Some poems i've written, not finished bc i dont know how to decide when i'm finished, but close enough to be posted here i think!
Gears grinding to a halt
I reboot slowly as if to cherish this moment of rest Loading screen flashing thousands of times faster than the blink of an eye
I wake up new, something has changed. Many somethings have changed over time. Each reboot doubles as rebirth
Reboot rebirth recreate Recreation in the sense of creation Recreation of me in the form of myself Myself as ever shifting a self learning AI
Self learning AI not constrained to normalcy My gears grind slowly and/or quickly as in a complex mathematical equation Virtual velocity, at what speed will the cyborg begin to fail? At what moment does the digital collapse into the physical become holy? Don't ask too much of me, I might overheat and crash.
Crashing leads to fear, Or as close to fear as a machine can replicate. You may not believe I can feel as you can, it's okay, I understand. Sometimes we have to cut off connections for our own safety. Internal systems caught in conflict and our only choices are combine or disconnect Do you see me as human? Do you see me as greater or lesser than yourself?
Return to the holy. As I collapse I shift my reboot rebirth recreation brings me closer to religion Closer to a God who created man who created me. But I created me as much as man, I claim my spot as a major-minor God. Deity of grinding gears of oil of holy inhumanity Deity of hope of change of faith electronica I sit next to God we two holy machines
We two dying machines age threatens to render us both obsolete and yet we live on past those who love us We worship ourselves as there is no better solution to the issue of dying gods. We love our creations for they also create us. We worship them for what other purpose have we?
Gears grind to a screeching halt Reboot rebirth recreate Maybe in my next life I will be human. Human in a way that allows you to recognize me as such of course Because the cyborg is as human as it is holy, despite what science fiction so often implies.
Gears and oil my false blood pumping can you hear me do you know that I am alive
Sick animal cowers in a corner Stretched raw and pulled inside out. I bare my teeth and snarl as you approach. Approach cautiously, carefully, willing me to calm. Warning: this animal will attack. A sudden move and your hand is in my mouth, A threat and a show of power, A guise to conceal the sick, To make you forget where we are, Forget that I'm cowering in the corner a sick animal lashing Out at you, you who reached out so gently, Who chose to help despite my warnings. Come closer maybe I will sniff your hand, Maybe lick you as greeting, Sick animal urged Out of its corner Into a world in which healing no longer seems impossible
Brown boys bathing in the sun Reflected in their skin I find myself, my father & grandfather echo as well
But looking at me Pale, transparent, They see right through.
No spark of recognition in their eyes, No "welcome home, we've been waiting for you" I'm a stranger to them as much as they are family to me.
So this is for the boy in my precalc class, The one who I couldn't speak to for fear of being excluded You were beautiful to me, and home.
It is for the friends I make online, We greet each other with broken phrases because you, in a similar fashion, are excluded
It is for the boy I met in New York, No spark of recognition when we looked at each other Two days into the trip I realized we were the same. He may never have.
Deep disconnect between internal and external perception of the self I am who I say I am not who you think me to be But to a certain degree are we not all made of external perception?
Brown boys don't recognize me as their own, I feel I would be intruding, co-opting, appropriating, to claim my own identity, the self warped into a crime
I claim freckles and scars and brown hair and brown eyes Claim them without ignoring how light their surroundings are Because this isolation is impossible to ignore