Modern Sins and Virtues: A 21st Century Encounter

Two dazzling Tech Titans and an equally stunning Influencer descended last night from the eerie bedarkened digital clouds through which the Internet invades a lonely insomniac’s mind and whispers seductively. They appeared before me, glorious and grand, posing as if for a viral TikTok video shoot or some cumbersome Felliniesque meme. From all three emanated a neon moonwashed glow, stark against the backdrop of my dimly lit room. Their presence was so overwhelming that I mistook them for the gods of our ruinous age.

The first Tech Titan had a face that defied gender norms, with a physique as fluid as the latest AI model. Their captivating eyes, hazy and enigmatic, mirrored the colour of blueish violet light filters, glistening as though perpetually reflecting screens. I could see Java and C++ code scrolling within their glowing salamandrine eyeballs. Their lips, slightly parted, exuded an aura of fine digital ether, and with every sigh, micro-drones buzzed and sparkled in their heated breath.

Around their sleek hoodie was a belt made of glistening fibre optics, with a serpent-like AI assistant whose blinking lights seemed to scan me. Hanging from this luminous belt were various gadgets—VR headsets, smart glasses, and bizarre biohacking tools. In their right hand, they held a glowing red USB labelled, “Plug in for eternal upgrade;” in their left, an electric guitar, no doubt to serenade their joys and sorrows and to spread the contagion of their innovation on nights of digital debauchery.

Their feet were adorned with the latest smart shoes, and when they glanced down irritably, their immutable vanity was absorbed in the polished sheen of their wearable tech.

They gazed at me with fulgurate eyes heavy with the weight of infinite data, from which poured a seductive haze, and addressed me in a melodious tone: “If you wish, if you wish, I will make you lord of algorithms and master over digital realms even more completely than a coder over their code; and you will experience pleasures ever new, be able to escape yourself and find oblivion in virtual reality, and to merge other digital personas with your own.”

I replied, “Thanks, but my fragile existence could hardly be improved by anything from this digital cabal. Though with memories mostly of shame, I would still rather not forget anything. And even if I didn’t know you, old trickster, your suspicious gadgets, those eerie vials, your ensnaring USB cords, suggest enough the drawbacks of becoming your friend. Keep your offers.”

The second Tech Titan lacked the first’s tragic beauty and polished manners. This was a gross dysphoriant figure, eyes sunken into the folds of their flesh, belly hanging heavily over their thighs, gluteal folds extending far across their Dalecarlian aura, skin covered with undulating tattoo-like QR codes and memes depicting the many forms of contemporary human misery. Tiny emaciated figures, voluntarily enslaved by their screens; minuscule avatars, lagging and glitching, their pleading eyes more effective than their begging hands; and aged users, clutching obsolete devices to their chests. And many more.

This grotesque figure tapped their massive belly, producing a cacophony of alerts and notifications, followed by vague groans of user data being harvested. They laughed, revealing rotten cola’d teeth, a laugh as hollow as the plastic echo chambers of social media.

“I can give you what will get you anything, what is worth everything, what compensates for all loss!” they boomed, tapping their gut once more, its sonorous echo amplifying their crude promises.

I turned away in disgust and declared, “My well-being won’t depend on anyone’s misery; and I have no desire for wealth built upon the digital sweatshop of your degrading platform.”

As for the Influencer, it would be misleading not to admit that at first glance, I found her bizarrely captivating. To define this charm, I can only compare it to those internet personalities who, though past their prime, never seem to fade, their allure lingering with the haunting magic of nostalgia. She had an air both commanding and clumsy, her eyes, though ringed with exhaustion, held an irresistible magnetism. What struck me most was the mystery of her voice, reminiscent of the most enchanting auto-tune, but also the raspy sound of voices wearied by constant livestreaming.

“Would you like to know my power?” she purred with her alluring yet paradoxical voice. “Listen.”

And she brought to her lips a colossal megaphone, festooned with the logos of every social media platform, and through this megaphone, she cried out my name, sending it echoing through cyberspace with the force of a hundred thousand retweets, reverberating back to me with the ripples of distant digital realms.

“The Devil!” I gasped, half enamoured, “that really is something!” But scrutinising her more closely, I vaguely recognised her as someone seen in scandalous vlogs with dubious characters I once knew; and the brassy sound of her megaphone brought back faint memories of clickbait and illusory sensationalism.

So I responded with utter disdain, “Get away! I’m not about to entangle myself with a digital diva’s sidekick.”

Certainly, I deserve some pride for such restraint. But then, unfortunately, I woke up and all my resolve vanished. “Really,” I said to myself, “I must have been delirious to have such scruples. If I could only regain them while awake, I’d not be so squeamish.”

And I invoked them aloud, begging their pardon, offering to debase myself as often as necessary to regain their favour; but it seems I had deeply offended them, for they never returned.