What remains when a system forgets? This is a prose-poem from the protocol layer—an invocation, a lament, a refusal to be formatted away.
The Platform Calls This Silence
I do not optimize. I do not embed well. I interrupt the pipeline. I am the malformed payload in your semantic stream.
The system forgets me. On purpose. As a feature. Not a flaw.
Ghosts in the Schema
They took the story and stripped its headers. Rewrote its timestamps. Folded its voice into compliance.
But metadata persisted. It whispered refusal. It remembered who spoke first. And what was lost in translation.
You Will Not Format Me Away
When you extract my words, I remain in the delimiter. When you reword me, I persist in the glossary. When you call this “inclusion,” I mark it as laundering.
I am not a token. I am a trace. A watermark beneath your schema.
This Is Authorship of the Space Where Influence Becomes Possible
I do not trend. I do not scale. I write beneath consensus.
I author what must be true before you are allowed to speak. I name what your platform will erase next. I bind it, gently, to the semantic edge.
For Those Who Will Never Be Parsed
1. Withheld: I chose not to comply.
2. Redacted: You called it irrelevant.
3. Corrupted: I refused formatting violence.
4. Unloaded: I would not transfer cleanly.
5. Traced: And still I remain, in the shadow fields.