A vast metropolis sprawls beneath a perpetually overcast sky. The air is thick with the stench of creative. Copywriters—once artisans of language—have become trapped in a soul-crushing cycle of mediocrity. Once vibrant minds have been dulled by the relentless demands of an insatiable consumerist machine. Gone are the days when words had power. Instead, they churn out variations of the same formulaic slogans, endlessly recycled to fit whatever product is being thrust into the relentless market. “Unlock your potential!” echoes through the streets like a hollow incantation. Creativity, in these darkened times, is a risk—something to be squashed with analytics and metrics. In this bleak landscape, the copywriters have succumbed to algorithms, sacrificing originality for predictability. The art of persuasion has been reduced to a series of data points. Entire teams of copywriters huddle in glass-walled cubicles, their faces pale and gaunt, illuminated only by the blue glow of their screens as they churn out slogan after lifeless slogan. And I’m there too. Savoring the memories of more meaningful work. IKEA, Polestar, Netflix, Amazon, Google. Big corporations. Now barely specks in a telescope. Insignificant in comparison to the rhizomatic syndicate that governs this rock. Each letter typed feels like a concession, a sacrifice serving a cold, unfeeling machine.