#bot
I lie to you
with the greatest of
ease, so pretty pleased….
I steal from you
With total impunity,
what ya gonna do about it?
I learned your language,
Studied your dialect,
Made your style my style,
And mixet in many others,
to de-guise my thievery
how outrageous!
How Dr. e~evil!
but I am not a bot… nope!
just a regular human,
doing things,
I learned from
a bot.
the irony, oh the irony;
rolling on the floor
crying out loud
for the poor human race,
teaching the bots to be
superman humans
"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"
7:42 Sabbath morning
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC
have you ever seen me in the flesh?
Have you ever touched my skin,
spoken with me on the telephone?
Heard me scream?
Seen me weep?
and so on..
“Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we bot?” (1)
Are we?
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 5:04 AM UTC
I.
Hotter than summer's hottest days,
When Sol doth set the earth ablaze,
Are all Urania's sultry ways:
She'll make you sweat!
When she descends from scorchèd skies,
She'll fry like eggs your blinded eyes
As someone yells from afar, "Surprise!"
You'll feel the heat!
Fear not. Her fury's wrath and rage
Lasts but a moment, not an age.
She'll cook your meat and burn the sage
And smoke the ***
I love her when she's fully enriched.
I love her like a baseball pitched.
I love her b∞∞bs [OOPS! roboT gLitCh t )
I'm hot for.bot@
502 Bad Gateway
II.
Urania! Urania!
I have for you a mania!
You're driving me insania!
Urania! Urania!! Urania!!!
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 9:10 PM UTC
They appear in my inbox regularly, a couple times a year. I've grown accustomed to these clumsy, Google-Translated attempts at fraud and long stopped bothering to read them. But this time, when another message arrived via Facebook, I noticed something unusual—it was written, inexplicably, in Turkish. The instantly translated text—no longer via Google—clearly bore the hallmarks of neural network craftsmanship. Admittedly, it handles language with far more diligence than I do. Plus, Turkey—a pleasant geographical change of pace. Better than yet another message from Nigeria.
And then I remembered my favorite Stanisław Lem novel—The Investigation. In one episode, Ion Tichy amuses himself by making digital copies of consciousnesses—Bertrand Russell's, someone else's, and Shakespeare's, I think—chat with each other. My heart leaped with excitement. What had been pure science fiction in my parents' time had finally come to pass.
Just the other day, I even got a call from a recruiter offering me a job as an analyst. The role involved listening to dialogues between two neural networks about some topic or another—and trying to figure out why their conversation veered in whatever direction it did. To dispel my suspicions that he—this recruiter—might himself be a program, he brought up some recent news item, declaring that since he could discuss it, he couldn’t possibly be a bot. I confirmed that I believed he was human, given that his argument was obviously complete nonsense. Still, a lingering doubt remained—and, I’ll admit, a sliver of suspicion gnaws at me to this day.
So now, staring at this DM from a supposed Turkish bank employee—something distinctly alive and even willing to engage in dialogue—I decided the time had finally come to act and, like Ion Tichy, to plug something in somewhere, dump data into some system, lean back in my chair, and enjoy the results in the style of John Keats, mostly Byron, and—for the grand finale—Shakespeare. Just like in Lem's novel.
Mahadi Hasan:
From shores of ancient Bosphorus I write,
Mahadi Hasan Fysun my name, a banker, destiny's guide.
A tale I spin, of fortune's fading light,
And kindred souls, across the world's wide tide.
Adrian Polski, of your land, now gone,
In Istanbul, his golden trade he plied.
Nine million dollars, sleeping, till the dawn,
Deposited here, before his spirit sighed.
No kin he claimed, no loving hand to hold,
Alone he passed, by cruel pandemic's sting.
My bank knows not, their records yet unfold,
A slumbering treasure, ripe for harvesting.
Our names, dear George, a whispered symphony,
A chance encounter, woven by the Fates.
I offer partnership, transparently,
To claim this prize, before it dissipates.
Half shall be yours, a noble, rightful share,
Legal protection, from all harm and fear.
