101. I imagine DaVinci being reincarnated as if his profile had been saved and stuffed back into one of these false flesh platforms of the present age. At first, I find him binge watching all the historical, cultural, and engineering documentaries he can consume in hyper-real holographic detail to bring himself up to speed with this distant era. Then I see him setting up a plethora of profiles across an almost infinite array of media platforms so he can establish himself as an active avatar and solicit his services to the masses of the metaverse. I see him struggle to gain traction on Tweexer without being suspended, and consulting experts to increase his followships across all platforms after having posted several impossibly brilliant pics of completely new and astounding artworks which fail to trend at all. Then I see him suddenly gaining subscribers after designing a revolutionary new hyper-phallic shaped skyship which successfully launches a few brazen bazillionaires into low earth orbit and landing autonomously. I see him go on to establish himself as an influencer and produce podcasts where he greets guests who’s only talent is to manipulate the algorithms responsible for filtering traffic to increase their followships. I see him sitting with these open-mouth-breathers around a special new set which looks like some abhorrently inartistic adult-treehouse decked out in décor discovered resting atop a random heap of rubbish left next to a dumpster or a collection of contraband once held in conjunction with Ed Gein’s case, which actually is an upgrade from the previous set which looked like an over lit storage container disguised only by a back drop of cheap curtains with a neon-light-logo centered over a few unfunctional figments of furniture for them to cloister themselves into a clearly uncomfortable proximity to each other before beginning the show by passing bong hits of ayahuasca to each other or injecting heroic doses of NPD into the bases of their skulls. I see them settle in to discuss the details of the latest Corvid88 pandemic as it relates to the bubonic plague, their own preferences regarding diet and excrement regimens, the latest insipid news regarding in-identity politics, and all the bewildering behind the scenes stuff that comes with being such an important and visionary influencer and entertainer, with a few sporadic sidetracks interspersed throughout which demand a persona-free producer promptly pull up accompanying images using their expertise which all such impersonal producers accumulate over their years of dedication to the dark arts of GooGuile searches, basic microphone and camera management and placements, and essential social media manipulation tactics. Although, I predominantly see the former face of ingenuity reading promotional scripts as required by sponsors to promote their latest products which invariably promise to solve some problem which doesn’t even exist like undergarments designed specifically to keep genitals from dissolving in an unexpected downpour of acid rain or supplying some service which no one would ever want like an independent investigations service which provides psychological profiles on AI therapist to ensure your mental health is being properly manipulated by companies like BetterBrains. Several hours later, I see DaVinci, who has rebranded himself more succinctly as DeeVee, DahVeeCee, or something equally as embarrassing yet effective, -finally dissolving this session down into some penultimate pseudo-psychotic philosophical diatribe of incoherent stammering pleas for all of humanity to put peace and partying above all of our other misplaced ideals as a species. I see him tagging the end of this podcast with a redundant reminder to share, like, subscribe, and support all his other platforms and sponsors which of course include his paywalled OnlyCams, PornClub, and PayTreeGong accounts. In one final scene, I see him waiting for the analytic response to this latest podcast after having uploaded it into the void of YouzView’s ever expanding and irrelevant content cluttered kingdom where braindead dullards will wirehead-in to kill time and accent the ambience that is their own abysmal lives while perhaps cleaning their own overpriced and closet sized living compartments, or milling around aimlessly in the futility of some inane place of employment, or just gazing obliviously into the all-encompassing abyss which swells and swallows everything around them. At this point I have to look away from my own dark imaginings to avoid asking myself what they reveal about my own essence and world views, although I’d imagine they could be interpreted with equal satirical scrutiny.
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