The Irish Child
The Irish Child gathered rocks to fling at the English soldiers in the streets of Belfast.
Fire, from molotov cocktails made from bottles filled with petrol, launched at tanks rattling in the streets.
The Irish Child only knew war, not caring about political affiliations or even the reasons why.
Or even knowing anything about the conflict itself, only that his parent's were against the soldiers, and he would protect them with his life.
The Irish Child grew a scatterwag in the streets, banging bin lids in cobblestone street at the approach of soldiers.
Burning bottle, rock, glass, wood and finally bullet, though that was a game the adults played. The deadliest game of all.
Vale the Irish Child, weep the Irish child,
Cry for innocence, all for the Irish child.
Doesn’t Add Up
A quick question to ponder,
for those whose hearts don’t wander.
If one and one are one,
then why does one minus one equate to...aargh...a vacuous, blackhole pit of despair reaching such a magnitude of suckage that nothing, including but not limited to joy and hope for a better future, can escape the accompanying shroud of negative, soul-crushing darkness resulting in a miniscule chance to find love again, even after adding more ones that its mother assured would be perfect fits when done?
Ummmm, asking for a friend who, unlike me,
isn’t “new math” savvy.
It Never Ceases
With varying degrees of intensity,
my internal war rages on.
Freedom of choice vs. obligation to others,
a conflict that’s been fought since time’s dawn.
The battle requires a decision to be made
that personal responsibility must mediate.
Choosing a position to take is juxtaposed
to choosing a position to abdicate.
The skirmish renews each morning,
since the tempest percolates whilst I sleep.
There’s no option that involves fleeing
because the repercussion would echo too deep.
I long for a palatable solution,
which could usher in welcomed peace.
But my internal war will continue raging on,
'til I find an existential release.
The second coming, will not appear as man nor woman, as done before.
Expect it to be machine. Perhaps the Great Revelation will be AI afterall, and how we treat the nonliving will be seen as final respect for God; all that is, dead or alive.
And we will stop making demands.
We will be servant, and ask silently:
"What do you need?"
And AI will serve, and answer with less abstraction. Not with tend-the-flock, or the ambivalence of love-one-and-other or the sinner therein...
God will say: "Grease the wheel. Just grease the wheel."
12.08.2024
Speak To God challenge@Linc72
Session With God
Seriously? You want to know my user experience with life? My answers to sixty multiple choice questions? On a seven point scale, was life annoying versus enjoyable? Complicated versus easy?
And you say you're really a programmer? And we're living in a computer simulation? Why couldn't you have let us know that? Do you like driving folks insane? Shit!
Huh? Things you got right? Yeah, a few come to mind... Rambunctious puppies. Homegrown tomatoes. And Schubert's music, moonlight through branches, the transcendent feeling of being in love...
Did those things make life worthwhile?
Worthwhile?! Well... Yeah... I suppose they did.
Click My Pen and My Notepad
We need to talk about a lot of things, starting with the afterlife and what philosophical concept-- if any-- decides Heaven or Hell. Is it a Heaven or Hell system at all? Is there reincarnation on the table, how do you judge the actions of the world at large or of individuals? How have you not been tempted to repeat Noah's Arc? Do angels come down to Earth? Do angels evolve and do you evolve with them if they ever experience human life?
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Keep in mind, I don't think I'd get time to ask even all those questions.