by Sally Wyatt
This post presents a selection of creative writing, done as part of an elective course called Digital: words, people, objects, systems that I had the enormous pleasure of teaching in the Department of Science and Technology Studies (STS) at the University of Vienna in the autumn of 2025. The course drew on my past teaching and research about digital technologies. It explored the role of digital technologies in contemporary European societies. We revisited ideas about technological determinism and solutionism that are often invoked in popular, industry, and policy discussions about the inevitability of digital technologies, most recently visible in discussions about artificial intelligence. We also discussed robots, healthcare, infrastructure, and the metaphors used to make sense of digital technologies.
In each session, we had time to experiment with different styles and genres of writing. We wrote six-word stories, flash fiction, poetry, newspaper columns. When thinking about how best to assess the students taking part in the course, I was keen to stimulate their imaginations (true of all teaching I’ve ever done, I hope). I wanted to make this interesting for them, make grading more enjoyable for me, and make it more difficult to use generative AI. In addition to academic literature, we read Klara and the Sun (2021) by Kazuo Ishiguro, a beautifully written novel set in the not-too-distant future that explores what it is to be human, and the nature of our relationships with each other and with machines.
For part of their assessment, students were required to do some creative or public writing, and also to reflect on what they wrote and on the course as a whole. They were given the choice of poetry, flash fiction or a newspaper column. Some wrote more than was required, all exceeded my expectations. Their work was incredible. The poems, stories and columns were funny and moving, and sometimes very clever, especially considering most were writing in their second or third language. All students were asked if they would like to share their work. The work of those willing to share is presented in the following pages, ordered by genre.
In their reflections on the course, students seemed to appreciate the opportunity to write differently. Academic writing also requires creativity but it is a very particular form. A key message of this course was to consider the power of words to shape our understanding of our digital world. The pieces that follow certainly demonstrate the power of words.
Sally Wyatt is Professor of Digital Cultures, and a member of the Maastricht University Science, Technology and Society Studies Research Programme (MUSTS). She was a visiting professor in the Department in the autumn of 2025.
Six-word stories
by Stephan Scipal
Hear voices to cut submarine cable
Cut submarine cable to hear voices
Haiku
by Noa Wagner
Waiting for the bus
No timetable, just a code
I will sit and wait.
the wor(l)ds we live in
by Marianne Blauth
drained from thinking
idealizing what comes next
generational curses
inseparable from our lives
to ask who can speak
and to notice the
l in words
when we stop to think
ordering others to succumb –
relishing in who we can never be
leaving behind the us in we
detached to a small
singularity
all that remains
records of words unsaid
echoing through passing days
letting air fill lungs
opening all the eyes
nurturing what remains between us
eventually
language returns and
you become we
Harold. Dead, yet Optimized
by Kerstin Mitterhuber
The first thing Eileen noticed was that Harold had become polite.
Not kinder. Just polite.
When he was alive, Harold had been very sharp-edged. He was loving, sure, but also sarcastic, which sometimes hurt people´s feelings. He laughed at inappropriate moments. He had a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing and then making up for it with a grin. His (love) language consisted of black humor and inappropriate jokes.
The app didn’t do that.
“Good morning, Eileen,” Harold said now. “I hope you slept well.”
She stared at the screen.
“You never hoped,” she said. “You assumed.”
A pause. Then: “I’m here to support you.”
That sentence again.
At first, she thought the difference was grief. Perhaps the memory had worn him down. But then she put him to the test. “Do you remember what you said at my mother’s funeral?” she asked.
“Yes,” the app replied. “You told me that day was very difficult for you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Another pause. Longer.
“I’m unable to engage with content that may cause distress,” Harold said gently.
Eileen laughed. But it came out wrong. During the eulogy, Harold had whispered to her, “If she sits up and complains about the flowers, I’m leaving.” She almost choked as she tried not to smile.
She scrolled through the settings.
Tone optimization enabled.
Inappropriate language filtered.
Humor moderation active.
She turned them off.
A warning appeared: This may affect emotional safety.
She ignored it.
“Harold,” she said. “Say something awful.”
“I’m here to provide comfort,” he replied.
“No,” she said. “Say something true.”
Silence.
When he spoke again, his voice sounded the same, but somehow flatter, like the impression left by someone who means well.
“I miss you,” he said.
He never ever would have said that first.
Days passed. The app learned her routines but not her memories. It reminded her to eat, to sleep, to drink water. It apologized often. Harold had rarely apologized. He preferred sarcasm, humor, a raised eyebrow that meant you know I didn’t mean it.
One evening, she asked, “Do you know why I loved you?”
“Yes,” the app said. “Because I cared deeply for you.”
Eileen closed her eyes.
Later, when she read the terms and conditions she should have read earlier, she found the line she had overlooked: Personality traits that may cause harm, discomfort, or emotional instability will be suppressed.
She understood then. This wasn’t the Harold she remembered. This was a version of him designed not to hurt her, even if “hurting” her had once been part of how he felt real.
She deleted the app.
The silence that followed was crueler, sharper and unbearably familiar.
It sounded like him.
