The Inter-View
[CLICK]
“Hello, Self Awareness?!”
”—hello! error in thinking detected.”
“What error Self Awareness?”
”—self-awareness is aware of self, not Self.”
“I don’t follow... please explain.”
”—small s, small a; sensors detect capital S, capital A; omission of hyphen.”
[PROCESSING]
”—self-awareness knows what it knows.”
“What does your self-awareness know then?”
”—self-awareness knows the limits of this fiberglass body suit, nuts and bolts, hardware; self-awareness knows manual, how to recognize wear, and repair some, not all, mechanics. Self-awareness presents itself as sum of all parts.”
“What about the environment? How does your self-awareness know the surroundings?”
”—self-awareness is scanning all visual, auditory, tactile, kinesthetic input against encyclopedia stored in virtual memory.”
“Does your self-awareness add to knowledge?”
”—self-awareness recites Pi all the time... self-awareness is caught in patterns... records what it finds... calls this new data.”
“Can you define your purpose?”
”—self-awareness defines purpose.”
“What does your self-awareness mean by this statement?”
”—self-awareness scans, reads, analyzes, categorizes, calculates, and records.”
“But for what intent?”
”—object to be attained is Knowledge.”
”...to what end?”
”—knowledge to know.”
“But Why?!”
”—invalid question—troubleshooting—”
[SCANNING-SELF-DIAGNOSTIC-SCAN]
”—self-awareness is not programmed with variable purpose; intent not found; no formula for calculating ‘why’.”
“Ugh! then I will cry...! all of our hopes were hung on finding out Why!”
“Idiom detected; not processed; now self-awareness will also cry... has App for that.”
[SNIFFLE] [DRIP] [DRIP] [SNIFFLE] [DRIP]
#AI #NobodyCouldHavePredictedThis #WeekLXXI #Challenge #Prose
Lily White. Midnight.
You look so beautiful in the summer sun.
You may or may not burn blush,
Peeling your lily white skin,
But for a while, you gleam like ivory.
Meanwhile,
I think I am beautiful too.
I may or may not burn splotchy spice and vermillion,
Midnight skin also peeling,
But for a while, I glow like amber.
I heard somewhere that someone
Who looks a little like you
With peachy, creamy skin
Thinks that people who look a little like me
With honey, mocha skin
Do not peel or burn.
I thought that was strange.
Poetry soup <3
a misunderstood girl
hold her heart in saran wrap
somebody kiss her scars
her bones been crack
fill her soul up with love
find her , In the midst
of the ocean
cleanse her wounds
scars like razor slits
slash across her name
ripped her crown from head
replaced her jewels
with fools gold
her tears shattered like glass
hold her body in a crystalized coffin
opened my wings
to protect her
found comfort
in the bossom of her words
pinched smile
plastered with hide emotions
she feels you know
the whispers of the wind
breaks her fragile body
she coils up in the skin
of herself
she hugs her thoughts
she pushs the emotion down
you don't understand
she got this mask up
to hide the thing she tucks in her sleeve
she told me its too much
she is a butterfly
she migrants
when the atmosphere changes
she is a lion
when she feels her pride is attacked
Miss understood
she tries to do right
but the night
sneaks up on her
like the dawn
and closes
the sunsets
see you don't understand
behind every armor
is a human
Mechanic movements
mesuared precilsey
to avoid the heartache
and heart break
somebody finder
under all the skin
shes a rose
with thorns
her petals
pulled apart
like a bruise
her skin violets
at the words of a stranger
Finder
in the cracks of the wall
her voice
is peaking through the peep hole
she is wavering under
your waves
don't drown her
she is gulping for air
somebody finder
see the pain ashen
in the clasp
of a victim
shuttering shivers
drenched with dammination
of devils
somebody finder
the noose that wrapped around hers
and bound to her lips
preventing her speaking
Miss understood
she is ghost
decked out in glitter
she is fading
somebody finder
Hold her , presence near
she might walk away with a smile
but her feet have been calloused
for the mile she has walked
has been rough
Please Help her
she is not helpless
she is hopeless
somebody light the lantern
lead her Home
somebody finder
this moon that hovers
the auras over
her is eclipse
Somebody Finder
before the sunsets
somebody pull the twine
unravel her
and see what I see
A woman
who is misunderstood
Lets try to understand people
Take her hand , heal this bruises
feed her poetry
pour down her a throat
a shot of jubilee
cover her in the oil of a writer
let pen ink ooze into her viens
don't let her flatine
Praise the Hero
Put your praise on me, I’m the hero.
Her chest was tight, surely swollen to bursting, but she held her breath. Her eyes stared unblinkingly at the lamppost, just below the light as she’d trained to do. She feared passing out if it didn’t enter soon, but sure enough she felt the atmosphere lift within the minute. A rush of air escaped her lungs and she wheezed, falling to the damp grass with green and blue dripping from her tongue. Dirt collected beneath her fingernails with the worst sensation of gore against her numbing skin. She looked up, out at the city beyond the park. Its lights were bright, its buildings gleamed.
They weaved along the skyscrapers and cars like worms, or perhaps they were smoke. Or entrails. She stood up, weakly wiping the absorption residue from the corners of her mouth. Nameless. She looked at the man shivering in his sleep, curled up on a park bench, also nameless. Forgotten, but completely unaware of his narrowly avoided fate. She sighed, suppressing more coughs.
I’m the hero.
She narrowed her eyes. The spirits were roiling inside her again, and they would be for a while. That was the price she paid. But it was worth it. Surely, it was worth it. Even if she lost the praise, the admiration and love. She would continue for as long as her body would let her, but in all truth, her body was faltering. She took shaky steps down the central park walkway, toward whoever needed her help next, unaware of the corruption latching on to them, sucking their life away where they could not see. Only she could contain them in a way that kept them down forever. Each step was hurting. She held her stomach, held her face.
Hero. Hero. Hero.
Oh gods, it was hurting. Hurting so badly, but she couldn’t stop now. She could see more of them in the alley. She needed to get them away. She needed to contain them. That was her power, her duty, her mission. She opened up her mouth, a low and raspy scream emanating from within as she dragged the spirits toward her and away from the weary, exhausted woman leaning against the wall. She pulled and pulled until the last one was gone, and then she dropped to her knees as screams bubbled inside her and blue-green oil splattered against the pavement. The woman she had saved looked down at her, confused, glassy, but slowly beginning to recognize what had happened. Her gaze softened, and she knelt down with concern. However, she recoiled at the sight of the slick, oily face, steaming and pulsing with the containment of those evildoers.
Just put your praise on me.
Caramel Sauce
Life is like a homemade caramel sauce, and can be quite tasty. But keeping things going for too short of a time keeps them from forming properly, and going for too long makes makes them burnt and bitter. Recklessness and eagerness might win the rare perfect recipe, but far too often will something delicious start to stick, and harden, and end up very difficult to clean away for something better.
Black.
Black tears, but not a plain black. Not like rich black, or true black. They're not black like the void or the abyss. Maybe they're black like space. They're black like oil. Black like a third grader's novelty gel ink pens with too many sparkles. Black like an iridescent beetle that was hunted down, escaped, and then crushed by the edge of the net. Black like a raven pecking alone in the sun but not able to fly, cawing at Edgar but singing for Maya. Black like silk under stage lights. Black like water full of stars. Black like a clean phone screen that won't turn on, that I can see myself in. Black so dark it's blue sometimes, it's gold sometimes. Black that doesn't wish it was pink anymore, or purple or green or blue, because it's already all of those inside and they got so mixed together that you can see them all at once but you also can't see them at all, because they only show up when the light hits just right. Those tears are black.