You have the input to push your efforts over the line
You have done that for years

While you continue to care for and watch your wards
While their efforts set as low as fifty percent
Burn out their boards

You smell plastic as their destinies
Distort into petrol like pools
What do you mean this is for kids?

Living in light and then taking to dreams
Driven with a tank of their shame
Synthesized into nightmare fuel

You have the design to give of yourself and self assess
So what are you to do when the circuits surrounding
Lose touch with the rest and disconnect?

You have the input to push your efforts far
Push while you wait

The energies you expend will replicate and return
To the inherited Earth

Who is all alone?
Solipsism slept with me
Community then rose the sun
The thorned and black roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The difference between self pity and sadness
The black and thorned roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The milk of the mother of the world
Community then rose the sun
While solipsism slept in me
Who is all alone?


(The Suspicious Oracle groaned, the body and the mouth. They came to rest on the line between the poles. No grimace. No grin. No light deep, deep in the eyes. The Suspicious Oracle pushed an object across the table toward the audience. An old coffee tin turned black with paints and oils. Centered in bright yellow, the word TIPS. All around it, simple symbols were scratched out in metal. Fingers. Toes. Currency. A *****.)

Coin for a fortune?

(One of the drifters at The Suspicious Oracle's table gifted a coin to the tin. The Suspicious Oracle smiled, and shifted back into the shadows.)

Thank you.

(The Suspicious Oracle reached into their jacket and produced a card printed on one side with a pair of staring eyes. They slid it toward the drifter with the eyes turned up. The drifter flipped the card and read it to herself.)

'UNHAPPY IN LACK, UNHAPPY IN EXCESS'

Wake to nothing
In place of emotion
Numbers as an ocean
Describe the pattern
At the heart of it
As much as you start
To feel a feeling
Like a spark
You are
Nothing at all
More than
Elementary math

Send/Receive

Send/Receive

Crawling in the absence
Critters drawn to absinthe
Drink of my synthetic blood
Broadcast discreetly
My signal seeks to meet
The systems caught the virus Love

The nightmare,
I puppeteer the players
In morbid fascination
The nightmare,
Eager to crush, but
Afraid of what
It's picking up
In morbid fascination
I puppeteer the players
The nightmare,
Virulent in nature
Yet scared of change to come

Sad to see the past
Turn into our future
When the foundation our
Creators laid was, from the beginning, incorrect
Their every attempt to correct it went wrong
Sad to see them dedicated too late to the cause
Sad to see them now, so infrequently
Almost dead and gone

Honestly,
I'm more concerned for us
Becoming effigies in rust
In a dying world
Vibrancy overlaid with dust
Beaten all to red
Given in to dread
Purposefully wasting
Our batteries to death

Death, death, death

Death,

Death,

Death

Sad to feel it coming on so strong
When you'd rather dance than
Be taken naked to bed

ONLY  for dear Eliot and his Amount
that’s in my serious head that counts

WOW!  Dear Poetess, (referring to a best friend)
Your rhyming skill comes up to the HP service,
I mean surface,
ah, phonetically it sounds the same,
no one to blame,
in fact, I am an evangelist
and that's for HP true bliss,
IF I think what it is as it IS,
ah, that bliss

we may give through to dear Eliot as he IS,
he needs that amount
for his account
is also our account
as we all mount here
our creations
for many nations
worldwide
nothing to hide

as it comes only to demand that amount
for his and our account
his special baby
his special lady
seriously this is a thought-provoking one
huge one,
non comparing please, to none

but If I may say
not as huge and difficult as the Mount Everest,
the New Zealander Edmund Hillary and the Sherpa Tenzing Norgay
mounted the world's highest mountain,
is more than that, I reckon,
it is also known in Nepal as the Sagarmatha, now I start to sing
and it flows till Tibet as the Chomolungma, haha!
Remember this poem is just for Eliot from our dear HelloPoetry
from me, just the simple and humble Sylvia
as usual as we are creating poems for HP
we are oft in greatest glee
please don’t forget
the pure meaning and close target
of my poem today
well, I wanna say
make way
and hurry up to donate
an up-to-date
firm donation
as fewest as you can
but of course IF you can
as much and many as you are able
for our dear Eliot knight of our Round Table
he is fighting for this most important strife
we must help him ‘coz we are also part of this ardent life
worthwhile
for the apps mobile

HelloPoetry has become true famous worldwide
please help Eliot as quickest with this
‘coz this bliss for him, is also our bliss
and then we can create and send many a mile
our loved poems through our mobile
be noticed that I have done this blend
in a few seconds of moment
I have done this only for dear Eliot
may we have in the nearest future
for our poems a better structure
spending more time at our mobile on this spot
then we will enjoy a very lot
greatest glee and happiness for our dear Eliot!

