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I was thinking that If we create an all-knowing, all-wise and all powerful AI, we should probably pay someone to sit next to its electrical plug.
Have you wondered how tomorrow looks
When you've lied about today?
Have you squandered opportunities
When you've refused to play?
Have you sought the possibilities?
Have you broken through the ruse?
Have you shed your limitations
And tried to fill some bigger shoes?


Will you spread your wings to fly
Across the chasm in your life?
Have you shared your closest fears
With the one you call your wife.
Do you long to break the mold
And try to start the day afresh?
Is there courage there to stride out,
Have you the will to make it mesh?


Is there a shade of self-deception,
Is a color bar installed?
Are there feelings of inadequacy
Has your darling not yet called?
Does your flaccid nature falter
When pinned against the wall?
Have you moments of reluctance
To recall it all, at all?


Does it all really matter
That your world is locked within,
That the things which hold you back
Are simply things you revel in?
That the greatest limitations
Are the ones you self-impose,
That the key which locks the door
Is locked outside the door you close?


Marshalg
reflecting@theBach
Mangere Bridge NZ
28 July 2009
This work was, unbeknown to me, adopted and publicly orated before a school assembly in the USA by a High School student with a broken leg.
She wheeled herself across the stage on a skateboard whilst orating...and was rewarded with rapturous applause from her fellow students.
She sent me a video of the occasion....
and, strangely, I couldn't help myself, I wept great tears of gratitude.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
You who are slaves to the small glowing screen
Have to scramble to do just the usual things
Like brushing your teeth and taking a shower.
The lure is stronger than Hash or *******
And it is the lover you sleep with.
ljm
I'm the total other end of the scale. I look at my phone maybe once a day.  It has  no aps and nobody much in the index. I only need it for the codes they send so I can access my bank and other internet accounts, and I'm just fine with my land line and its voice mail. The quintessential dinosaur. Love it.
  Feb 24 Marshal Gebbie
badwords
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."

And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.

But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.

They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.

Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.

So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.

And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
A counter-point mirrored in style to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4983752/good-words-are-clickbait/

The morale of the story is:

try not to dictate creation and by extension freedoms.
  Feb 21 Marshal Gebbie
Sjr1000
There is going to be many moments of love, affection, acts of kindness, charity, recognizing within the hard suffering of others, the melancholy of human vulnerability. Cherishing our brief lives, and the lives of others.

There is going to be startling brutality and violence, the destruction cast by Vesuvis over and over again. Man's version of Natural Disasters. Ways to make human'suffer because their presence is a dangerous annoyance when we are filled with rage full homicidal psychotic delusions of righteousness. Or the strangers are meaningless pawns in the game.

The two currents of human history running to the mouth of the great vacuum sea.
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