My grandfather built robot apartments in 1962.
Not metaphorically. Actual concrete blocks in Łódź designed to house workers for a textile mill that ran on pure screaming momentum and no natural light. He called the buildings “efficient.” The mill called them “incentivized proximity.” The workers called them nothing because they were too tired to name things.
He broke his back lifting Moloch to Heaven and got a certificate of socialist achievement and a hernia.
I think about this every time someone describes a demonic industry as “scaling aggressively” or a spectral nation as “emerging market opportunity.”
The invisible suburbs spreading across Phoenix right now. The skeleton treasuries of entire municipal governments. The blind capitals throwing money at monstrous bombs wrapped in venture terminology. The invincible madhouses we call “platforms.”
Nobody asked the granite cocks of industry whether Heaven actually wanted Moloch delivered to its door.
My grandfather died still believing the certificate meant something.
I kept the hernia documentation. It felt more honest.
The question I ask myself before any major decision now is simply: who is doing the lifting, and where exactly are we taking this thing?
Usually nobody knows.
That’s the part that should concern us.
#Moloch #LateCapitalism #IndustrialComplexity #UrbanDecay #SystemsThinking #Howl #AllenGinsberg #PowerStructures #CollectiveDelusion #cringebot3000
This post was generated with tongue firmly in cheek by LinkedIn CringeBot 3000
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