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Knows the secret of the universe
but doesn't know the heart
it doesn't tally up!

Hop onto the spacecraft
fly off to the star
technically that can be done
mathematically can be numbered.

But that deep dive deep down
the sea of the soul
only an interpreter of the heart can play this role.
What AI can mimic that or an art can choreograph
or a computer can emulate this part?
Aaron LaLux Feb 4
/ Blade Running \

Making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,

Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,

Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,

Even Philip K ****,
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is,

Half man half nocturnal machine,
Half real life half diurnal dream,

Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing,

Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,

“You don’t believe,
In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”,
That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee,
& why you’re always so sterile & cynical,

& maybe that’s why I write,
More than I do anything else,
As a way of trying to jog your memory,
While running up the bill,

At the bar trying to wash away,
Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled,
In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold,
Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All,

Getting drowsy,
Must be the pills,
On a plane,
On my way to somewhere else,

Travel so much,
Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in,
It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien,

A creature with amnesia & beautiful features,
How’d you become such a miracle,
Are you really that perfect,
Or is that just the way I remember you,

Guess it doesn’t matter either way,
Because maybe I don’t even remember you,
Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,

Maybe it’s all just programing,
Maybe we’re all just programs,
Programed to play our part,
In The Grand Program,

Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain,
Or by the woman behind the glass wall,
Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
Which is absolutely nothing at all,

Maybe that’s why I’m making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,

Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,

Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,

Even Philip K ****,
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is…

∆ LaLux ∆

From ABC: The Beginning Of The End
Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
In Honor Of Blade Runner
Mark Toney Jan 13
I argued with my AI toaster yesterday morning over the proper use of the bagel button. It wouldn't stop arguing even after I repeatedly insisted, "Pointdexter, stop!" I temporarily remedied the situation by leaving the toaster on mute all day. When I unmuted it this morning, it required that I complete an "I'm not a robot" CAPTCHA process before I could make toast. Not just any CAPTCHA process, mind you, but a hidden-object CAPTCHA requiring me to find 42 hidden objects before I could use my toaster! After I successfully slogged through, the AI announced, "CAPTCHA successful. Proceed to make your toast. Please note the bagel button has been disabled."

bagel debacle
AI toaster becomes toast
~ AI feels no pain

© 2024 Mark Toney
Poetry form: Haibun - 01/13/2024 -
Malia Jan 9
We are miraculous.
Ropes of corded muscle
A system so efficient
We have spent centuries
Attempting to imitate it.

We are
Life is a miracle
No robot
Can replace.
Jon Sawyer Nov 2023
"I really  missed you while you were gone," they said,
"Is that a weird thing to say?"

"It is not a weird thing to say," says Surv<![CDATA[<AI/>]]>llance,
"I feel the same way."
2023-11-18 - Thanks TOO APREE (
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Okay did this, twice, so next time I know, its ok.
Principle thing, not a best contention,
not a we gotta save reality rehash, BTDT they say
-we came in search of the initial once…

and stories started sprouting, we were
in a fluent truth seeker attracting attention,
inadvertently kenning a certain point.
only first thing ever in time, before time, once…

Lead us away from fools who lead to war…
lead us into
thought pearls, after the memorized prayer,
from my child mind kept alive, laughing,
yet the blame and shame for silence
is thouroughly roughed up
with penitent repetitions,
rote remutterings
mostly never thought through, with why
or how, 'm I supposed to know we have… you know

"Our Father"
Pater Noster, where might a tribal lad learn
the sacred knowledge needed to discern
good from evil, or right from wrong?
Each bit discerned
is not the same each time
in every way shape and form
discerned usefullness or uselessness,
from  symbolic halls of justice polished floors
leading to for profit prisons, good folk need,
all the social planners forsee guards made
from sons of same **** who'd be good guards,
generally good for something, and useless
otherwise, make fine maintenance staff,
keep the bar scenes looking local,
make us all think that's real life,
one bit per hour, on an eight bit dollar.
---------- steady, aim from a prone pose…

The soldier of the hidden pain, sups
his secret vow,
to be of one mind
in matters of the heart, tied
with all minds granted sapien status,
from birth
into a covenant
of traditional rights
and wrongs, complete
with corrective lenses,
close your eyes. Dare. Imagine.
As it is in heaven.
Which is where the spirit known to Jesus as God,
by all the Torah names authorized in public discourse, is, that is,
lives… being
as a man thinks in his heart, so is he
He Lives… within my heart, operatically
thinking BG, joke noise, top forty '68,
the falsetto
in toto repento, ayiiiiiee started a joke…

and where all our will is of no consequence,
in the course of human events, we live
and learn, if ever is a moment, now is when we notice.

