The fallacy of form, the fallacy of blame


Blame the algorithms telling you what you already know
Blame the algorithms force feeding you your own taste of waste
Blame the ones pretending to care and the ones caring, as if you could

Blame it on the phone calls everywhere, if you would
Blame them, all of them, the operators who sit in foreign countries
And you press one, and you press star, and you press one, and you press dash

Blame the dice, the cards, the wheel and the numerus clausus of fate
Blame the mosquitoes and their bellies of blood
Blame the flies and their heads of butter making a better world

Blame them who need to make a living and need the entertainment
Blame the nine fiver, the juggler, the fifteen dollars an hour leaking value
To the pyramid – but you aren’t done yet –
Blame the poets trying to keep words into place

Blame the past and
Blame this moment when things could have been different
And perhaps not so much, all considered
Blame what happened in the nineties and led us to data everywhere,
Blame yourself for being a reader drawn to a screen

Blame even
The pardon
Blame the first death
And the second death of judgement after the first death of convenience
Blame how there seems to be only a choice between a stupid god
And a soulless mortgage

Image credit : statue of Alan Turing – Bletchley Park

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