Creating sagas out of pictures and words
Organized in windowed snapshots of time
Manipulating sounds silently through POW and SNIKT
It is an artform consumed by young and old
Capturing the human condition with characters who are more than that
Derived from imprecise measurements that approximate reality
Actively virtualizing senses that were beyond human capability
Taking all of that and growing graphical landscapes to frolic mentally therein
Allowing everyone their own perspective from which they can misinterpret everything
Prying back her man’s rough outer layer
Exposed the fact that he was surprisingly human
Except she didn’t want to believe that
Lifting his freshly stilled heart out of the way, she continued to look for essence of monster
Sounds dancing harmoniously within her soul
Oozing the gospel of the human experience like the sweat dripping from her pores
Never missing the beat of her nervous heart
Giving a moment that connected all dots, all the people, all the experiences
So that proposal was due yesterday? I thought it was next week.
They told me next week. I’m sure of that.
Really, they’ve got to give us a second chance.
Everyone has days like this, Michael. I’m only human.
So what do you mean don’t bother coming to work on Monday?
So Michael, do you think I can get a reference letter hookup from you?
Image: mdedge-files-live.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/files/s3fs-public/Image/July-2018/stress_ball_web.jpg
Bonus poem (1st draft) If you like this one better, let me know in the comments.
So that project proposal was due yesterday?
That’s right, so now our company’s existence is now in question.
Really? Why didn’t you tell me?
Everyone told you, daily. With voicemail AND email AND in person
So about that. I thought you were all being a bit pushy.
So about that, you’re fired.
The desire from human contact
On the arm, shoulder, a full hug
Unties stress and allows us to feel like we belong
Critical to our wellbeing
He took it too far though
Image: cdn.hswstatic.com/gif/touching-1.jpg
Computer chips and meat meshed together was now his identity
You would think he would feel superior
But he felt definitely less than human
Of course, now he could now bench press a bus
Reality was he was a ghost in his own machine
Giving him a haunted look in his remaining eye
Image: i.pinimg.com/originals/67/27/80/672780c2cd69e5c3910327989e9f0bb0.jpg
No one ever sets out to become a killer. There is always an inciting incident that pushes one to cross that line from believing human life is sacrosanct to it being discretional. It can be trauma, either real or perceived. It can be reprogramming of the brain, either willingly or not. It can be the realization that humans are still animals and as such not special. That’s what happened to me. Now I sit here at my keyboard with this manifesto on the screen and wonder if they will remember my middle name. I’ll never know of course. Carpe diem!
Image: pixabay.com/photo/2017/10/25/16/54/african-lion-2888519__340.jpg
“Microscopic processes determine macroscopic properties, yet the human ego assumes causal effect upon the world around it, bending it to its will through shear willpower and dominance of reality.”
“What did you say?”
“Humanity has a way of altering perception to meet the expectations and assumptions that coincides with the belief system of the observer.”
“Say what?”
“The observable is objective depending on perspective and the inherent life narrative of the person in question. Thus multiple flawed testimonies are needed to correct for the systematic error.”
“Huh?”
“Humans will believe what they want to believe.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Exactly!”
Image: http://www.whywesnore.com/x/lc-content/uploads/2017/05/Fotolia_117302377_Subscription_Monthly_M.jpg
Couldn’t feel his fingers anymore
Yet it didn’t matter since the ones he flexed weren’t really his
Being part robot did have its uses
Or you could say he was being used because he was the first part robot
Really it didn’t matter. He was alive and able to hold his son
Giving his human side great joy
Image : media.npr.org/assets/img/2010/08/02/eyes_wide-ee2ce8a648f593039426ea969b842a3de9dee287-s900-c85.jpg
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
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Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
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