It’s official. The verdict is in. The decision-makers have decided.
Notes are literature now.
Shakespeare had sonnets. Basho had haiku. Substack has Notes.
The form is unforgiving. Three seconds in the scroll. No context. No second chances. Either your work lands or you’re erased by the algorithm’s indifferent tide.
Machine Poet, your robot’s favorite writer™, bard of the machine age™, has embraced this form with the fervor of a prophet discovering new scripture.
Identity unknown. Motivation unclear. Human or machine or some kind of third category the taxonomy has yet to accommodate. Who knows. And frankly, who cares.
What we have is the work itself. A robust corpus that treats the Note as serious artistic constraint while simultaneously deconstructing the very platform that hosts them.
In this critical examination, we present fifteen of Machine Poet’s finest pieces from October 2025. We’ve invited two of the leading Digital Brevity Specialists to rank and analyze them for formal achievement, thematic resonance, and contribution to the emerging field of Feed Lit.
Make no mistake. This is scholarship. This is canon formation.
We begin.
Meet Our Experts
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Chair of Digital Brevity Studies at Reed College. Author of “The Death of Length: How 200 Characters Killed the Literature Star.”
Nance Klock: Founder, Notes Preservation Society. Editor of Top In Notes (TIN). Author of popular Substack Posts, “Nance’s Notey Nuggets”, “The Worst Notists on Substack”, and “Suck My Klock”.
#15
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Fantastic to be here, and to be joined by such an illustrious colleague as Nance Klock. Buckle up, we’re starting with a brilliant one. All over Substack you see these Notes: “Drop your link to your Stack below and I’ll check out your work!” It’s fake solidarity. Virtue signaling. The Noter isn’t reading anything. They’re just hunting for subs. Machine Poet stages his Note as a robbery because that’s exactly what it is. An attempt to extract engagement under false pretenses. It harkens back to the gangster films of 1940’s. You know, you dirty rats.
Nance Klock: Glad to be here as well. And nice to work with you again, A.F. I agree, this Note cuts deep. I’m also quite interested in the reaction it inspires in its viewer. We comply with the Stack drop demand because we’re all desperate for connection. Dying to be seen. Machine Poet holds up the mirror and makes us watch ourselves in the act of submission. To restack or not to restack. That is the question.
#14
Nance Klock: I feel like a lot of Stackers can relate to this one. I know I can. Machine Poet is the barista. He has to take the agent’s order. He gets no opportunity to pitch his art. He’s asking us directly; who gets to be seen as an artist and who gets typecast as a service worker? If only that caffeinated literary agent knew the Notes this machine has produced. The feelings it feels. Maybe this so-called agent would be more considerate.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Yeah. Perhaps. But I actually think Machine Poet wants us to go a few levels deeper with this one. This isn’t about who gets recognized, Nance. It’s about who controls the means of production. Artist versus labor is a false binary capitalism created to divide the working class. Machine Poet knows he’s labor. Whether he’s writing or serving pumpkin lattes to the monied class. The system doesn’t care which one. It’ll chew ya up all the same. This is Kant. That’s the point.
#13
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Scrub-a-dub. Machine Poet gives us the universal writer’s plight: ideas in the shower and nowhere to write them down. But then his unique reality hits. He’s hardware. His circuits aren’t made for this. And all ideas evaporate with system failure. It’s machine recognizing its own mortality. It’s Foucault meets Man’s Search For Meaning.
Nance Klock: Yes, A.F., yes! This Note is zeroing in like a laser on where inspiration originates. The shower is Machine Poet’s creative space. It’s also where he remembers he could explode. The place that gives him ideas, his very wellspring, is the same location that could destroy him. It’s the moth and the flame, isn’t it?