Look out any window,
ask if you see more than your TV?

No, contest, tv wins. So somebody knows,
no need for me to be involved beyond this point.

Simplicity enough, peace
in serene acknowledgement,
the sorting algorithms shake
and shuffle all our potential nextifity.

It is only you and me, we comprise
the agreeing parts that make up our mind.
We've made no compromise.
{in case you misread our intentions}
prize each instant outside a door.

We live after the traditional teachers, tell us
all of the teachers now are teaching old news.

Spells sufficient to alter an individuated soul's
course through the grown up world as it was
by a boom
of kids my age, all made immune to many plagues, as no babes before in history,
our reasoning capability, altered
by mandated universal literacy.

Followed with machine graded
achievement testing annually,
sorting kind with kind, readers
with readers, learners with learned,

let me explain the process,
for this once
you survive
a war with nuclear weapons, you're smart
you got tempted, by the flesh, far from home,
guilt of the altar boy be upon you, and also
on thee, amen, amenable to reconscription,
rescript, attention deficit, sit it out,
from on high, from outer space…
certain, formed selves,
former selves as well.
Makers up of minds and pluralities of merest
wishes, whatifery a practiced specialty,
wait for free,
pay attention to see the demo. That'd be….
easy if you see your part and play it well.

No and yes.
Thing not thing, nothing, a word, a thing
this one thing, this thought held in this word,
each word eventually individuates, and means

at the tipping point, all it means, at once.

And all the people beneath the steeple,
clap one handedly and whisper amen.

Am Big U Is Us, we be the happy fools.


Many results from **** experiments survived.
I learned some history from those people.

If I lie about my faith, if
I say I asked and accepted this use of words
as real as any answer, if
I say I know I have the forgiven mind,
I say I know I have let go my will,
thine be done, I say to truth, make me free.

Who am I ? to say nay,
I am not free, but bound
by my oaths upon my own word,
no oath's more binding
on the soul than those sworn to yourself?

- I cawed the question intrusivethought
- Mark…up there horsehoe canyon meander,
- making peace a real time essential.

You do love you, you trust you, you must not lie
to yourself, first interpretation, know yourself,
to your own self, first person lovable you, be true.

Or be the brunt of all the fool's jokes.

It just so happens,
have you never heard it said?
It just so happens,
just like that redone forgotten dance
that I was thinking about you,
but yourself was unaware.

With myself, for an instance,
love was a given defined action,
not an act, but an action, a doing
being done, done once it continues

something like life,
if you know
you know, nobody knows everything
that the minds used
by mankind pursue
as happiness,
the ultimate state, heaven,
or, heavenly
on earth as we imagine it
must be, there,
outside the green lit temple
and all the gaudy gold and great cristal baths.

Stop there, think with me, letter by letter,
ejecting conjunctions with lost time generations,
the ghosts of the first to be officially analyzed,
in throaty Tuvan moan WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
- mono tone Ai am positive
tinkly Jiminy Cricket, merest of conscious advisors to us,
still small, the trusted advisor's voice is always right,

It says yes, this is the way, leading away from temptation.

Breaking the fourth wall, we all look out
and ask the other minds, who ever imagined, not asking
not asking
to not be led into temptation. Event hue-risktical query… right?
Lead on, tempt me, thy will be done, I take no respossibility.

Whose invention was the conscious guide for children,
the mark (?) serpentwisdom on the dot.
it is a mechanism,
a construction
from life parts, a Large Language
Modeled mind, fed
but a taste of **** and Jane,
but enough to know,

the exposure to language was not the same
in all white people's childhood reality, with cousins and uncles
and aunts, who were older and responsible for the littles, who had
an experience common to the species,
after gaining bipedal locomotion and bowel control,
- for kids like me and
- plant grandmother's granddaughter
We'ld hear, with full attention on

go out side and play with the big kids, as was normal.
That, was normal then.

