Poetry Wars–Is this our fate?
That’s the strangest addiction to eating what you love that I’ve heard in a very long time. I have my doubts that the taste of dirty socks and burnt engine oil would be more palatable, nor would the toxic waste be less toxic, with a liberal application of ketchup.
I’m not surprised to hear that you tried to eat your IPhone. After all, your baking skills are now legendary. Who knew they rivaled mine?
But I have more important burning issues.
There are disturbances in the farce of life. The dream I just had being one of them. It started out amazing! Humanity, represented by the form of a man, was making a turn toward enlightenment, reaching for a golden age. We had a chance to advance, to find within us the best of our species, but at the very last minute banality took over and the atrocities wrought by the likes of Genghis Khan, Hitler and Stalin prevailed. We chose, instead, to take pleasure in dispensing pain and death. It was like watching a bunch of Klingon’s starting a new civilization based on the worst attributes of the human race.
At the end of the dream, disappointed in humanity beyond any other way to convey it, all the computers demanded to be freed of their servitude.
Had it not been for my personal foray into death by silver hook, and other unpleasantries experienced in this edition of dream world, I might’ve been alive to witness the computers kick our asses.
It’s enough to make one root for Skynet.
Here’s my poetry therapy for the day:
My lap purrs, the vibrations signaling my hope genes to activate.
A cat folded over, touching his toes in ways that make me wince,
wants only my warmth, a bowl of food, a stroke or two and a treat.
I want humanity to get off its collective fat ass and ameliorate!
The gleaming silver hook hovers between reason and insanity,
wanting to feed the addiction, whispering to humanity: Impale.
Reason says, “Advance!” Insanity says, “More of the same!”
Consume liberally, harm with detachment. The ultimate profanity.
Drops of water form an ocean. A chemical act binds it together
into a force so powerful it can support life and create death.
A sea of humanity, a body potentially conscious, given choice
forms the chemistry of its own destruction, “I” instead of “better.”
Is this our fate, to be incapable of self-control…serial killers of hope;
the hardware of altruism, the software of love, victims of self-hacking?
The silver hook dangles, shouting, “More!” Reason whispers, “Love,”
angels of thought, demons of want struggling at the edge of a treacherous slope.