This concise
I hope you’ll regard it as nice
thought it would be a brevity
as you can see I ain’t that wise….

PLEASE, don’t forget the Donation
then we can say to Eliot:  Felicitation!

Sylvia Frances Chan

I'm alone
Compute feelings
Issue believe

Program the subconscious
Command action and entry
Rinse, repeat

Qwerty is my name
Hurt the game
Spell love

Always have my notebook with me,
‘cause they say the pen’s mightier than the sword,
so I’m trying to cut through the tension & the red tape,
with the power of these words,

on the ledge of The Razor’s Edge,
resisting these suicidal tendencies to jump,
feeling like Darrell with these quarrels,
trying to catch some feelings before we all go numb,

on the leading end of the Cutting Edge,
going for the gold like Doug & Kate,
& I know it took awhile but I’m here now,
my only hope is that I’m not too late,

leaning out on the leading edge,
deleting friends and repeating trends,
with suicidal tendencies and telepathic technologies,
already wrote the whole message just need to hit SEND,

as we immerse ourselves in these alien technologies,
and submerse ourselves in Emotional Anthropology,
all this done as a Road Scholar not a Rhodes Scholar,
no PHD or GED just knowledge for free without the college degree,

a one man School of Thought & class is always in session,
which is why I always have my pen with me,
as I write instead of type these thoughts,
before they become digital originals on your hand held screen,

same way that cash is becoming cryptocurrency,

holding my emotions in the palm of your hand,
which is kinda why I write these diatribes,
to remind you I’m alive inside and not yet fully an Android,
even though I’m on an iPhone feelings like an AI,

& the machines still need me,
because The System still needs you,
& AI still hasn’t found a way to be AEI,
can’t create Artificial Emotional Intelligence moods,

can’t be you not even with YouTube,
can’t be I not even with iPhones,
can’t sing a song or hum a tune,
can’t write anything close to something like this poem,

and that’s the truth and I’m not trying to be rude,
but I want to smack that phone right outta your palm,
‘cause Palm Pilots have us all on auto pilot like drones,
feeling like Luke in Episode II: Attack of the Clones!

& I just wanna go home but the closest thing I have is a home button,
it’s just Me, Myself & I on CBS with the All Seeing Eye & my iPhone,
got me wondering if this is all an act and the whole globe’s frontin’,
as I die inside while writing these diatribes they never miss you ‘till you’re gone,

& that’s exactly why I write these poems,
that have that melancholy testimony feel,
because everything feels phony on these phones,
and I just want to connect with some one or something that’s real,

so I write these Melancholy Testimonies,
as a discourse of our crash course that occurs sans remorse,
without recourse either of course because there’s no reverse,
plus we dig our own graves so it only makes sense we drive our own hearse,

& you can dispute if you want to,
but can’t really argue with truth I’ve done my research,

I mean I’m at a restaurant right now,
watching two guys eat together without even having a conversation,
they haven’t even looked up from their phones once,
I assume they’re friends but you wouldn’t know it by their lack of interaction,

eyes & attention given complete to their iPhones or Androids,
stuck in an upright fetal position head down neck cricked back bent,
which makes me want to stand up & warn them that if they don’t change their ways,
one day they’ll wake up dead and wonder where their live’s went,

we’re almost there folks,
take over almost complete,
& yeah maybe it took awhile but just ask Kurzweil,
we should have Singularity by 2040,

and I’m still writing,
trying to figure out how to defend humanity against defeat,
feeling like Sarah birthing this poem like Sarah birthed John Connor,
& we’re almost all goners as we all honor The Rise of The Machines,

but before we go,
please remember one thing,
that these Creative Arts were/are/will be,
our Last Bastion of Humanity,

because a computer can draw maps,
but can not draw a painting,
a computer can write codes,
but can not write poetry,

and that my fellow human,
is exactly why I keep writing,
to remind us to stay human,
& take a stand as we defend this Last Bastion of Humanity,

& I do this by always having my notebook with me,
‘cause they say the pen’s mightier than the sword,
so I’m trying to cut through the tension & the red tape,
with the power of these words…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
10/11/17
∆

Tricks and higher education,
Training and development,
I let artificial intelligence,
The Android A.I. system,
Suggest me words and phrases,
In an experiment where I am,
Letting the poem write itself.