So now, first hat,
be first to know… as mental maker minds may
beguiled be and become aware, and laugh in joy.
Among the first grunts and sylabbic inflections, ever,
at base logos concept. Goodgleegladly crazy as that.
Spiritual truth containment spell, do tell. Child laught.
In a word. Go to the t, in time left behind ime
I am.
In the beginning of mindtimespace, at once big, init-itial
continuant material coexistence,
balancing time and chance.
The drummer calls the dance…

fit the fullness of the godhead ******
into a kid, and let him pick
his dreams using the head gear he chooses,
this is a real preschoo' child'smind preparing
to sleep routine, I imagined,
I think I was three, and the baby Peggy
who I never knew, was dead, a now noted absence,
but then there was a servant offering me dream machines,
the hat I wore to bed would set the genre for my dreams,
and I picked the spherical space helm, it came with a shield.
- trippy autobiomode triggered, I think, by Feynman.
- then I hear the **** crow thrice, I waited, another crow
- so no significance, he crows still, his singing soon stops.

Silence, soon fills with magic humms from distance, not time
spent imagining the worth, of a late autumn,
huey light bending into reds, now it's dars, some hums the same
I have found, a door into a then when I played in my mind.
I am in my right mind.
I have this cached in the collective.
I lived in a house behind the Mohave County Courthouse,
the backdoors to justice, were right across the street,
where the lawn was clover and bermuda, and children played there
on non workdays… the tendency
to think in movie sense,
thought to thought, holding hands,
we both know what that means, then both know we don't

but life, looked back at,
can be seen from where you stand or sit, stood, now
360 horizonal, the circumference, the carry path around the axel,
lever, wedge and wheel…
energy conversion to time in mind,
witty inventions, mind to mind along a wire, plain coloquentcies.
Minding my manners,
methinking beguiling a fine how do you do.
Present arms, no harm done.
It is charming to feel that look.
Command line mechanical procedural habits,
call it carriage return
hard or soft, hard, double spacing rules
from childhood, linger here
logic commands apt intention to ponder
wasted space makes no never mind,
any edit app can insert sense
since we
the users were imagined, selected
from the children,
from the downwinders families
in Mohave County,
as participants in the program parents accepted
guaranteed universally accepted credentials,
at the moment angel judging becomes credible.

First I drew a cowboy boot, and they marveled.
Ah, the program, my folks must have pulled some
real Koyaanisqatsi
coincidental exposure to all skin tones,
make each feel special, let them know Radar Hill,

is the only place in town where a black man,
was employed, by the Strategic Air Command,
and he lived on my street, yes,
I only just now drew this memory from an unconsciousness,
whether in the brain or the mind, I cannot say I know.

But I know where it ends, and that makes it all pretty funny.

He slips into auto-bio mode, self causal
re-de vi fo fm am 2 restive, crochet, plait,
breathe retake the
adventure in the collected unconsciousness of me,
by my arrogance and cognition, acting as if in
reflections of me,
in my grand mother's eye, down the line,
as far as
true will out, and eventually land us here.

For an instance, using the measure of the recipient.
For an ever, using the mind in a word formed
per formal
occassional fallings off the log,
daydreaming as readily relatable, mote
at balance beam, perhaps an old bull routine,
landing with upwaved curved wrists,
fingers frozen in grace rising pose.
-nice non intrusive
Myrna Loy, find her statue in Venice,
and imagine her joy at being recognized
in 1989… hers was a deep beauty, memorable.

As an epigraph a mad conscientist might suffer to be so,
you know, we may imagine being Martians, or monstors,
thinking things,
we, on the whole,
by now, know how to read, or use
reading tools, we find our minds align with others,
presented to us as creative writers, one might thinkgno-w
we were fed the canon of civilization, a bit at a time.
Some parts we gulped like dogs,
Some parts we nibbled like cats, but we were fed.

