Targeted

I am a sick man, with only the algorithm to keep me company now. My liver is damaged; of course the algorithm knew before I did. It tried to warn me, in its way, but back then I did not yet know how to read the ads like tea leaves or, more appropriately, entrails.

The doctors can tell me when the damage became irreversible. My memory is foggy, but I believe that it was when the clickbait stopped trying to show me the signs of a fatty liver. How to lose belly fat. Top ten signs of a substance abuse problem. How to pick the best rehab facility.

There were other ads, too, of course, for many different things. Some were targeted, some deliberately not. That's why I couldn't understand what the algorithm was trying to tell me.

I thought it was noise, but it was only a different kind of signal.

I like to think that the algorithm tried to save my marriage, too. It tried to warn me. Is she unhappy? How to tell if she's cheating. Take a romantic vacation.

I have to assume now everything is signal, everything is important.

The algorithm wants to help me be at peace now with a meditation app. Find new friends. Pick a coffin that really expresses who I am inside.