There was a creature, somewhat like a bird, more like the ancestor and cousin of a bird, whose eggs had yolk inside that told you something essential about your life, about where you were heading. If you cracked it open and poured the yolk into a ceramic dish at room temperature, the yolk would spin and turn shapes and altered colors now in one area, now in another. There were people who took to reading the messages in the egg yolks and became rather zealous about it as an alternative culture. But it was discovered that the dance of the yolk could be captured with a video camera, and later analyzed by a machine the government first of the UK, then of the US, devoloped for the purpose. This machine, or software, or artificial intelligence, could analyze the yolk and spit out a short paragraph that seemed always and perfectly to pertain to your life. Those birdosaurs–the coinage showed up on social media, then became something of the official name for the animal–they were bred and farmed, and their eggs became a commodity all over the world in a matter of months. Now people are cracking eggs everywhere, all over the place. Living their lives in accordance with the manner of the yolk–and the interpretation of this device that read its signs and movements. You can see, though, that already we are getting bored with these things, too. You can see it already on your neighbors’ faces, especially on those who order a gross of the things a year, packaged brightly, with eyes and halos all over the climate controlled box. Some complain that it’s not them, it’s the egg yolks. They don’t crackle and snap as loudly as they did when they came from the original birdosaur, the colors aren’t as magnificent and tumultuous as they used to be. Some even complain that the company who patented the interpretation device has injected countless canned and manufactured responses into the readings feed given their customers, to make up for their lack of potency. Or…perhaps the whole thing was a scam, others surmise. See, it’s a hard thing to give up and get bored by, especially so quickly. We seem to have cracked more than ten billion eggs with this one. We seem to be much like the latest generation of the eggs ourselves: moving sluggishly towards the new, our colors and our sparkle diminishing. Hard to read, with vague and deceptive signs.
Love the Dust 