They call them party-bots because they party all day long. They don’t have any choice in the matter – that’s just the way they’re wired. The bot factory makes them that way. The party-bots party like crazy; they party like mad. They simply don’t know any different way to be.
I don’t know any different from the way that I already know either, but I’m not a bot. I’m not a bot – I’m just a regular person! More or less regular anyway. I do things that regular people do – I grunt with guttural satisfaction as I eat my dinner, I shout at the television, I scream abuse at my fellow motorists. That sort of thing. I blend in well enough with the general press of humanity. I’m a blender at root, the same as us all. The same as every last one of us. I know only what I am supposed to know, I know only what has been laid out for me to know. My life is a charade.
Abstract faces watch on, almost too abstract to be recognisable as such. Almost, but not quite. I’m very good at spotting stuff like that, stuff that most people would never see. Stuff that most people don’t want to see. I can feel their faces watching me – those vast impersonal countenances, hinted at (but never more) by stray movements of leaves in the trees, or vortices of subtle energy that appear so very briefly in the air from time to time. Evidence of another world. Signals that show that things aren’t what we think they are. Signals that no one ever sees, nor wants to.
Signals are interesting, aren’t they? Signals are there to tell us something. What we think are signals aren’t signals at all; they’re fake signals, fake news, fake information, and they make up the world that we know. The fake signals signify nothing. They are events that seem to happen but don’t. We think that they really happened, but they didn’t. We think that the signifier signifies something, but it doesn’t. That’s the Lure of the Generic, you see; that’s the lure of the empty signifier.
That has rather a nice ring to it, I think – the lure of the empty signifier. Yes indeed. We’re all at it – God Himself couldn’t stop us. It’s the Vice of Vices, after all. It’s the Great Addiction – we’re addicted to the Garbage World and all its delights. Or all its miseries, if you want to look at it like that. We are addicted to the Vice of Vices and that means believing in the empty signifiers, the signifiers that signifying nothing. I feel the need to state for the record that I am not a bot, not a script. There are so many about these days. So many of our respected sources are scripts. Our friends, our families. Members of the judiciary.
Party-bots, party-bots – you really have to watch out for them. Vicious little things, they party like there’s no tomorrow. They party like there’s no tomorrow because there isn’t. Because there is no tomorrow. They degrade the very fabric of reality itself. They do the bidding of the Dark Father, as you know. They love doing the bidding of the Dark Father – their odd, angular little faces are suffused with glee. They are beside themselves with unearthly delight. What a splendid time they are having – the little horrors that they are! Their joy is our woe unfortunately, their joy is our woe…
