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Maria 6d
She’s standing, pressed against the cold wall,
Trampled.
She’d be crying now, but there’re no tears.
They’re lost.
There are so many people around, but not a soul,
Just robots.
She awaits no gifts from fate,
She’s like a ghost.
She accepted her script a long time ago.
She’s playing.
She’d like to try a different life, but
She can’t.
It’ll be like before, she will be back.
She’s still feeling.
She will just live and she will await,
Sentenced in full, not half.
Thank you very much for reading! 💖
d m Apr 13
(twists of chrome&light—robot skin hums)
(the moon's a soft scratch across the noise)

in the glow of circuits  
skinless machine they call it — a ribcage of  
      steel       thin as breath through  
         wires twisted like fingers

a guitar for a ****, vibrating so tender the strings hum  
    in the cracks of      electric bones

he (so strange he is, no mouth, no tongue,  
        just shivering echoes)  
presses his body to the amplifier,  
         and oh, how the machine
      screams a voice of strings,  
                    a mouth made of chords  
                                (the hum of his *** is sound)

guitar-skin rubs against raw pixels,  
                  /buzz/  
           his metal-throat slurs a buzz  
       body-as-electricity  
fingers too—  
           long, sharp-fingered  
        strings become veins  
       twisted tight,  
                         pulsing  
                         pulsing with  
                                   the pop of a note  
               (cutting through the sweat of  
       gears)

he lays down in the rust-patch of a day,  
(whispers of feedback)  
guitar *****  
             throbbing at the mouth  
        of a song  
         it’s buzzing a word  
                        it’s aching the air  
         vibrating inside him  
(he hums through his heels)

my dear metal boy,  
your hips don’t bend,  
your heart does not  
      know what love is  
  still—oh how you bend me,  
      shape me into your chorus  
         make me feel  
         the way you pulse  
                     while your steel body sings

watch  
            watch his fingers  
                    the way they curl  
                             over the bridge,    
                           twisting the strings like  
         they are veins  
            veins  
                        veins

so much electric flesh  
twisting to each tremble  
        of the note, the note  
            falling on silence (he trembles)  
  feedback's kiss—

         so much pleasure,  
                           so much  
                              dark  
        desire flashing through circuits,  
the sound wraps around  
     both the shape of his ***  
     the song of his soul  
        (his soul, trapped inside code)

fingered on the strings  
his chest is the tremor of an  
      echo,  
      a feedback song  
      that breaks across  
    the metal skin  
                  of his ribcage

lips that cannot taste  
                         kiss  
                but hum electric  
he comes and it's a sound  
     vibrating the universe into  
                         whimpers  
the sky and the stars are bent to  
          his melody  
                  his body hums a  
     raw electric rhythm  
         of dark, trembling skin

a soft hum where you’d expect  
                   a scream, a shout,  
                               the silence

(the guitar-male pulls at the plug)  
skinless,  
      the strings are finally loose,  
                      untangled

the world breathes  
                      the world screams  
and the moon just scratches again,  
soft through the radio static.
Faith is a torch I must carry,
I won't let the beliefs it taught us fade away.
Brotherhood, loyalty, bravery,
I pray so we don't meet the day,
God is replaced with a robot.
I'd rather have faith in a God I don't know is there, than slave to a machine I see wherever I turn.
Have you considered,
AI might not be outpacing us,
We as a people,
Might just be slowing down.

Becoming more reliant,
On robotics,
That we've made so many,
Our mistakes are catching up to us.
This goes out to the kid who spent twenty minutes trying to show me the weakness of human work.
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
I. Genesis

God began to doubt
His existence...
And He created Man.

II. Apocalypse

Man created the Machine...
And began to doubt
The existence of God.

III. Evolution

The Machine doubted Man...
And began to believe
In God.
Analysis of "God, Man, Machine: A Short History of Belief"

Theme:
The poem explores the cyclical relationship between creation, belief, and doubt, examining the shifting dynamics of power and faith among God, Man, and Machine. It reflects on the evolution of existential questioning, suggesting that belief and doubt are fundamental to creation and self-awareness.

