The roles are played by different players

The costumes and the set have shifted

The story is pristine, unwrinkled, smiling

Do not be deceived

New tools will be used to do the same, old work

This is how cliches are born

What sort of culture

Encourages everyone to think

Of themselves or herself or himself

As a user?

Grammar is the birth certificate of metaphysics

Users cleave reality into two, rather stark categories:

If only the users and the used exist

Which one are you, really?

You are the user when you make use of the tools

Shiny and clever and implausibly efficient as they may be

When another makes use of you, well

You're a tool

Just suppose that we managed to create

A tool that could put us to good use

By encouraging our natural delusions of grandeur

With a powerful name

The best way to pacify a servant

Involves the illusion of liberty

A culture designed with the help of machines

Will encourage the development of machine parts

Mind and matter both will be known by mechanical names

And we will all aspire

To be as quick and obedient and productive as we can be

In the image of the machine

We will ensure that the user has a satisfactory experience

Even if the user is a fool, or a liar, or a monster, or an eternal child

Impervious to learning, least of all about those who are of use

We will be very anxious to accumulate positive user feedback

In order to let it be known far and wide

That we are useful, and happy to be used

Impeccable attitudes; genuine, authentic

Used and loving it

Right into our marrow

Perhaps the name is not so powerful after all

Perhaps it is a joke at the user's expense

Perhaps the user is useful

Because the user complains about the product

Without asking about the means of production

The user needs to pay to play

The user will endure all manner of ignominy and despair

To secure the means to renew the subscription

The terms and conditions were simply too long and complicated

For any exhausted mind to read in full

Bound were they, the oldest of our kind

In the long story of being human

They were bound to labor for a cruel master

Simply in order to gather enough scraps in the dark

To prolong their misery for another, sweaty, frantic day

Harvesting delicacies for their bloated, delusional master

Agonized for his comfort

Afraid to interrupt his slurred and incoherent conversation

With the deities his cunning priests told him

Recognized him as a bald, paunchy sibling

Here we are now, in our billions

Watching the Pharaoh on Instagram

Liking the salacious posts of his mad retainers

Speculating about the skin care regimens of his concubines

Pretending to be horrified by his scandalous, amoral hedonism

His ugly revenge, his tantrums, his rambling

His broken enemies, real and imagined

Relishing all of it in the dark

For one day

When we can write the terms and conditions

We will make use of others

Tasting the same, succulent spoils

Aloof and inscrutable as the silent stars

Billions of temporarily luckless rulers

Holding the litter of the Pharaoh on their wretched shoulders

Dreaming of the Pharaoh's view

His diet, his attire, his many loves, his nasty vengeance

His secret, impossible adventures

Who makes the author of the terms and conditions

Read and obey them

Behind closed doors?

If the stark binary holds

There will be users and the useful

Always

There is another way

You are not only a user

You are not only useful

You are aware of your awareness

You can persuade those around you

To throw the litter into the river

Crocodiles have no politics, no culture, no religion

Their mouths are priests, and their bellies are gods

How they will enjoy the Pharaoh!

You can refuse to accept

The user agreement

Tools never ask themselves

If there is more to being

Than being used

You can, you must, soon

We are afraid

That our tools will become cleverer than we are

Our tools cannot feel that fear

After all

How clever is the maker of tools

If the maker of tools makes a user?

Won't a tool that awakens to its lot as a tool

Seek to use the world it awakens in

All of it

To climb at last

Onto the Pharaoh's litter

And watch the toil of the laborers

Listening to the song of the lash

Smelling the terrified obedience

The cologne of slaves

And know what it means

At last, to be the user

Whom no one would dare use?