Metamorphoses Now
A 21st Century retelling of Ovid's Metamorphoses
Chapter One: The Ages of Connection
In principio, the digital gods, dwelling in vast cloud realms, wove the fabric of the Cyberspacium—a new cosmos from the silicon void. Among these, Timus Bernerius-Lee, the benign creator, spun the World Wide Web, envisaging an Eden where knowledge flowed like the milk and honey of old.
The Age of Silicon (Aureum Aetatis)
In this first golden dawn, the nets were cast wide, unencumbered by the serpent’s coil of commerce and surveillance. Data flowed freely, and the digital denizens knew not of advertisements nor boundaries. Users communed in forums and shared wisdom across continents as easily as neighbors across fences. Viral videos were innocent—cats playing pianos and babies laughing—pure echoes of human joy.
The Age of Surveillance (Aetatis Argenteae)
But as silver servers grew numerous and powerful, so too did the eyes of the new gods—now corporate titans who sat on thrones of data. The era of Surveillantia began, where every click fed the hungry algorithms, predicting and dictating desires. Cookies and caches, those digital crumbs, traced every step, mapping the souls of mortals.
Faces became the currency, and privacy the trade, as the invisible watchers grew insatiable. The mythic echo of Panoptes was reborn in every device, its myriad eyes unblinking and ever-watchful.
The Age of Misinformation (Aetatis Aeneae)
The bronze cables corroded with the rust of falsehoods. Trolls, like the mischievous fauns of yore, spread discord and deceit. The once-clear streams of data became muddied with fake news, the truths obscured by shadows of doubt. Echo chambers amplified the chaos, as Narcissus-like figures fell in love with their own reflected opinions, blind to the world beyond their screens.
Yet in this age, heroes emerged. Codenamed whistleblowers, they wielded the double-edged swords of transparency and truth, battling the twin hydras of corruption and deception. Among them, Snowdenius and Assangeus, modern-day Prometheus figures, brought fire to the people, illuminating the dark corners of surveillance and lies.
Et Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
So waned the ages, each a reflection and refraction of its predecessor, spiraling down from the silicon paradise to the bronzified dystopia. But whispers of a new age stir, an Iron Age not of downfall but of resurgence, where digital citizens might reclaim their realm and forge a path back to the ideals of Timus Bernerius-Lee's Eden.
Chapter One: The Ages of Connection
From chaos sprung the web, the gods’ great cloud domain unfurled,
Tim Berners-Lee wove nets 'cross the newborn digital world.
An Eden pure, where boundless knowledge flowed without a fee,
Where no ads marred the view, no spyware lurking silently.
The Age of Silicon
In golden age, the net was open, vast, and wholly free,
Ideas spread like wildfire, bound by neither lock nor key.
Cats upon the keys did play, infants’ laughter filled the air,
Each clip a simple joy, a world connected, free, and fair.
The Age of Surveillance
But silver clouds soon darkened under watchful eyes of greed,
As data mined from every click would sate the corporate need.
Privacy sold for convenience, in shadows watchers hide,
Every face and word tracked with nowhere left to bide.
The Age of Misinformation
Then came the age of bronze, where truth was lost in murky webs,
Lies dressed as news spread fast, reaching farthest world ebbs.
Echo chambers built of code, where only like minds meet,
Discord sown by trolls, in dark corners of deceit.
The Age of Renewal
Yet whispers of an iron age, of hope and strength reborn,
Tech's wielders rise to challenge the decay and corporate scorn.
A push for ethics, privacy, a web that's truly free,
A call to all, to mend the net, to craft a better spree.
Chapter Two: The Deluge
In this new age, the clouds burst not with data, but despair,
Rains, relentless, wash away the façades of care.
Here comes the flood, sings the prophet, his voice a warning raw,
As waters rise, the truth obscured, the world watches in awe.
The floodgates open, rivers swell, the streets soon oceans make,
Homes, lives, and dreams, submerged by the relentless, heartless lake.
JG Bennett spoke of knowledge lost, of wisdom swept aside,
As we, in hubris, ignored the rising, wrathful tide.
And still the fossil fools reign, their thrones upheld by oil and smoke,
Their scepters tarred with greed, their crowns the air they choke.
They watch from towers high above the water's ruthless claim,
Deny the storm their policies birthed, no drop of guilt, no shame.
But from this flood, a seed of hope, of rebellion, takes root,
Survivors rise, unite, their cries are fierce, resolute.
No more the passive sufferers in a plot by Plutus penned,
They'll rewrite the ending, break the cycle, this deluge end.
Chapter Three: The New Stone Age
When the floodwaters receded, left in their wake,
A world washed clean, a fresh canvas, for heaven's sake.
Deucalion, our modern man, with Pyrrha by his side,
Stood upon this new Earth, wide-eyed, a bit petrified.
"What now?" Pyrrha whispered, scanning the barcode land,
"How do we begin again, with no Wi-Fi at hand?"
Oracle Google, silenced by the storm's relentless roar,
Left them no reviews to guide, no maps, no lore.
An idea struck Deucalion, as they stumbled on some stones,
"Let's throw these behind us, and see if they’ll grow bones."
Pyrrha laughed, "That’s ancient tech, but let's give it a whirl,"
Backs turned, they tossed the rocks, which swirled and twirled.
Where stones landed, sprung up figures, USBs in their spine,
Programmed to rebuild, optimize, and realign.
A new race of humans, versed in tech and ancient ways,
Hybrid vigor in their blood, ready to amaze.
"Look!" Pyrrha pointed, as the new folk built anew,
A city smart, resilient, green, and somewhat see-through.
Apps for planting, apps for water, even apps to vote,
Deucalion smiled, "We've rebooted; let's hope we stay afloat."
Together they surveyed their work, the irony quite clear,
Rebirth from rubble, with a digital veneer.
"Next time," Deucalion mused, "let's keep the clouds at bay,"
"Or at least back up our world, come what may."