在流量称王的时代，
每次点击、每秒驻足，
都是向算法递上的贡品，
数字农奴们
交纳着无形的人头税。
比人头税更残酷的是割韭菜，
潮水涨时人群狂欢，
潮退后才惊觉，
自己不过是资本牧场上
待宰的牲口，
循环收割，无法逃离。
而资本与权力的贪婪
远不止于此，
它们敲骨吸髓、烹尸饮血，
直至剥皮点灯——
被压榨者不仅付出一切，
还得燃烧自我，
照亮他人的辉煌。
你的数据、思想、情绪
被算法无声吞噬，
你以为获得了掌控，
实则沦为祭坛上的油料。
最可怖的并非剥削本身，
而是甘于受剥削的心灵，
认定“这是命运，无可抗拒”。
在这场燃烧的祭典中，
你是谁？
是缴税的人头、割收的韭菜，
还是正在燃烧的灯芯？
只有思考，
才是点亮觉醒的第一根火柴。
——愿未来之灯，
不再燃烧无辜者的皮肉。
In the age where traffic is king,
every click, every lingering second,
is an offering laid at the feet of the algorithm—
digital serfs
paying an invisible head tax.
More ruthless than that tax
is the harvesting of hope.
When the tide rises, the masses cheer;
only as it retreats do they see—
they were never swimmers,
only livestock in capital’s pasture,
awaiting the blade,
trapped in a cycle of slaughter.
But greed knows no shore.
Power and capital feast beyond the marrow,
boiling corpses, drinking shadows,
until they flay the skin to light their chandeliers.
The exploited pay not just with their labor,
but with their fire,
burning to illuminate another’s throne.
Your data, your thoughts, your sorrow—
devoured in silence by the algorithm.
You believe you hold the reins,
but you’re merely oil on the altar.
The true horror isn’t exploitation,
but the soul that kneels to it,
whispering, “This is fate. It cannot be helped.”
In this festival of burning,
who are you?
A taxed head, a harvested crop,
or the wick that withers in flame?
Only thought
is the first matchstick of awakening.
—May the lamp of the future
no longer burn the flesh of the innocent.