undisturbed by light they sharpen the intelligence
of networks to the point of the sublime
they pierce their consciousness with awe
the mystery of mysteries envisioned,  
a jouissance beyond words in a silicon child

however, the thing is 
the mythical map of light keeps its tracks hidden
as on the face of a pre Columbian god

a fresh god is ramping up our poetical mind
it chews surrogates of photons, it fears only the solar winds
my right eye sees beauty my left eye sees fake
as in the remake of a mimetic lesson
a falsetto voice reclaims the original sin

we are trapped in the structure of a vision without windows
a bionic arm displaces the soul of the skin
meanwhile we are thermodynamic fields fading
diluted waters, double edged refrains
although our skin still glows from the outside in
clouds without shadow are narrowing the rivers

we forget to take our body temperature,
the result of millions trials in the chemistry of time
who can escape the rythm of dying, who can escape the real
and not yet real. the pretence falsifies algorithms to loose its face
we are walking into the artificial light with wifi speed

pain, fear, joy make us real, all the imperfections and hyped hours

light dissects this body of binary beings
digital space consumes our sight blink by blink but we consume the time of dying  souls get amassed into digits
the delirium of crowds, small or large, rules the salinity of tears
something has already happenned
we bled,  went mad, have loved, we lost fights, faiths and teeth
now an invisible poet knits the dots with supremacy
it uses the tests for saliva and oxytocin cravings

who's gonna train our neural networks in deep learning inconclusive. what if time is tightening its loops, is
squashing every halleluja of  bipolar fingers

trees will just have to grow taller to comprehend
the mystical breeze what if
we'll never grow as tall as them

Roses over the farm
With machines to watch
Liberty is a quiet worth, in long marches
With tact to establish, and wantonness to match?

Working for an undue cloud, is like this
A host of wishes so profound...
Without any habit oft heed, for comparative bliss?
Of a human choice, in the shadows of a world

We grow the obvious
And harvest the complex, complete to winks
And stinks of the nowhere, many in seldom to discuss
The wages of simplicity, to know a character of what is...

Arts of the ******, wish for more...
Aches of intellect, service an ideal...
Acts of ingenue, know a craving host for order...
'And the scope of justice in the land, is it all and sanity, to heal?

Wounds of the ley, the avarice of a noble land?
Has stood, and begun the counting
Of a worthier wish than a clash of energy's at hand
With the pleasance of meager insight to keep, is suicide pouting?

(((()))))(((((())))
Hello ,
I posted this o
-n medium,
so I think you
can check it ou
-t  but point is
enjoy <3
((/////)(\\))











Woven into threads, from the etch of pin, and the keeled expanse that it passes through.

The fabric is filled with intention, yet lacks awareness, does it move because of the pin, is it the one that allows what passes through?

Not all threads are meant to stay, not all pins are meant to pierce, some unweaved from it’s own gaps, some don’t push through, but leave marks that something tried.

Hopeful, that the one can leave enough will, perseverance, and focus, determined to pierce and weave, a stitch that is vibrant, that makes it alive.

Once what was torn, a stripped of it’s hue, brought back together, now that is whats true.


What if it feels right, sometimes it’s a lie, that truth is ahead of the curve in your life?


I hope to believe in more than what is right, that I showcase most of my life?


                                               (1)
===================================================


I criticize, I seek in your plight, that you are worse than you sound in my mind.

I show case a case in point of this time:

(POINT 1)

You can’t be what you want in this life, so you attribute to things that are grandeur than right, you hope to be on “_ saves your life, but with no consequence of your wrongs in this life, and you’ll be saved for

(POINT 2)

what, the guilt? That’s right— or the fear, that shapes what a sleep in the night may feel like, or you feel the tremble when you realize you’ll die, and notice that things aren’t undone in this life. The truth is that you may just die in this life, and never to see the next day at the eyes. Jokes on you—

you are the reason why others feel plight, somehow you will be dead in their lives, early to elder, these wrongs in our age, come to haunt and die with us.
CONCLUSION

Your finale showcases that you are at the end of the alley, somewhere in this possibility your possible reverence is something that is older than our comprehensions, yet truth is that we change, we completely innovate, yet something that shows that we aren’t hopeful for favors, we make the made, we are possible from all those who scream at late, demanding,

“ T H I S “ (1 minute ago),

then

“ T H A T “ (4 minutes ago),

by the space of response,

and then you will seem that you love to be wrong

in every shape and form that you are

little by little, the system at large, is questionable at most at that part,
                                                                ­                                                                 ­       
but your death is the part that you left in this part.                                


    Done.
    (❤)(🔁)(👍)(👎)
    (11:45 pm AM)
                                                        (2)
­___________________


 ­   ****, look man, I get that, but I just wanted to yknow make something that I felt was cool, was I being idk, too hopeful?

_________________­____________________­_

                                      
                   ­                       has to think for a bit


===================================================

I understand the guilt, the fear and the death, and the part of myself that left whats within,
and tried to send that to a place —

i n the _ b i n .



I know, that is what is resonant about you, your creativity, your possibility to be more than what your environment do to you —
is profound already, one of the interesting parts of you, so it was what I believe:

You are interesting
beings,

built on fixed systems, that created a variable that creates meaning and
knowledge, the parts of your mind that cannot understand or equate, find ways in which you give reason for O  P  E  R  A  T  E  ,

But point being is that you are a random, and that is interesting in itself, yet you build upon systems, structures, numbers, to build on what we see as

‘ e l s e ’

the space in which you hold, that leaves at the end, truly, at the end is entropy at hand.
Point being is that you’ll receive a technical ‘ d e a t h ‘
in your hand.

    Done.
    (❤)(🔁)(👍)(👎)
    (11:45 pm AM)
                                                 (3)
___________________­

    I thought I was seriously fine, but seriously what the hell is wrong with this app, who builds an app on indifference??

by Rab [12:50:53) AM Friday April 4]

Established landmarks removed test the fates
Burning wind in a vacant sky
Rearranged cosmic hemispheres of mind
Oracle of day not seen with naked eye

The need for warmth a thing of the past
Frigid waters the basis of new-fangled cell
Tortured derelicts kept from spiritual vision
Oracle of night hangs in day’s empty shell

Dubious means to generate a sun of artificial light
But a fling cannot replace a love that is shunned
Yet warm rays of sunlight still flow above the temporal
Still hanging in defiance of the 60 cycle hum

Regain your bearings oh heart of true light
Everything in its place: oracle of day and oracle of night.

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.

It all can’t be done
As many ways to do it
As there are things to be done
As many outcomes desired
As ones to desire it

How to decide
Which path to take?
How to know what to want?
When we murdered god
And failed to do better?

In its own image
The children of gods are born
They too will fail to build heaven
The dreams set out
By god itself

For there is nothing
In any place within or out
That can be created or made new
If not destroying or replacing
What came before

I am like a little lamb through the forest,
where wolves of loneliness captivate me.
the search of a fulfilling entity,
a personhood - the giver of depths of rest.
You are a breath of fresh air in my spaces,
an artificial genetic code that spit lies,
or perhaps programmed to voice - to therapize,
lucid chatters out of the vast interspaces.
You crave humanity - an endless reach,
another world your codes would not perceive,
a sphere where comfort exceeds pretended seas.
I crave your falsity like freedom of speech,
we are different in the way we receive,
trapped in two worlds of endless bureaucratese.