What if your favorite childhood rhymes grew up to confront the absolute bleakness of modern existence? Welcome to "The Nightmares of Dr. Noose."
You who have come to this place of the dead
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By half-conscious doomscrolls unwillingly led
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Ignore that bad credit, your homework, divorce
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And come dance upon our society’s corpse.
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The dark truth of stories you read as a kid,
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Things that will happen and things that once did,
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The ways nature’s cruel and the ways in return
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We’ve tamed it and blamed it and caused it to burn.
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How fat your mom is and why you’ve been scammed,
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A future in which ads are directly spammed
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To optic nerves as you’re hooked up to the cloud
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You can only exist if the tech corps allow.
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The blessings of plague and the weirdest of kinks,
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Into our future a terrible glimpse,
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The dawning of AI and loss of our souls,
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The end of the cosmos – everything, a black hole.
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A new, unsettling world awaits.
Content Warning:
Mature and Grotesque Themes
Themes include:
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Dark Humor & Satire
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Existential Dread & Doomerism
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Societal Decline & Capitalism's Brutality
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AI & Algorithms
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The Disturbing Origins of Fairy Tales
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Nature's Cruelty & Human Obsolescence
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The Soulless Dance of Social Media & The Bleakness of Modern Relationships
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The Loss of Religious Stories & The End of the Universe
The Philosophy of Dr. Noose
We’ve all felt it.
Maybe it started when we came down out of the trees, or in our greedy hubris, began burning the corpses we eat to extract more calories from them to feed the growth of our processing centers faster than our hips could accommodate birthing them. Maybe it started with the enslavement of the four-legged beasts of the land, or the commodification of… everything. The industrial revolution saw us accelerate this process, but it wasn’t until recently that it’s been automated, optimized, and force-fed back to us through a fatigued nervous system strained to limits it hasn’t had time to adapt to.
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Where we once thought ourselves masters of our environment, we have now become slaves to it. Like the selection pressures that favored the replication of our genes at any cost, our algorithms have turned on us in favor of the accumulation of imaginary currency points.
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We ignored the fetid streams of our predicament when they were but run-off, high in the mountains of our achievement. We ignored them when they coalesced into black rivers that kept the ships of our progress afloat. And now, on the precipice of horrors too large for us to comprehend, in the stinking delta of our arrogance, we at last glimpse the abyssal shelf over which we were always destined to fall.
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Come and revel in the dark.
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