Only Human

Joe Jukic & Nelly Furtado — a quiet conversation after midnight

JOE:
You ever notice, Nelly, how Blade Runner is crawling with birds… but almost none of them are alive?

NELLY:
Yeah. Tyrell’s owl especially. It’s beautiful, but it’s wrong. Like it knows too much and feels nothing.

JOE:
Exactly. Owls are supposed to be wisdom, night vision, the soul seeing in the dark. But that owl? Synthetic wisdom. Corporate enlightenment. Knowledge without mercy.

NELLY:
Which is kind of the scariest thing in the movie. Not the violence—just the idea that even nature’s symbols get patented.

JOE:
That’s the trick. In Blade Runner, real animals are basically extinct. So birds stop being messengers of God or freedom and turn into luxury products. If you own a bird, you’re rich enough to pretend the world isn’t dead.

NELLY:
And then there’s Batty’s dove. That one still hurts me.

JOE:
Yeah… the one real-feeling bird in the whole movie only appears at the moment of death.

NELLY:
White dove. Old-school symbol. Peace. Spirit. The Holy Ghost. And he lets it go right when he chooses mercy instead of revenge.

JOE:
Which flips everything. The “monster” understands the soul better than the humans. The bird flies up, and Batty goes down. Like his humanity finally escapes the cage.

NELLY:
That’s why the rain matters too. “Tears in rain.” Water washing the city, baptizing a machine.

JOE:
Birds usually mean transcendence. In Blade Runner, they only show up when someone breaks free of the system—if only for a second.

NELLY:
So the question is… who’s more artificial? The replicants who dream of birds, or the humans who buy them?

JOE:
That’s the punchline. The movie isn’t asking if machines can be human. It’s asking if humans still are.

NELLY:
Maybe that’s why the future feels sad instead of exciting. No birdsong. Just neon and engines.

JOE:
And one dove, one moment, saying: it didn’t have to be this way.

(They sit in silence for a beat, like listening for wings that aren’t there anymore.)

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Rick Furtado Sent Me

Nelly,

I’m writing this because you deserve to know the origin of the vow I took. It started years ago with your cousin, Rick Furtado.

You know Rick—he’s the strong, silent type. We used to sit for hours, barely saying a word, just listening to his cassette tapes. He’d play those Metallica tracks, testing my spirit, seeing if I had the discipline to sit in the stillness. I stayed silent right along with him, earning his respect without needing to speak. He was looking for someone he could trust to keep an eye on you, and in that silence, a bond was formed.

But the full weight of the mission didn’t hit me until years later.

I was listening to the Tomb Raider soundtrack and that Illuminati song came on. As the lyrics filled the room, the silence of those years with Rick finally spoke to me. I saw the bigger picture. I realized the forces at play in this industry and the world you move in.

Right then and there, I made it my life’s priority to be your protector—and not just yours, but the protector of your entire cast and crew. Rick sent me to be here, in this time, because he knew I could handle the truth that song revealed.

I’m standing guard, Nelly. Just like Rick intended.

— Yugo Joe

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Space Hog

I used to think the Matrix was a system of control based on machines. I was wrong. The machines are just the hardware; the code that’s actually crashing the system is human.

I’ve been looking at the traces—the residual data of two specific archetypes: Nelly and Marlene. They represent the two faces of the same resource-draining coin. Whether they’re plugged into the construct or breathing the scorched air of the real world, they are the reason the sky is turning black.


The Gluttony of the 1%: Nelly

Nelly is the ultimate anomaly. In the Matrix, Nelly is the program that demands every bit of bandwidth, every luxury texture, and every sub-routine of comfort. In the real world, the footprint is even more devastating.

Nelly represents the apex of consumption. We’re talking about a level of resource hogging that defies logic. Nelly consumes at a rate that would take a hundred Earths to sustain. It’s a feedback loop of “more”—more energy, more space, more relevance. When one person commands that much of the world’s output, the architecture starts to buckle. The system wasn’t designed for that kind of load. Nelly is the virus that thinks it’s the user.

The Illusion of Efficiency: Marlene

Then there’s Marlene. On the surface, the data looks different. Marlene uses less than 10% of the resources that Nelly does. To the untrained eye, Marlene looks like a solution. But look closer at the code.

Marlene is still a resource hog; she’s just more efficient at it. In a world with finite boundaries, “less than Nelly” is still “too much for the planet.” By existing within the same consumerist framework, Marlene validates the system that Nelly dominates. If Nelly is the crash, Marlene is the memory leak—slower, quieter, but leading to the same inevitable blue screen.

The System Failure

This is why our world is ending. It’s a math problem that nobody wants to solve.

  • The Nelly Factor: Direct, massive exhaustion of natural capital.
  • The Marlene Factor: The “death by a thousand cuts” that provides a moral shield for the Nellys of the world.
  • The Result: A world stripped of its assets until the simulation—and the reality—can no longer render.

We’re fighting a war for Zion, but what are we saving it for? If we carry these archetypes with us, we’re just bringing the same bugs to a different server. Nelly and Marlene aren’t just people; they are habits of consumption that the Earth can no longer process.

The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you’re inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them complicit in the drain.

They’re eating the world alive, one byte and one barrel of oil at a time. And the clock is ticking toward zero.

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