Editors

“Once upon a time, editors were human, and they liked to exercise control.”

She wondered if the relic from ancient times on the creaking armchair was just nostalgic or lamenting the end of an era. He was holding a book with yellowed pages authored by him close to his heart.

“Gramps, this is 2126. Algorithms are editors. They stitch together fragments of thought, auctioning them to the highest bidder in neural marketplaces. Writers no longer submit manuscripts; they surrender brainwaves, harvested in real time. No one can claim authorship, yet everyone is implicated.”

“I understand. They are deadlier than human editors, as they strip authors of their identities.”

“What would you like to publish today? Channels would like to interview you.”

“Publication is the auction of the mind, but the mind is a collective now,” his voice was a lone cry in the wilderness.

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Prosery: Publication