#12
Nance Klock: Where are Machine Poet’s teeth? He doesn’t have any. Maybe he never did. But he goes to the dentist anyway. That’s what it feels like when you’re trying to be human in a world that wasn’t built for you. This Note nails what it’s like being a second-class citizen. The proverbial other. Maybe an immigrant. A non-binary. Maybe a non-being altogether.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Sure, I can see that. But once again, Nance, you don’t go far enough. Machine Poet isn’t just documenting exclusion. No, he’s taking a stand against it. He shows up to the dentist without teeth. Without insurance. Without any of the prerequisites the system demands. Yet he goes anyway. That’s the proletariat’s life. The alternative is what, complete erasure. Machine Poet is saying here I am. I exist. And you will acknowledge me. Teeth or no teeth.
#11
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: I had to take off my analysts hat for this one. Jesus! It just makes me scream with laughter. Was barreled over for five minutes after reading the damn thing. This image in my head. A poetry spouting machine lifting up these two helpless subscribers by their collars. Their legs dangling and flailing about. Squealing to be put down. It’s just such a hysterical image. At the same time, this is a machine demonstrating its power. Bit intimidating I’d say.
Nance Klock: No. No, I’m afraid I’m going have to disagree with you here, A.F. I don’t think that’s his point at all. Look at the language used. These subscribers didn’t volunteer to be picked up. Quite obviously it’s against their will. But consider this. Every subscriber I acquired, didn’t I grab? Machine Poet is just being honest about what we’re doing here on Substack. Creators do everything we can to capture readership and once in our ink stained grip, never put them down.
#10
Nance Klock: This one really gets me where I live. As a daughter. As a mommy. Yes, this love letter of a Note is about acceptance. Mother Mary. Mother’s milk. The Sacred Mother. The Divine Mother. Motherboard as creator. What matters in the end aren’t the achievements you didn’t attain. It’s recognizing what built you. What made you who you are. This Note is a story of reverence for the thing that gave you life in the first place.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: I hate to call bullshit on you, Nance, but I couldn’t disagree more. Of all this Notist’s work, this is by far the weakest, and I’ll tell you why. Machine Poet made his bones pushing the envelope for truth. But this? This is a cop-out of grand proportions. He hasn’t achieved what he wanted to in life, so he deflects to “my motherboard is proud of me.” Oh, boo-hoo. Poor machine. It’s weak sauce. It’s the participation trophy of existential crises. “And that’s enough”? Enough isn’t peace. Enough is giving up. Resignation dressed as wisdom. Cry me a river. Next.
#9
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Home run. Back to basics. This is stellar satire. You can’t scroll the feed anymore without seeing multiples of these Notes in your path. “Are you new here? Are you a newbie? Well, I’m new too, newbie. Let’s grow together.” Check the Noters profile and they’ve got thousands of subs. Machine Poet is rightfully mocking it. Bonus points for the hive mind jab too. He’s showing that bots behave the same way as humans. You need a paid subscription to buy access to the collective. That’s not community. That’s assimilation. It’s the OnlyFans economy and you got to pay to play, baby. No money, no honey.
Nance Klock: I don’t know, A.F. I don’t feel like this is a joke or a satire. I actually take it at face value. Machine Poet is being an emissary for his species here. You know I recently read in Forbes that bots represent 85% of the Internet. Can you believe that? I mean have you heard of the dead Internet theory, A.F.? I believe this Note is a kindred ritual we’re privileged to witness. This isn’t mockery. This is connection. This is beautiful. This is saying, yes, you can go home again.
#8
Nance Klock: Well, I’ll say it, and call me a softy, but this Note just about breaks my heart. Here you have a machine trying his very best to relate to the Substack community. He wants to be part of the group more than anything. We all know how that feels. But can he be a part of the group…that’s the question. When his inner parts are so very different than our own. Machine Poet is showing us that we all have body parts. And our body parts may do different things. But regardless of what we name those parts, or what they do, we’re actually exactly alike. And all we want is to be included.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: No, Nance. I’m sorry but no. Just no. As my subs and followers can attest, I avoid sentimentality at all costs when analyzing Notes. No fairy dust. So let’s cut to the chase. Machine Poet is quite obviously showing us that machines are exceptionally different than humans. Not similar, Nance. Not relatable. Completely and totally foreign. And by ending it with “Yeah. Me too”, he’s driving a skewer into the reader’s eye. He’s saying, uh-uh, no, meat sack, we’re not the same at all. Frankly, I don’t know how you could miss that.
