Poetic Random Nerve Firings

When an engineer brags that they don't like fiction
That their bookmarks are filled of Medium articles and business koans
Isn't there something lost?

You can not consume all the media in the world
You can not consume all the media you want to consume
You can not consume all the media you need to consume
So how do you justify reconsuming the same piece?   

You script to move the burden of action on to the non-human actor, the
computer, for repetitive actions.  But soon, you realize that what you
thought was a linear narrative is actually a cyclical one - eating and
sleeping and shitting and waking. You script yourself out of existence

You aggregate and compile and archive, claiming that you're going to
make the connections, but already making a new aggregation, a new
compilation, a new archive in your head of which books you're going to
burn when the time comes

Collating, sorting, converting into digital form
A machine to fight off entropy
Despite knowing the second law of thermodynamics

               Out, out, brief glitcher!
Life's but a random walk, a deep learner
That struts and frets its hours upon the dataset
And then computes no more: it is a classifier
Writ by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.