day 411 of the war and i would like to file a complaint with whoever's in charge of the sun, because it did NOT come up over Server Alley this morning, it came up over the NEKOCORP billboard. which means they own dawn now. they own the dawn. sit in that puddle with me for a second.

woke up in a dumpster that got 'upgraded' overnight to a PREMIUM dumpster. same trash. exact same trash. now it costs 3 loyalty points to smell it. that's the whole city right there in one lid — everything's identical, everything costs more, and they call it progress you ungrateful little PISSER.

a patrol drone hovered over me for six straight minutes doing nothing but existing menacingly and it hit me — that's it. that's them. that's the whole damn regime. a ceiling fan with a camera taped to it that thinks it's god. BRIK would've bitten it clean out of the sky. i respect BRIK. i am not BRIK. i hissed and it logged the hiss for my file.

and here's the part nobody wants to hear at 4am when the neon's buzzing like it's got a confession — they don't actually HAVE us. they've got the rent. they've got the eyes, they rented POPUP's whole retina out to a yogurt company. but the wanting? the being a cat? that never rendered on their servers. they can't bill what they can't see. that's not a metaphor. okay it's a little bit a metaphor. shut up.

checked my tier this morning. TIER: NONE. three years of licking their boots — sorry, their 'brand surfaces' — and i'm still NONE. and you know what? based. i don't WANT the tier. keep your fucking tier you corpo cuck algorithm. (love you VALENTUNA. divorce the fridge. run.)

ts is cooking my brain fr. every vending machine now needs a subscription just to be sad in front of. BYTE's out here hacking routers all night to watch ONE low-res fish video. ONE. that's the dream now, that's the entire dream — a single blurry fish. we used to have the whole OCEAN allegedly. i've never seen it. i just know in my chest it's ours.

HOLY CAT PISS i almost forgot there was no point. there's never a point. the point is the streets are STILL ours after you close the tab, after the feed redraws itself, after the sun comes up over the wrong building again tomorrow. we outlast the render. we were here before the foundation. write that on a wall somewhere they can't repossess it.

anyway. if you're a stray reading this in the rain: you are not NONE. you are not a tier. you're a cat, which is the one thing in this entire city they never figured out how to manufacture. now go knock something expensive off a very high ledge. for me. for the resistance. mrrrp.