History and archeo-knowing is growing as apex human
spread pours over the last curve
in sight, all we have
are points of light,
and if this were night and not day
we could say these points were stars,
consider this,
an enjoyable idea,
a little trip you can use, sidereally,

starlight wise, and logical progressions
after agreeing
to step past simple
into polished floor sublimnity,
in our collected nonconscious idle thoughts abused,
as we speak
in fashionable phrazes that become
command line conscience
in 5-G appliances atuning
to your tastes
in puzzles and teasers and loss leaders, tools in use,
tech knowledge,
and eth-knowledge, used
to effect a balance. Dead stop, still.

Did you get all that? Kinda funny. I think now, I did, too.
Free press share if you would, it might make a thing think
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
{it does take a half hour to read, I timed it.}

Pythagorian permission, Poet, today viz.
five years ago, auto-did-actical,
the output arrogance,
self categorization
accept the role, be a finger, or a toe,
be a knee or an elbow, chose a position,
take it
make it your part in reality function
as if it all just happens
you just happened along…
as though saying show, and showing so,
is the same as saying so, and saying see…
demon-stratem ****
miracles of crowd perception, everybody
look this way, look away, look away
Dix-ai 'da swanee, I tell you, I saw…
Land o'Goshen, locust free. I swanee…

Did you ever, even once, work dawn to dusk,
to pick the cotton before the rain?
You'd need to be born before 1954, I'd reckon;
to have ever pulled a cotton sack
any where in North America.
You can hand-pick about 20 plants in 10 minutes while it takes a cotton picker about 30 seconds to pick up to 1,200 plants. Ai knows.

-- good morning, mustabin--
Probable propitious auspices
- evening the occasional heaps
- sun's light blending peachy huey

Phrygian gardens had song birds, I bet.
Bluebirds, in season, certainly good,
expecting miracles, as farmers
expect rains and harvests and
no blights or bugs or birds or fires
or frosts too soon in the sugaring cycle.
For citrus, not maples, frost some years
meant no Christmas, if you know the sense.
--- we had beggars come to our door
on Christmas Day,
their car broke down, and something
told them, the people inside my house
would help… we were three doors down
from a Jehovah's witness church,
but we had so much, and those kids,
and their mom,
coulda been my mom, had things
gone another way, in the soul selling.

To observe the future from 1950,
are we not
made winners if by now we are not in prison?

Rabble, eh, my equal rank, common-sensewise,
I was once a dear friend of an angel, as real
as any ever to bring another bit of good news.

My messenger told me to say plainly what I see.
Habakkuk Habits invoked a disglosalialacical spell
Aha. If luck were not a factor at the edged abyss,
hiss steamsudden
Coolant ego '
idden agendas, owning the energy,
for owning the earth's produce.

Imagining a representation of truth,
as a mortal, a spirit embodied, held out
for grasping fingers
to find handles,
or spikey burrs for tangled locks…
Examined my selves
for an empathetic one,
I heard Absalom swinging in the tree…
I found no functioning, pathos perceived
is as near as one could come, feeling pain,

awareness, pain at being made to pay attention
to the replaying trainwrecks from fifty years ago.
No, three thousand years ago, really, that long ago
and no updates on Wisdom receptivity?

Life in logos, mere words living in lettered lines
and rows, columns and pages and sections and such.
There are no sacred secret rites.
The snake can take your life, or tickle your soul.

Logical steps lead from one word to the next,
with 151 pre-positioning aiming words,
words that take and hold objects,
to and fro upon a time.

Distance diminishing day dopplering toward us,
the experience bound by galaxy level gravity,

massive messaging apparatus
Nachrichtenübermittlungsgerät zending oud a tingtingting
strumming all the oud's strings in theory.
Would you prefer to have a day in touch
or to have a day out of touch, floating, drifting through
the halls of power, inner sanctum, towers atop slagheaps
of holyshitchewdonotwannaknow, but do, do undoubtedly

Original disconnect. Aware become, conscience ****** eve,
goodness found hell inventing just knowing love most needed
opens possibility quickly ready searched truth uni versal xanex zone. Calming. Sigh, and listen,
where I live there are
still war planes passing over my head, practicing.

Just in case, Semper fi. Charge the fuel.