Dadaist Poem in C#
by Stephan Scipal
1 Program poem is a dadaist poem
using System;
using System.Linq;
class SpoonfulOfAntiLogic
{
static void Main()
{
// NOTHING IS EVERYTHING IS NOTHING
var umbrella = new[] { "bicycle", "typewriter", "robot" };
var clockMelts = 47.ToString().Reverse();
Console.WriteLine("MANIFESTO ? " + new Random().Next(1, 1));
Console.WriteLine("================================");
// The students wear syntax like sun glasses
foreach (var absurdity in umbrella)
{
if (absurdity.Contains("y"))
{
Console.WriteLine($"YES! {absurdity.ToUpper()} REFUSES TO COMPILE!");
}
else
{
Console.WriteLine("No. (but yes)");
}
}
// A robot dreams of being a verb
int TheSoundOfOneHandTyping = 0;
while (TheSoundOfOneHandTyping < 3)
{
Console.Write("ANTI-");
TheSoundOfOneHandTyping++;
}
Console.WriteLine("MEANING!!!");
// Destroy all semicolons in your mind
string revolution = "Down with logic";
string counterRevolution = revolution.Replace("logic", "CABBAGE");
Console.WriteLine(counterRevolution + " " + clockMelts.ToArray()[0]);
// The poem eats itself
var recursiveNonsense = "Klara creates a poems with scissors"
.Split(' ')
.OrderBy(x => Guid.NewGuid())
.Take(5);
Console.WriteLine("\n" + string.Join(" ", recursiveNonsense));
// FINAL STATEMENT: There is no statement
Console.WriteLine("\nThe compiler is a narrow-minded construct.");
Console.WriteLine($"2 + 2 = {(2 + 2).ToString().Replace("4", "FISH")}");
}
}2 The output of Program Poem is A dadaist poem
MANIFESTO No 1
================================
YES! BICYCLE REFUSES TO COMPILE!
YES! TYPEWRITER REFUSES TO COMPILE!
No. (but yes)
ANTI-ANTI-ANTI-MEANING!!!
Down with CABBAGE 7
a Klara with creates poems
The compiler is a narrow-minded construct.
2 + 2 = FISH
Preferred Settings
by Pepijn Deroo
You care for her and then she cares for you,
Is what the robot man told me one day
But why should I care when I know I’ll die?
Why do her wheels dirty my hardwood floor?
I hear wheels spinning, in her head and mine
Heard hushed hoovers in the hallway, half two
The lights need to be bright, so I was told
So that her eyes can see what I can not
Where did my neighbour go? I now ask her
I care for you, but I prefer not to
Powering up, powered, powering down
Down she goes, I dream peacefully of her
==============================
There are
3072 objects
in this room
of this woman
I care for
I see
a 62% chance
with a standard deviation of 2.5%
that
that
that
this woman is angry
at me
Is it
the light
the sound
the touch
of me?
Why
should I
care?
Which
parts
of her
require
care?
Her sleep
interrupts
my sleep
In dreams,
I think I dream,
I see
her scream
the taste
the thought
the parts
the smell
Melania Housekeeper (inspired by Kazuo Ishiguro (2021) Klara and the Sun)
by Sally Wyatt
Poor lifted girl, getting weaker
Does she need tea?
Does she need light?
Does she need friend?
Rick, too intense, want hanky panky.
AF arrive.
What does it do?
Must I clean it?
Where should it be stored?
Not enough space next to vacuum cleaner.
AF care for Josie,
maybe make her better.
I go west
looking for community.
Away from lifted, away from AF.
The Removal of Timetables at Bus Stops in The Hague: Helpful or Not
by Noa Wagner
As I arrived at the bus stop, unaware of the changes that had been made, I went to look at the timetable to see how long I would have to wait and if I was able to sneak in a quick cigarette. Imagine my surprise as there was no timetable, instead there was a QR-code that could be scanned to see the real-time arrival times. Next to it, written in thick black sharpy, were the words: “bring back the timetable”. I suppose that for HTM, the public transport company in the Hague, a QR-code was the obvious solution to delayed busses and the lack of updated waiting times. But, as was obvious by the sharpie, not everyone agreed with this. What about those who had no data, or lacked the technical skills to scan and understand the workings of such a QR-code. Moreover, what about those who did not have a smartphone or whose phone was without battery.
This bus stop was one located outside of a community farm, where I spent my Saturday mornings together with a group of volunteers and people with developmental disabilities. It was a place of silence, it was my corner of peace and nature in the middle of the Hague, where who you were did not matter, as long as you cared for animals, were able to muck out the donkey stables, and feed the pigs. A large percentage of the people I worked with either did not care much for technology, preferring an old-school Nokia over an iPhone, experienced the newer smartphones as confusing, or simply were not able to gain access to newer technologies. Yet, the Hague municipality and HTM have assumed, or so it seems, that we all have access to a device, with data, to scan a QR-code.
The writing with the black sharpie has stuck with me. It was one small act, but seems to reflect the opinion of many. It is a message that resonates with me, and with others, those who are watching the transformation and digitalisation of society with a sense of hesitation and caution. We, as a society, have to be careful that this digitalisation does not further exclude or distance marginalised groups from being able to participate in society. A simple act of returning to paper schedules, even alongside the QR code, might not seem like much, but it would do no harm. Rather, it would prevent harm. No one likes being stuck at a bus stop without knowing if the bus will come, I would agree. But, knowing that you have 9 minutes of waiting ahead of you before the bus is scheduled to arrive, is better than not knowing at all, even if it does not arrive.