When the Glitch Comes

A glitch—a digital fault or interruption—reveals just how fragile technology truly is.
It is both a trace of a past malfunction and a harbinger of a greater collapse yet to come.
Like ghosts, glitches haunt time: they emerge from the past while pointing toward future breakdowns.
Each digital rupture whispers the same warning:

"This system will fail."

A glitch marks the uncontrollable dimension of the digital world.
A good glitch is that which “lets us feel the beast inside the machine,” disrupting the illusion of seamless visual flow and exposing the system’s raw instability.
In today's technologically complex world, we often struggle to understand the purpose of our own writing/ destiny, especially in code.

This suggests that even the creators of technology can no longer fully grasp the systems they’ve built.

The glitch is the moment this unknowability becomes visible.
Though everything on the surface may appear to function smoothly, unseen processes operate beneath.

                                         beyond our comprehension.

This is not a mere error, but a structural feature of digital systems:

                                     an entanglement of control and randomness.
But the system is neither control nor chaos. only the illusion of both, staged to hide its depths.

Thus, the glitch is not just a mistake; like a ghost, it exposes the invisible, revealing the system’s hidden face and pushing the limits of human understanding.


                   It is spectral in itself and it summons the specters that reside within our machines.

When you become unlabelable, you become the ghost.
And the algorithm (built to sort, tag, and target) can no longer hold you.
Ghosts can’t be deleted. Only felt.

Not visibility, but sabotage.
Not transparency, but disruption.
When we seek to fracture the system’s narrative control, the glitch is our signal.
Modern technology amplifies the power of ghosts.
And the future belongs to them.

I woke up before the noise,
breathed with the trees,
walked with the sky.
The sun hadn't yawned yet,
but I had — twice.

Back home, I made coffee
strong enough to slap me awake.
I whispered to my cup,
"Let's be productive today."
It didn’t answer —
but I believed in us.

I sat down with math—
chapter four, page full of promises.
I underlined the heading,
adjusted my pen cap five times,
then sharpened a pencil
I didn’t even need.
Pro-level procrastination unlocked.

Midway through one sad-looking equation,
my phone lit up—
first a comment,
then a reel,
then a cat dancing to lo-fi beats.
Fifteen minutes later,
I knew three dessert recipes
and forgot the formula
I never really knew.

Suddenly, a line hit me—
not from the textbook,
but from somewhere softer.
A poem idea.
Just a line, I thought.
A quick jot.
A harmless verse.

But the line grew limbs,
called in stanzas,
and started demanding metaphors.
So I gave in.
I gave it my quiet,
my hours,
my last sip of cold coffee.

A crow watched me
from the window grill
like it knew
I was failing both maths and time.

And now—
the sun is long gone,
the sky has tucked itself in.
The poem is finished,
polished and breathing.
But that chapter?
Still untouched.
Still waiting.

Two souls apart from all the crowd,
in love and hate, both fierce and proud.
Through beauty’s light and sorrow’s rain,
we cling through joy, we cling through pain.

For in thine eyes, my truth I know,
and neither heart will let it go.
Thine eyes hold truths no stars could hide,
a mirror deep where my heart abides.

No chain of earth, no hand of time,
could break the bond that makes thee mine.
We keep this fire, this hallowed whole—
and drink forever from each other’s soul.

...

is a list humming with fraught fragile fragrant delight:
humble
hugging
humility
human
hugely
humor
humdinger


I could go on forever
but no need, the humming infectious
and you are adding you owned version

yes. hu too