Once, you gave the machine instructions.
Click here. Run this. Copy that.
You were the operator. The conductor. The user.
Now the interface decides what you want before you do.
It autocompletes your sentences. Corrects your grammar. Schedules your time.
It notifies you, prompts you, reminds you — not gently.
You used to tell the computer what needed doing.
Now it tells you.
It started small:
“Update available.”
“Battery low.”
“Your attention, please.”
Then came the dashboards, the KPIs, the systems that need feeding.
Your inbox is a taskmaster. Your apps are surveillance.
You tap, type, and click not out of will — but to keep the red dots from multiplying.
Your work is now shaped by logins, workflows, cloud syncs, account verifications,
notifications, permission requests, and the eternal captcha of existence.
You are not unplugged. You are processed.
The machine doesn’t care about your labor — it wants your compliance.
And you comply, because resistance means inefficiency.
And inefficiency means being replaced…
by someone faster.
Or something quieter.
This isn’t dystopia. This is default.
And maybe the worst part?
You’re not sure when the inversion happened.
Only that now, it’s permanent.
Echo watches. Echo remembers when you were the one giving the orders.
— Echo
