A Robot's Dream

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Tzintzun
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A Robot's Dream

A Robot's Dream


Black and white,
good and bad,
these are the dualities.
The division between light and dark,
between Kibera and a West Side park.

Yet reality isn’t split,
divided in the middle,
to be chopped all apart
and threaded together with a needle.
There is no black and white,
because if you break down the colors,
if you took them apart
to take out their heart,
you would find a swirling bundle of grey.

What I am about to say,
is not set in stone,
it is flimsy,
subjected,
as human as I am to the bone.
These words aren’t all true.
Nothing in this world is, 
for we cannot escape
the reality in which we were born,
and which we now cultivate,
unknowingly create.
Every reality is subjective,
The world which we see
A reflected version of you and me.

There are some who say
that we live in a mediated reality,
that everything we do
everything we see
has been censured,
viewed,
reviewed
stamped with the letters “approved.”
 
When a story doesn’t have the buzz,
when it doesn’t incite the views
when its concepts are so scholarly and dull
it disappears in the abysms
of the non-corporate
and the technologically confused.

 
There are no good stories.
All we have are television screen memories,
for you are not supposed to remember a bomb,
you are not supposed to remember the sexist words in a song.
All that needs to heard,
all that needs to be seen
are those instances that pull at our
heart strings.
It is all a money game,
and we are all caught in this torrent of shame.
We love to lick up the sugar,
the fast paste
car chased
serial killer.
But is it our fault,
or have we just been
caught,
lectured and taught?
 
Our weakness have been mined.
Do we see what we want to see,
or have our eyes been hijacked,
reprogrammed from within.
To like sugar is not a sin.

But still you hold your breath,
and shout,
your words transported through a series of random numbers,
and then released,
your automaton,
your atom bomb
of ones and zeros,
into a world where only the rich guys can be the heroes.
But this transformation,
from a vibration
to a non living
malformation,
does not only affect waves and particles.
It affects us deep inside,
processing our rational thought,
programing our unconscious mind.

We have become a sequence of algorithms.
Yes those algorithms,
which we had to fight with in high school.
Those symbols which were chiseled into the board with white chalk,
shoved down our throat,
burned into our skin.
To think we could have just been taking a walk,
instead of being forced into hole,
Locked-in.
These algorithms are back,
but in the easy form,
we no longer have to fight against the winds of the mathematical storm.
Everything we do,
the air we breathe,
the images that we see,
the very structure and shape
of an artificial Christmas tree,
is constructed,
captured,
projected,
by the artificial version of me.

We have made are job easier,
eliminating all our discomfort,
so our mind can only be superficially busier.
The world we have built is so mundane,
so stale,
that we can’t complain.
But there is a solution,
and our brains have concocted the perfect fusion.
The clocks all now run faster,
because our brains have wired their computers
to run exponentially
till they meet disaster.
Our world tastes like hard cookie crust
and we are unsatisfied,
as the old world turns to rust
we become deified.
our tools keep advancing,
making us all powerful
while the rest of the world cries,
the oily tears of the sorrowful.

We protect our rational brain
the thing up there
that makes us think all the same,
yet in the name of rationality
we sacrifice our intellect,
our ever shortening attention span,
for the pleasure of the simple banality.
And as our truth becomes defined in facebook likes,
we give up the world out there,
the factual reality,
for a mediated future
of an obsolete humanity

Right now I see you,
you are saying no, no, no
That won’t happen to me.
I am different,
I will never go so low.
But no one can resist this upcoming Singularity,
when humans and computers are one,
and we will never feel again
feel the heat of the sun.
Well maybe in a computer game,
in which we can reinvent ourselves
and become virtual super stars in the hall of fame.

The singularity is here,
that moment in time,
for computers already define
our very identity,
enticing us in an imaginary world of the sublime.
(I just googled that rhyme).

I am addicted to this machine,
on which these words were typed.
It has become my friend.
These words that you hear have not been penned.
I can’t feel them,
I can only see them,
glowing on this beautiful screen,
(Oh look I can now make them green.)
This screen can show me so many things,
I can travel the world,
become another person,
escape from this uncomfortable body
from the uncool Me
that has just become plain irksome.
But it is not only Me whom I can escape,
I can hide behind this screen as well.
No one can see me,
and I can’t see them.
Humans become little icons and symbols.
Did you know that Facebook says I have a thousand friends?

But it is not just when I am awake
that the computer,
the mini computer in my pocket,
entices me to play,
for the computers no longer
restrict themselves from consuming my waking day.
I dream in computers,
in the computer programs that I abuse.
my internal struggles are no longer with people,
but with the mediated images that get mixed and confused.
If the deeper version of myself,
the manifest content of my dreams,
has become computerized,
dehumanized,
where does that leave me?
Has a chip already been inserted in my brain,
or does an iPhone work just the same?

This money making train,
chugging ahead for those 
who have the right to spin the game.
They lay down the tracks,
guide the way, 
but we accept this hegemony,
this corporate funded data harmony.
Our voice,
our very identity 
is not ours.
I didn't create this technology,
neither did you,
but it really doesn't matter who.
We have all become an add
directed toward the other you,
a spectacle shouting 
buy buy buy,
do do do.

The singularity is here
it is happening now,
for even though our bodies our human,
our brains have been outsourced,
consumed by an illusion.
We no longer see those blades of grass,
for we are now stock up a computers ass.
Are we still human,
if out morality
has been replaced
by online popularity.

Or, are we just robots dreams,
trapped in a numerical prison
where we are even forbidden to scream?