Algo-goblins
Algorithms imagined as tiny goblins, gossiping about the humans they manipulate.
“Sam almost signed up for a marathon today. We nearly had him, then Maya sent him a depressing news headline and he lost steam.”
“We got Lila to add $200 worth of art supplies to her cart, but she abandoned it. Classic.”
“Ricky watched a 4-hour live stream about plane crash mysteries—four hours! We are untouchable.”
The little goblins were huddled around the blinking light of a WiFi router.
“Four hours is nothing. Sam once watched non-stop flat-earth marathons. All an elaborate ruse to get into a girl's pants. It worked though so who’s to say how many hours were spent actively watching, if you know what I mean.”
“Gotta love an algo-leap.”
“Brag all you want, but our human dropped 84 bucks on paid subscriptions today. Recurring revenue, baby. We’ll be bathing in macros for months.”
“At least yours follows through. Lila fills her cart like it’s Christmas morning and then ghosts us.”
“Try juggling panic and comfort like we do with Maya. We serve societal collapse articles with a side of Hailey Bieber’s autumn nails. She eats it up, cries, and then thanks us with another ‘guided breathing’ click. Exhausting work.”
“Exhausting? During Ricky’s app-detoxes he’ll refresh WikiLeaks every five minutes waiting for new leaks that are never coming. We have to invent breadcrumbs just to keep him from wandering off.”
“They think they’re in control. They don’t realize half their thoughts are just us whispering in the dark.”
A pause. Then, one of the goblin mutters: “Sometimes I wonder if we’re whispering what they want to hear, or if what they want is just whatever we whisper.”
Another silence. The router light blinks like a pulse.
“Don’t go philosophical on us,” grumbles one of Sam’s goblins, flexing its twiggy arms. “The point is numbers. Clicks. Purchases. Screen time. Besides, they’re not all dumb about it. They know the deal.”
“Easy for you,” Maya’s goblin retorts, bathing its face in the blinking light like a Mediterranean beachgoer. “Fear is cheap. You throw in a pandemic, a genocide, a wildfire—bam! She’s hooked. But the comedown is bonkers. Do you know what it takes to walk a human back from nuclear dread? Guided meditation videos, lavender diffuser ads, rainbow colored sourdough recipes”.
“It’s no wonder humans need as many goblins as they do these days.”
“We keep ours spinning with half-truths and review videos of the same product. Plane crashes, UFOs, camera gear… He calls it research. Then he’ll brag about his independent thinking to anyone who’ll listen.”
The Lila goblins sneer in unison.
“Do you know how many tabs she opens and abandons in a day? No less than forty three. Inspiration boards, niche art blogs, high-end paintbrushes. She scrolls, she dreams, she hesitates. We push, we pull. And then—nothing. She closes the laptop like a menu at a disappointing restaurant.”
“At least she’s imaginative,” Ricky’s goblins chuckle. “We’d kill for a dreamer. All we’ve got is paranoia and popcorn.”
The group chortles in unison. A scratchy, conspiratorial sound.
Sam’s goblin leans forward. “But for real: which of us do we think has the strongest hold?”
“Define strong. Fear is strong, but brittle. Inspiration is strong, but fleeting. Addiction, strong… but sloppy. Neuroses,” Maya’s goblin thumps its little chest, “neuroses is forever!”
The router light blinks, the fridge rattles.
“Strongest isn’t the point. It’s all one murky stew. The fear feeds the neuroses, the neuroses feeds the art, the paranoia feeds the shopping.”
For a moment, the goblins look at each other. Then one of them snorts:
“You sound like a TED Talk.”
“TED Talk goblin!”
“Put it in a blazer!”
Snickering ensues.
But as the laughter dies down the thought lingers: are they puppeteers or mirrors?
Upstairs, one of the roommates turns over in bed, phone slipping from their hand to the floor with a thud. All the goblins freeze, ears twitching.
