Obsolete

We like to make ourselves obsolete.

There used to be a time when everything basic would take us so much time that a life could be comprised of doing things to keep ourselves alive.

Then we learnt that we could outsource some of these tasks to other people. We could share out the load and focus on honing our expertise somewhere specific.

For some reason (capitalism), we would now prefer to rely on things than ourselves or others. Ourselves and others? They require payment. They can make mistakes. But they also feel achievement, feel gratification.

I do not take umbrage with replacing a house servant with a Roomba, or a carrier pigeon with an iPhone. It's relieving to be able to ignore some tasks completely, understanding that they are just inherently done due to my status as a 21st century human.

But there is a line.

People are fighting. They are scrambling over one another's shattered egos, grabbing the ties of other smart-casual men, staring into grey, tired faces. 'I am competent,' they whine. 'Here is an example of my work,' they call into the abyss. Fake jobs open their wide jaws, sucking in AI-written resumes.

We once used to have purpose; now we fire computer-generated documents across the ether simply to secure a position sending more computer-generated documents across the ether.

I just want to sit and churn butter; is that so much to ask?