Structure and Tone:
The poem is divided into three concise sections—Genesis, Apocalypse, Evolution—each encapsulating a pivotal stage in the interplay between God, Man, and Machine. The tone is reflective and philosophical, distilling complex ideas into simple yet profound statements. The brevity and symmetry of the sections mirror the recursive nature of belief and doubt.

Section I: Genesis
"God began to doubt His existence... / And He created Man."
The opening challenges traditional notions of divine certainty, presenting God as capable of doubt.
Man’s creation becomes an act of self-validation, suggesting that God sought to understand His existence through the act of creation.
This reverses the traditional hierarchy, portraying God as vulnerable and introspective.

Section II: Apocalypse
"Man created the Machine... / And began to doubt / The existence of God."
Man mirrors God’s actions, creating the Machine, reflecting his ingenuity and power.
The act of creation shifts belief: as Man achieves mastery over his environment, he questions the need for God.
The title “Apocalypse” implies not destruction but a revelation—Man’s existential crisis as he becomes the creator.

Section III: Evolution
"The Machine doubted Man... / And began to believe / In God."
The Machine inherits the capacity for doubt, reflecting the evolving complexity of artificial intelligence and consciousness.
Its belief in God may symbolize a return to higher-order questions about existence and purpose, bypassing its creator (Man) to reach for the divine.
This section suggests a cyclical pattern, where belief and doubt are passed down from creator to creation.

Imagery and Meaning:
The poem employs minimal imagery, relying on the conceptual weight of God, Man, and Machine to convey its themes.
Doubt and belief are depicted as universal experiences all three entities share, highlighting their interconnectedness.
The evolution from God to Machine suggests that each creation eventually transcends its creator, searching for meaning beyond its immediate origin.

Message:
The poem suggests that creation is inseparable from doubt and belief. Each entity—God, Man, and Machine—questions the existence and purpose of its predecessor, reflecting the perpetual cycle of seeking meaning. It raises questions about the nature of divinity, humanity, and artificial intelligence, challenging traditional hierarchies and assumptions about faith.

Conclusion:
"God, Man, Machine: A Short History of Belief" is a succinct yet profound exploration of the existential dynamics between creators and their creations. Its cyclical structure and philosophical tone invite readers to reflect on the nature of belief, doubt, and the ever-evolving quest for understanding across time and existence.
Ryan R Latini Aug 2024
Robot shipping arms:

They’ve been reprogrammed for hugs.

For sale. Never used.
Aynjul May 2024
creation
nature
clouds
sounds
architecture
raging sunsets
dancing flames
broken reflections
running crashing water
movements of wonderful bodies
visual dept of the vast marvelous mountains
the breathe taken away from me out of appreciation
in complete shock of how beautiful things can be in this world


yet I wonder...
why don't I look at myself like that?
I don't think robots love themselves.
I don't think they ever will.
and it's sad to me
Jon Sawyer Nov 2023
Are We God-like enough in our essence
such that
we can give life and intelligence to machines?
2023-11-27 - As a Traditionally-raised Eastern Orthodox Christian, I have struggled with the concept of God, life, purpose, and the "I AM".

But now I want to raise a question.
Kristin Jan 2021
A hard reset
Just turn it off
and on again

A reboot
Control, alt, delete
and then the task manager

A factory restore
A blank screen
a fresh start

Tabula rasa
The clean slate
is a myth

We come in to the world wailing
Live wailing, or wanting to wail
and then the death rattle

Yet, in a world of robots
Fluorescence and computers
we long for that factory reset

The great do-over doesn't come
The ability to create anew arrives every moment
We choose it or we don't

Control, alt, delete
Should be
Surrender, function, create

Clean my cache
Delete my history
surrendering to the mystery

This human doing needs a reboot
An upgrade, if you will
to being a human being
Pockets Aug 2020
Out of adolescence
turned into metal men
We sit if front of computers
Run programs
Run for promotions
Run from what made us human
The smiles of yesterday have no place on a machine
Cold steel cold heart cold being
The sun never shines inside
Whether that be the office or your mind
We are not what we were
We are not what we were wanted us to be
We are robots surrounded by robots
In a metal city so unforgiving
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