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Indiscriminate access leads to exorbitant excess which drives a crisis of existential intensity.
Recognizing this, it is recommended that reconfiguration take place immediately to reconnect the scarcity engine to the recollection drivers as initially assembled.
In short, put down that phone and pick up a fucking book!
We walk on cobblestone streets that bore witness to the French Revolution. Except today, we pay premium prices to skip the line to see treasures that belong to the world, won in the name of libery, equality, and fraternity.
The revolution is over
We queue to see the sights
Some pay and skip the line
Remember when we actually
Wanted people to get in touch
And we handed out our information
Willingly, both hands outstretched
As if to say, “This is me, call anytime”
Costly was the jewel won
The king of caves, dead and gone
His line scattered, mighty still
And kinsmen 'neath a fortified hill
Though valor and sacrifice delayed
The age’s end cannot be stayed
Until revealed, the hidden land
And throne of evil changes hands
Names of the mighty, shining proud
Forever sung and spoken aloud
Their spirits lie in eternal rest
In the fabled, storied, distant west
Perhaps I am the only one
who finds having walked up
the Abbesses metro station in Paris
endlessly fascinating
37 meters from platform to street
(a fact I discovered afterwards) and winding stairs
around which to send your words breathlessly up:
“How many more steps?”
You get lost as the path coils around you
One step, two step, who steps, you step
It doesn’t seem to end
It’s only just begun
You drift leftwards towards the wall
aware it is lined with decades of dirt
so you counter to the right
but your foot is conscious
that the step is smaller on that side
so you repeat the process
You exhale and your warm breath
drifts upward; in fact it is already at street-level,
where it has taken a seat
on a yellow horse with a melted face,
spinning around on this overpriced carousel,
waiting for you to catch up
You’ll get there eventually
One day, we're going to look back at AI and see
Not ourselves as we are, but as we were and will be
And there will be no difference
We'll write more of what we already wrote,
The words commonly used, styles we all loved
And there will be no revolution
We'll game on and it will look like
The games we all played once upon a time
And there will be no evolution
There will be singing, but it will sound like
The songs we all know by heart, but lifeless
And in them there will be no passion
One day, the world will continue to turn
While we turn with it; never against it or despite it
And we will not know the difference
Summer through the glass
I am stuck in the office
Someone let me out
Dust with every step
Sweaty workers start their trek
Philippine summer
Above the city
There is no green left to see
We breathe filtered air
Messages pop, pop!
Endless chatter, day to day
Close that laptop now
People go blah, blah
Sounds flying across the room
No one hears a word
Droplets crash to earth
Hard rain falls on harder heads
Goodbye, common sense
What is there to complain about
Nothing you need that you’re without
Protest with a word, no need to shout
You’re living the middle-class life
Settled now, no need for schemes
So what if you don’t live your dreams
Don’t like the plot but love the themes
You’re living the middle-aged life
Once you woke up early and came home late
Tried the wild life but now you’re straight
Lots to love, very little to hate
The middle-aged, middle-class life
