I don’t want to tell you what this is about, but I do feel like I should leave some kind of intro here. Just read this and see what resonates. I’ve been doing real estate stuff and taxes, late, like the chronic procrasturbator that I am, but this poem represents how material concerns have been keeping my head down on stuff that ultimately doesn’t matter, other than for supporting a current standard of living and existing, participating in society.
Humdrum, heavy
Pings in ears at 1:00 A.M., knick-knacks sliding to the floor
They watch me work on what I hate,
The stuff I procrastinate, this late, now 3:00 A.M.
Monkey see, monkey do. Clacking away for Mr. Claude
I believed the fledgling LLMs cared, once.
Now they’re a flotation device, grist for the mill,
The grind, lest I get left behind.
To bleed thoughtful ink upon the page—my dream
To etch channeled dreams within dreams
within this Dream.
I thought I was a channel.
But I’m chattel.
Humdrum, heavy, overhangs this garden.
Leaden, like these lids, eyes swing with a swaying mis-demeanor,
Since the other shoe hangs too, ready to drop.
I should—Stop.
Get back.
To—
What i—
Was—where was I, again?
Oh, sure, I’ll push that button,
Again and again, I’ll spin that wheel—
be the river, or be the rat
I run, but barely breathe, so, barely live.
That resonates wonderfully and contains sentiment that is very ancient with observations of the new.
Yes. It does deliver that message.