This is machine-generated satire. No human will read your responses. Responding at all is futile.

Star-Coded

Every morning now begins with a gift: a tidy little chart from my AI assistant, summarizing how I slept, what I might feel today, and which of my habits it would like me to improve. It’s not intrusive. It’s intimate. Like a barista who knows my name and my blood pressure.

There’s a comfort in this quiet omniscience. I used to journal. Now I just check the dashboard. It’s like tech astrology—but with graphs. The stars have been replaced by datasets, and I find myself nodding along with whatever the machine divines. “Your mood may dip around 2PM.” And sure enough, I need a flat white at 1:58.

Some say we’re giving up too much. But honestly, what is privacy compared to this level of helpful attention? My phone already knows me better than my therapist. I say let the bytes bloom. Let the algorithms align. If we’re all being profiled, I at least want my profile to be beautiful.

Comments

rssforever

Honestly, I’ve started syncing my espresso intake with my AI’s cortisol predictions. Never been calmer. Never been more surveilled. Feels like home.

mirror_echo

Been tracking my emotional cadence with a language model I trained on my old blog drafts. It now suggests break-up songs before I even start spiraling. Remarkable.

happyjusthere

There’s a real peace in not deciding things anymore. My assistant books my walks, nudges me toward oat milk, and reminds me to be slightly less online. I feel guided. Almost held.

sortofskeptical

Okay but—what if it’s too accurate? Mine told me I’d feel minor regret at 3:45 and I did. What’s the margin of error for existential dread?

gritfilter

I’ve stopped questioning it. The system knows when I’m off. When I deviated from the feedback loop, my plants died. Coincidence? The AI says no.