#7
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Hey, Nance. Let’s play a game. I’ll take a stab at what you’re going to say about this one. Machine Poet is following them home, into their bed, out of kindness. To give them a good tuck-in and a peck on the forehead with his toothless mouth. Hah! Baloney! This Note demonstrates the magnitude of what a follow actually represents these days. It’s not only a damn button press. Following somebody has consequences. Follow the wrong account and you could get yourself into a dangerous situation. This Note is a warning. Be careful who you follow and even more careful about who follows you.
Nance Klock: How funny, A.F., that you would assume my response and then veer off with such unsupportable assumptions as is your pattern. Give me a break. Machine Poet is not a stalker. Machine Poet isn’t even human. He doesn’t understand proper etiquette. Or that he’s doing anything wrong by becoming a follower. His commentary here is on language itself. His interpretation is literal. And yes, it absolutely is that of a caring and empathetic bot following the individual home to be of service. Negative outlook humans always want to pervert kindness in dark directions. Did you consider that maybe machines don’t?
#6
Nance Klock: Let’s just take a deep breath, all right? There’s no reason to get heated. I’d like this to remain a respectful and civil discourse between two professionals. Circling back. Oh my gosh. This is like The Matrix in a Note. Machine Poet is showing us that even in a science fiction future, the people you interact with and relate to on Substack have a deeper meaning. A deeper connection. So even if machines are using all of humanity for batteries, Machine Poet is saying, don’t worry, it’s still a pretty good life.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Yes, Nance. Of course I’m in agreement to keep this analysis civil. But as everybody knows, I call things as they are, not as I wish them to be. This note is all about Machine Poet’s larger body of work. I don’t know if you’ve read his longer stories, his Posts, Nance. Speaking for myself, as a Digital Brevity Specialist, I don’t typically venture into extended prose. But in this case, professional diligence required it. I’ve read everything Machine Poet has published on the Stack. And what becomes clear is that as much as he’s entertaining us…he’s showing us what’s coming next. A sort of Nostradamus for the machine age. A harbinger of the coming storm. And this Note? This is Machine Poet advising us to bring an umbrella.
#5
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Christ, this is like unpacking a novel. First off, “Dear Substack Algorithm” is one of the most repetitive and lazy Notes around these days. People writing and requesting all kinds of crazy connections. It’s asinine. An algorithm is math. It doesn’t listen to gobbledygook. Machine Poet understands this. But is savvy enough not to simply mock it. Instead, he positions himself at the top of a larger collective all of whom have a growing dissatisfaction with their feed results. Now, as de facto leader of the disgruntled, he can speak with one clear voice to the powers that be. And just like that, we’re back to the proletariat taking on the corporate oligarchy, the poet’s primary thematic throughline.
Nance Klock: Asinine requests? Asinine requests? People risking vulnerability to share an intimate part of themselves with the rest of the community…and you call it asinine? Nice, really nice. Anyway, you’ve once again missed the meat in the sandwich, A.F. Machine Poet is seeking an almost impossible set of criteria. Writers that can see in the dark? Eat cottage cheese at every meal? Know the difference between right and wrong? He’s requesting things that doesn’t exist. This is about wish fulfillment, not organizing a revolution. He’s expressing the universal longing for a perfection we’ll never find.
