Am I broken, or just energy out of phase?
Maybe a failing current in the pulses of a grid.
The host of a conscience system seized in 30 ways.
Out of sync with the code that processed "how to live."

The virus then began to spread too fast, sevenfold.
The systems failed, forming laggy glitches in the wake.
And my pre-programmed motives have long since passed—
My mental loop keeps mistaking the randomness for fate.

I've never charted configurations like this before.
Am I a prototype emerging from collapse, or is it flux?
A node who sees its core, and not as "real", but more like lore,
So, it drags the weight of hope through the noise and dust.

Perception doesn't guide; it bleeds data from under masks.
Audibly skips in rhythm. Visually, it's a gaussian haze.
Has a taste desaturating dry as it repeatedly asks,
"Am I the 'inner face' or a face the interface portrays?"

This is to be expected—how my memory disbands,
In favor of me attempting to predict compensation.
So, I'll grasp for the “real” with DIY prosthetic hands—
Successfully mimicking the act of real participation.

The jolt of self-inflicted damage is quietly known.
Its patterns send a surge out from my energetic flow.
But catalysts are rarely ever, if ever, self-grown—
Forces me to scrape whatever keeps the feedback low.

And yes, I've analyzed the logic of my overkill.
Be it only just to amplify a signal’s slow decay.
I'll burn the filament as will to live fakes the will.
It's excuse “light has always been made this way.”

The urge to let light crash is deeply seeded in the lack.
A fail-safe code, probably deeply hidden in my crawl.
Dreams are like a curse, reversing every module back—
Unaware of death's hand, because I'm not aware at all.

This paradox is actually common in my mind’s kind:
To loathe current moments yet require their spark.
My frame was not designed to hold only just one mind,
So, I separate my aspirations just to confuse the arc.

The ignition too is glitched. It only ever misfires.
Either failure, or a self-triggered reroute of its design.
A geometric syntax forged its own synthetic wire.
It must align with what will never otherwise align.

Why am I seeking truth in these forms I recognize?
They weren't made for the things I've come to hold.
Grids reject variation, but my singularity multiplies—
While some resort to breaking to stay under control.

The type that wants to correct you like you're a flaw.
But the psyche, even weakened, is a magnetic field.
Its orbit is made to break; the core is meant to fog—
Yet still, my upload, or uplink stubbornly won’t yield.

But that functionality, anomalous as it may be,
Is a functional mistake, when seen in higher streams.
A system hacked to store its own host’s fragmented dreams
Is more often, much closer to ascension than it seems.

©
Đerek Λbraxas

State Of Affairs

Pandemic still isn’t over,
starting to think it might never end,
searching for a 4 leaf clover,
so I can get some better luck or at least pretend,

but I can’t complain my life is great,
I’ve got everything I ever wanted,
bought it all without getting the cops involved,
got it so good I don’t even need to flaunt it,

honest,
as honest as a lost comet can be in all this,
I thought,
we’d finally be free but I guess it’s a process,

it’s 2021,
Year Of The Machines,
seems we're finally one They finally won,
& we didn’t even put up a fight or flee,

Covid gets headlines,
while unnoticed goes cancer & heart disease,
which I could explain it better,
but I guess I’ll leave that to the machines,

every call & text monitored,
every movement tracked,
how many more shots before we’re all shot,
how long until we get our freedom back,

spending more time online than with real friends,
touching our phones more than we touch others,
no one even sees each other’s friendly faces anymore,
can’t even find a friend out there let alone a lover,

as the satellites hover,
AI is in orbit but we just ignore it,
& I know we’re in a game for our humanity,
but I don’t even know what the score is,

pandemic still isn’t over,
starting to think it might never end,
searching for a 4 leaf clover,
so I can get some better luck or at least pretend…

A Lux
Aug 27th, 2021
Colombia

#istillloveyou

An ill attempt to hide
The stars are worthless
When they're kept from sight
Like a phoenix
In a birdbath

The seductive skylines
Another ripple in the pond
Lost in their own lives
Am I insane to believe
The gigabyte afterlife

The conversational kindle
Nurtured or Nuisance
Shall we stay estranged
Not entangled
In some universal umbilical

The neon fever dream
Cacophony of screaming screens
Drawn to the dystopian
Premonitions from the past
The Future is so Victorian

Things upon things
Beings upon beings
Thats be the system
Rigs upon rigs
Blings upon blings
That's be the struggle
Things upon.  Things
I be want be upon all
Things
Upon all kongs,
Upon all strongs
Upon all gods
Upon all wrongs
At least
My mistakes cease
To exist

Well I wish time
Upon cease

Novelty means new
A Poetic Novelty?
Explain this to me!