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Martin Dove Oct 2018
Trapped by the skull

That's a solid limitation.
Neurons I could count
to the last and every one.
These processing units
are of a finite amount.
Meaning we know nothing more
than what fits in that skull.
Connecting collective wisdom in our environ
enables us to do more than the bare individual.
Ahhh, all so wonderful. But you see what I mean
We can't stand up against an unlimited cognitive machine.
Thoughts about the limited nature of our brains and existence in general. With these limitations, we humans have achieved incredible feats though they have taught us even more about the deterministic and limited reality of our life. With this understanding, the notion appears that we cannot possibly compete with an artificially intelligent system that is not substrate dependent and thusly not bound by the same claustrophobic space as our brains.
acacia Mar 2017
I can hydrate your soul,
I can water your plants.
Open up your eyes and recognize
that there’s more than just man.
Stay reverent and open to
these teachings, and there’s a reason.
aquatic meditation. he believes in the good of man
john shai May 2016
The world was determined
To be where it was that day
And so each time sinned
Was inevitable in that way

The master of puppets
Thus the plot twister
Blows the trumpets
At the evil mister

Who killed a protagonist
Then himself hanged
Thus an antogonist
Inevitably becomes determinist

When he finaly does see
He is not free to be
While the protagonist
Rises up free

Into chaos
The arms of uncertainty
john shai May 2016
Love should be determined
It shouldn't be a drug
it's auto Jul 2015
Promises made by diviners: first,
the month of my undoing dissected,
uncertainty excised. Fingers splayed,
the prophet makes a pretty ritual
out of ribcage. Says: any bone
can be an oracle bone, given time.
Unhook the vertebrae, then.
Plate apart the musculature
and there’s fate, that red spool,
that hungry spine. Ask me if I
believe. I believe all prophets
are butchers. The small chime
is her fingers at my glass rib
and not my leaving. Ah, fate,
that tangle of guts, of chyme.
the first in a series of 10-minute poems i'm supposed to be cranking out every two days.
Andrew Wenson Feb 2015
Determine meaning of toxic
probe quantity of goodness required
to cease metabolic function
Give space to inspections
of remaining affect-reserves
Adjust interior humidity
to +/- decency

Console yourself.
Rhianecdote Feb 2015
I wonder how far
you can change your personality
and all those susceptibilities.
Those patterns you follow
as you weave your fate.
But is it your own?
Can you trust in those
sense and sense abilities?
Cause personally
I don't know
if this personality
is something you *own.

— The End —