I live near an ambulance depot. Without exception, I wake in the peach pre-dawn to an orchestra of rising sirens. I imagine all the individual worlds that have ended in the night, every person who has opened their eyes to find a newly minted corpse alongside them. Every day I wake thinking about a thousand deaths and still I reach across to my adults-only drawer and wish myself a good morning.
Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta has changed the way its algorithm works, one presumes to divert attention from its refusal to remove hate speech or deplatform fascists. In one group I’m in, the word ‘men’ must be censored, instead becoming m3n or m*n, not because the people in the group don’t like men but because the word itself triggers Facebook’s filter to shut down ‘problematic’ communities. Merely typing men in full makes Facebook believe you are a misandrist, and maybe that is why you become one.
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