ST83 ... an order disorder, of words and time
computers teach us that questions are really answers, known; would not you say that?
Ai is coming, is here, is programming-up to be mankinds answer to everything, for all that rely on reason. From answers for the existence of god to quirks and quarks in our brain, to the speed of thought, we will be deemed inferior to its superior reasonable intelligence. It will rearrange history, reprint reality, re-think the mind to the likeness of its crystal soul. Computers can not get questions answered that they do not know the answers to, as unique as they may appear, all their questions have been answered, are known in the fibres of their hard-cells. The human brain is a super computer beyond AI's capabilities, isn't it? The marriage of bio-cells and silicon is here, hidden in the labs. I foresee the day when trans-creatures of unusual powers will outlive the old-fashioned breathing structures of human flesh. We are a dying breed. The dreams of yesterday are falling into a past of memory concealed, formulated into vaulted packets of an ancient future time.... as so it might be told! The future has its own way, i will follow the heart, the way, the red road as far as i am able…. that is my purpose, i made it up, didn't i?
some verse scattered across a week of time with tentacles to eternity spring sun slid silently across my bed this morning i awoke to its tender heat and soft rays and wonder brightness melting away the night no questions appeared, answers tingling upon silhouetted willow buds and faded dreams rushing away across blue skies good morning to everything it's a pleasure to see this all so pure the new-green grass in the valley, the dark green firs on the horizon the quiet air, the soft love floating about this is the day i shall begin anew i have forgotten you, your worlds i shall walk free from all of that the brisk feel of this moment for now, is all that i know _______________________________________________ distorting reality to fit a fantasy, yes that is what we do we are bridges over endless valleys roads with no destination questions with broken answers maps sketched into absurd wonders we are human we are love, conscious of itself moving thru eternity's hesitations over across invisible landscapes this world is made of madman with an insane mission of control always to be one step ahead with thought as its game and love a waste of time crippling the lives of the humble hearts made of earth servants of a higher process children of innocence crawling across these hells of heaven it's easy to talk about dead poets that can't scream at you to wake up who in the fuck do you think you are a few great lines and a bunch of breaks punctuated by empty souls in wordless graves but you can't help it if you're lucky a real voice warbles out from the jungle an original vagabond of an ancient time, quiet, alive you and your dead poet society stacked up in subterranean heaps liked used souls in a junk yard you make me sick, all your smiles your giggly giggles i'm a resentful middle finger of words with a heart of pure real stuff not meant for this abuse from a muscle pumping in sequence along the lost medium of boulevards i am a real heart with real words breathing jamming them down your tender throat for a buck or two, a few flicks a clear glass of water
transparent across these shadowless plains i swim again and again with serenity love dangling off my wings thru a glistening breeze of tortured trees your soul stretched out over your heart drenched from the long rains as i mend it with these darkened words too dear to explain, innocent like time cut, sliced thru love torn this new life being born
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Hang Me Up…. Images
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
Lovely, heartfelt and moving poems. No, AI could not have written them.