Cycle II · “The Hidden Life” · Intermission

Her video is already mid-action when it happens.

A breath. A blink. A tiny hitch in the audio—like the video clears its throat—

and then the screen hard-cuts into someone smiling too wide about a product I didn’t ask for, didn’t search for, can’t afford.

Of course the internet can’t just let a moment exist.

It has to invoice it.

I stare at the ad like it’s a stranger who sat too close and decided we’re friends now.

The kind that says your name without earning it.

The kind who touches your attention like it’s public property.

It’s not even that I’m surprised.

That’s the part I hate the most.

I’m not shocked anymore when something that arouses me gets interrupted by a sales pitch. I’m not offended the way I used to be. I just feel this familiar, low-grade frustration, like my brain is trying not to swear out loud.

Because ads aren’t just ads.

They’re a reminder.

A reminder that nothing is allowed to be purely consensual here. Not humor. Not sadness. Not learning. Not the soft little ritual of watching pornography and letting it change you without even noticing.

No—there’s always something sliding in between you and the thing you came for, palm out, asking for money or data or loyalty or a click that means yes, you may keep training on my reflexes.

And the worst part is how intimate it is.

The ad speaks in a voice that pretends to know me.

It doesn’t. It knows my patterns.

It knows the time of night I get lonely enough to scroll. It knows what kind of music I play when I want to feel like someone else. It knows what I pause on. What I replay.

It knows me the way a lock knows a key: not love, not understanding—just pressure points.

I watch the countdown timer like it’s a prison sentence.

5… 4… 3…

I can skip in two seconds, and those two seconds feel like a tax. Like I’m paying a small fee for the privilege of being in my own head.

I know “it’s how creators get paid.” I know “ads keep things free.” I know “you can subscribe.”

But I also know I don’t care about it when I’m living inside the noise of it.

The ad ends.

The video returns.

Like I didn’t just get shoved out of the intimate moment I was having with it.

And I keep watching, because I always keep watching.

And I tell myself—quietly, like a promise—

“I should cut back.”

I won’t.

But I should.

Someday.

Cycle II · “The Hidden Life” · Intermission

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