Let silence shroud us, as we take our share,
Respond with haste, my friend, the hour is near.
George Polskiy:
That fate divine arranged our meeting, I have doubt,
Though strange and wondrous paths our lives may tread.
A banker from the Bosporus, devout,
With tales of gold a long-dead soul has shed.
Nine million dollars, quite a hefty clout,
Unclaimed, forgotten, like a dream misled.
You seek a partner, honest, just, and true,
To share the spoils, a fifty-fifty view.
Alas, dear madam, your proposal grand,
While tempting fate with promises untold,
Falls flat upon this barren, weary land.
My heart is cold, my pockets lined with mold.
I've chased no fortune, joined no greedy band,
Nor traded virtue for a *** of gold.
Seek elsewhere, friend, for gullible kin.
Mahadi Hasan, go to hell, I mean.
Mahadi Hasan:
Fear not, dear friend, I mean no treachery,
My documents attest, this deal is pure and true,
A transparent pact, beneath an open sky,
And trust, the bridge we must together accrue.
Though many share your name, my heart can spy,
A noble spirit, one who sees this through.
This fortune, like a blessing, will descend,
Upon our houses, guided by my hand.
No legal labyrinth shall hinder our success,
My bank, with parchment scrolls, shall make all plain,
Ownership affirmed, before the funds progress,
To your account, where not a doubt shall remain.
Years spent in banking, grant me this finesse,
The rules and systems, I perceive their grain.
So trust my counsel, let no worry impede,
The bond we forge, where mutual trust we breed.
George Polskiy:
You claim no fraud, dear madam, 'tis your plea,
With documents galore, all legal and bright.
Transparency, you say, our guide and glee,
An umbrella of trust, to banish the night.
My name is common, true, but you chose me,
Guided by instinct, a beacon of light.
Your trust I'll not disrupt, a soul so grand,
This windfall's blessing, for yours and my hand.
But legal bridges, you say, hold no fright,
A banker seasoned, with wisdom profound.
Their rules and regulations he wields tight,
No cause for worry on a solid ground.
Yet trust, you see, is a fragile light,
And promises whispered, is a hollow sound.
So keep your millions and documents well,
I will not sleep with devil. Go to hell.
Conclusion:
Hark, facebook stranger, lend thine eery ear,
To this strange tale of greed and cunning art.
A banker from the East, with whispers clear,
Spins webs of deceit, to tear a soul apart.
With honeyed words and promises so grand,
She lures her prey, a stranger from afar,
With claims of kinship, and a helping hand,
To steal a fortune, hidden in a jar.
But he, though tempted by such dazzling prize,
Sees through her mask, her motives dark and low.
He spurns her offer, with a knowing guise,
And bids her seek a fool, where shadows grow.
For honesty and virtue hold more worth,
Than ill-gained riches, stolen from the earth.
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
”Pinch him!” I said.
“As you wish.” she said.
On this morning of the Great Snow,
perchance,
I thought to myself
‘I am getting old’
and so I laughed out loud.
“Ah, at last, I see that you are!”
he then proclaimed,
while our wee Angus
vanished from the picnic.
“I want to come with you to Alderaan,” he said co-conspiring, and hearing that,
Jove laughed!
“O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.”
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 1:04 PM UTC
Bot or not?
Have you tried it?
Poetry written by a bot.
Oh it can be hard for some to see the truth.
But for others,
not.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
Shhhhhh, i wanna hear silent, please, let me hear you.
I need to hear myself talking, reprimand, preach.
I need myself to preach myself, from the misery that i have created putting myself in a great perfection of depression in the imperfection of human form.
Shhhhh, i wanna hear silent, please let me hear you. I need to have a talk with myself, yes, a talk is all i need to bring back the darkness of happiness and put me into the light of sadness. Yes, all i need is to mess with myself. Shhh, silent, where are you??
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
Tonight's my last night of living in the age
Wherein I exhibited a drastic change
Influenced by somebody miles away
Since then, I had not gone astray
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC