The dream that wily old Inside-Out wove for man

"Mesh our thoughts as one" they asked. "Granted!" said he.

The last sounds of the debate died away, and the high priest of the Temple of Man sat down in prayer. As always, the debate centred around the Book of Man – the only book that the monastery possessed. Indeed, it was the only book in the entire kingdom. “There must be a way that our thoughts may mesh as one” mused the high priest. Perhaps if the Gods were appeased? Didn’t hurt to ask.


The Gods rarely responded to prayers, involved with their own machinations as they were. Messing around with a complex adaptive system was never a good idea, and so the Gods simply left prayers to chance.

One God, however, was not like the others. Old Inside-Out had many names, and they all pointed to his true nature. His oldest name was Entropy, but people called him Innovation.


Some monks of the order were apprehensive. “We must be careful of what we wish for,” they said, but the high priest allayed all their fears. “All that the Gods offer are mere tools and abilities,” he said. “It is for us to bend them to our will.”

And so it came to pass that by the divine intervention of wily old Inside-Out, people were granted the means by which their thoughts may mesh. A new religion was formed and a new temple built for Innovation. There was a great celebration in the kingdom that day. So many people adopted the blessing that a wag plotted its growth on a hockey stick curve.


The temple flourished and slowly the people forgot what it was like before their thoughts meshed. No one remembered anymore the meaning of words like to ponder, to consider or to reflect. Once upon a time, words once spoken could never be taken back. Now no one remembered the immutability of conversation anymore. Their new religion let them change their conversations as they liked, and so the people never had to consider what they said when they said it.

They forgot that they were adaptive systems too. And soon, the very tools that they used, turned them all to serve its own purpose. The tower of Babel in reverse. The confluence of all thought into a great, ever-flowing sewer of the fragmented and the recycled, spoken without consideration.

And that children is how your social media feed was born.