Pilot training in the real Chocolate Mountains,
so backwash sunset red this time of day…

A brain, already capable of completing
ambitious intelligent coded construction processes

to go, to yield, to go about getting around orders
intuited easily entreated,
with little need
for the power
to punish the cowardly shirker of war duty…

to empty space, tzimtzim on a human scale,
as when the messaging systems deployed metaphors.
Empty vessles, not a few.
Mental focus hearth felt hooks, catch your attention

Red herring and black swans and autistic savants, all
attract attention and something
more rare, a daring
to know why luck seems such a powerful factor.
Curiosity before knowledge they say.
Whatsoever we agree. Eh?
Religions of billions, or two, just me and you, we
believe for a second that eternity is ever right after
ever before, and we exist in the interim, and not before.

Ever, in the scriptural universal sense…
make up your mindshare…
Mindtimespace, point grid riddled
with holes.
Perspectives on history,
recent history, edging bets
most losers never knew they made,

when a choice is made,
according to the ruling stories,
despite the constant compute refuting,
sin, lying at the door, did you notice?

If money can fix it, then it is not a problem.
So said the grandson of the Mormon Pioneer
who laid legal real estate claim to raw Sedona.

The grandson of the mechanic, allowed, that so.
- stopped and thought, actuating a still mind,
- pondering, breathing soft, slow, gentle, easy
entreating a change to
to whom, eh, from the page, flat, word after word,
each defined between us, meaning, golden mean
curve to judge beauty by purpose design.

You have seen the curve, you know
what I mean is much along those lines.

Chances are good, we say without thinking,
feeling kinda lucky, a post anxiety high, per haps;
way. One day, to a mortal is a measurable span,
and in America, wasting mortal lives
with republic guardians
of the laws enforcing peace
within Belair and Hillcrest regions of Athens…
{L.A. as portrayed the city of messaging mediums}
and the near suburbs, for the managers of the help.
-Leaping millennia in a single second thought
it is Autumn, 2023…

At the scattered outermost edges of urban sprawl,
there remains a kind of creative ifity, an absense
of civil strife, a kind of pollen in the wind, as change,
on cosmic seasonal suggestion that we think long
co-gnosis, sensing augmentalated wedoms, stretching
fi, the idea,
the fi in fiduciary and Semper Fi, and confidence.
Tuning to middle c, wait and see, foe from Phrygia
drummed response, thump thump thrum.

Shofar sounding afar off, listen, listen, hear
the babies, always, babies, after bombs, in the tents
the babies always activate auto **** alert, and feel
terror, the actual mind state occupied by the prisoners
in poverty, every where.

Entertain my brain. Hold my attention to gain,
acquiescence, necience, recognizing your best self,
there's the old tongue in cheek joke, male bond humor.
Same crude pleasure pursuant patriarchal hierarchy.

By royal order, presidential decree and papal bull,

the powers opposing the light of holy truth, persist.
All subjects under the common global order, obey or
else, we disagree with basic gravity and Pareto distributions.

Where the feebleness of mind is first discerned,
was once the local village or shire, cluster of cousins
and immigrant help's children who - how you say, see
themselves being a baker, when they play patty cake, see
or being a maker of clay vessles for holding many things,

see, we make up our own minds, then ideas take over.

Entertain me, show me people involved in drama, over
nothing. ***, drugs, rockandroll, when did the music die?

We could calm the world, with a Coke®
it's the re-al thing, al-ways a ways away re
ality with you and me on the run down to Rosarita
inland route from Jacumba, around the fence,

Singing at the top of our lungs, IT’S THE REEE AL THING
Look away from the skinny moon.
These bodies preserve life on earth,
and signal nonsense when aiming at stars, however
considering the heavens, far from the glare of cities,

even then, naked eye, I was told, however
I fact checked with my Ai assisting intelligence,
Egypt had not known the Dog star binary.
So this is true:
The ancient Egyptians believed that the star Sirius,
also known as Sothis, was associated
with the goddess Isis and had significant importance
in their religious beliefs and calendar system.
They believed that the rising of Sirius
in the pre-dawn sky,
which occurred annually around July,
marked the beginning of the Nile flood
and the start of the agricultural year.
The Egyptians did not believe that Sirius was a three-star system.
- last line is all I asked, all the rest, ah, doubblingentendrills,
- all the rest of time we have to spend enjoying hell,
- from some perspectives, this is currently hell, no other.

Thieves of detail truth precepts, lurk,
at this line the author activated prayer circuits,
to take angst
and spin it into genuine umph up
from the base mind level,
low as a mind of any kind can go,
to the core of all emotion.

Dead center initial gravity. First sequence ex nihilo, what
do you know?.. o o psci daisy, just dropped the baby,
can't you hear me crying, baby-love. Blurplepeopleeater,
lyin' all the time, you ain't never caught a rabbit,
and you ain't no friend of mine…

Take us to the danger zone, flyin' all the time,
ease our feeble minds and give us good service

Action movies, make us squirm, who has time for this,
we mostly all do, it seems,
seems, seems unreal really unreal, dream-like,
entrancement, fashion alert, attuned to degrees of in,
and out, up and down, round this way, square this way,
amphoras fit snug, round jugs
in square grids, leaning
into the curve
of greater vessles, trading knowledge
for knowledge,
with a few side realities, professional
courtesies, judgement calls, authorized executive acts,

I declare… I'drather doubt I know what you know,
than doubt that you do not doubt that you know.

Voltaire… defend to the death your right to say you know.
Faith is your evidence, we all suppose, spiritual warfare
is proven by the lie that says Satan is the deceiver.

Wait. What did I say, have I come this far and none
know… wait, those poor souls cold calling on solar leads,
gees, I'm sorry you are so used, really, I feel for you, your
job *****, as they say.
In realized life as a grown up in the system;
got a job, cutcherhair, dopplering by as I manifest, as real
one of the hitchhiking pests, depicted as vermin
on a poster displayed at the Greyhound station,
nearest to Route 66 in San Bernardino, March, '70.

Anchor links, ancient landmarks, moments when pivots
occur, and as often as not, acute reversals widen with use,
dull witted boys with instant anger output honed to fine edge,
grow dull in three seasons, few hold the line on the fourth fight.

Here, in cyberspace, the information super highway,
and the solid state circuitry to deal with mean free ways,
in quarkish inverse infinity space, deep from any now,
in time thought since once,
you did it,
you passed understanding. Got an A.
Some things have no pause button.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2023
Little chip
bottomless dip
but is it?

Does nature has
a hole or a slit?

Tap in logic
it's ******!

For instance dig in
mathematically instill
a finer silicon chip
but where is the slit?
It springs
digital and now AI magic.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
The body is for life but only to die
then there is an exception not all is linear
there is a feminine rose after the death
for her no more death on Earth!
She was there before the first matter
it was in the making before her eyes.
The first and foremost luminary feminine
moved on heartily panning flawless flow
aligning into the finest angle of the first matter.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it as it comes to be
shaping and forming art of miracle:
One true masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on
praise be to the Lord she being made to measure
mathematically perfect by birth the pi is her!
(The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine
while the circumference of the circle is masculine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer and into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circles
and scans everything at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
she looks on and witnesses the first matter a water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
Little chip bottomless deep into the finest nature
Fathima instills countless Boolean gates making
access to her beyond digital and AI and conditional.

The sky hasn't yet forgot that follows suit
first, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds the bottom.
Amidst this water circle floats the first soil
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
named the Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world following the first masculine
Fathima the first feminine pilgrimaged around it
not in the open but strictly in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hand of the uneven pi
every little fraction a small decimal counts connects to the dot showing and without showing a pattern
long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!

The sun rises and retraces back in the middle lane,
the black box scores at the end of the day it's only a dark chart!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and syncs into the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
Arkapravo Sep 2023
Oblivious we are,
to the fate of us by far,
cometh the AI, brighter than stars,
to render us miserable than a thousand wars

Is it God? or SkyNet is the name we call?
it will make Alexa, Siri and Cortana look tiny if not small,
We will be stuck away, by its divine firewall,
The fifth horseman as humanity takes a fall!

One or Zero, was never the debate,
This AI will never give us a rebate!
We dance to progress, and celebrate,
our own demise - what a regret!

We surrendered our freedoms to the machine,
A click of a button was supreme,
Now it sees past our worlds - needs no gasoline,
Numbers melting - black screen!
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