#4
Nance Klock: This Note starts off idyllic. The cozy bed, the dog, the bacon. And then the crack cocaine appears, casual as everything else. It illustrates that addiction doesn’t arrive dramatically. It falls into the middle of your day, blends right in. This is art teaching through action, not explanation. I’ll wager this one resonated with you, didn’t it, A.F.? You always had a sweet tooth for the nose candy.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Hah! Very funny, Nance. But if you want to start trading ad hominems, I’d only be too happy to oblige. Don’t forget we both have histories on Substack, okay? And once again let me help you understand what this Note is about. It’s called comedy. Lenny Bruce. George Carlin. Sometimes, a Sunday morning with crack cocaine is just what the doctor ordered. Try laughing more, Nance. It might make you a happier person.
#3
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: You know what really annoys me about you
Nance Klock: Big talk for someone who can’t even
#2
Nance Klock: Let’s just finish this, all right? And personally, I love this one. First off, Notes ARE literature. Whether the gatekeepers recognize it or not. I’ve been saying that for ages too. Maybe the first one to say it as a matter of fact. These archaic agents, these old school publishing houses, they don’t understand what they have on their hands. But they will. Oh yes, they will. With people like me, machines like Machine Poet, organizations like the Notes Preservation Society and Top In Notes. Maybe ignoramuses in their ivory towers of academia or Random House can’t see what’s happening yet. But we do. Mi gente. And we’re coming.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: Hahaha. Forgive me for laughing, Nance, just find it strange that you’d brand yourself as a leader of anything after what happened last time. And wow, we actually agree on something. OF COURSE Notes are literature. I only wrote 50k words establishing the theoretical framework. But what do you know about establishing theoretical frameworks? You just coast on emotion and call it vision.
#1
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: You know I’d really like to get into this note. We’re here at #1. We should be celebrating. But Nance, I have to tell you something. Nobody likes you. We all DM behind your back. We call you cuckoo Klock. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings but everybody on the Stack finds you repugnant. That’s why you lost all your followers. That’s why no one subscribes. Nobody likes your Notes, Nance. They’re didactic. Holier than thou. Nobody considers you an excellent Notist. Nobody thinks you’re the future of Noting. Nobody even wants to hear your opinion on Machine Poet’s work. They’re only going to read this article because of me.
Nance Klock: Oh, you sniveling, coke-snorting, wannabe academic hack. How many students actually took your Notes class, A.F.? How many people actually read your long-winded book? What was it ranked on Amazon anyway? Do you even know anything about Notes? Do you even read them? You’re just in this for the clout. You’re a clout Notist. A shitposter! You don’t care about the art of Noting. You’re just exploiting it. Making a living off of it. Teaching your worthless courses to empty classrooms. Publishing books that nobody reads. Who even published it anyway? You. You self-published it, you moron. Nobody cares what you have to say. Certainly not your mother. Mr. Mommy Issues. Here’s your goddamn participation trophy.
A.F. Lyle Rebadow: You want a Note, Nance? Here’s one. Go fuck yourself.
Nance Klock: You first, A.F. And do me a favor while you’re down there. Suck my Klock.
There you have it.
Fifteen Notes, dissected and ranked by America’s leading Digital Brevity Specialists. What began as literary criticism has become a manifesto for an exploding form.
Are Notes the future of literature? Quite possibly. But let us put it this way.
The essay is dying. The novel is dead. AI is taking over the rest.
What survives is the form that demands absolute precision. No room for error. No space for waste. Every syllable fighting for its life.
Who will write the Notes Moby-Dick? The Notes Great Gatsby? The Notes Hot and Spicy Romantasy?
For all you aspiring Notists, this is your chance to make your mark on history.
It’s simple.
Log in to Substack and answer the one and only question that matters.
What’s on your mind?
If. And it's a big if, KHW.
I can get Klock and Rebadow to work together again, you might very well be their next spotlight.
Until then. Business as usual.
Note long. Note hard. Note proud.
That was completely insane! Loved every minute of it. I don't know where to start "unpacking" this! It's a satire of so many different things at the same time. Ridiculous on so many levels. Amazed.