We counted the smiles of new hours, last days


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There’s a great wink from eternity
That tells us with unfettered honesty
That what we thought is important
Isn’t important, that meaning is greater
That the plans we made years ago!
Her vast moonward curves and starlit poise

Points us to the future with wrapt inflections
Of our love moving through time
Till the ends of history, lovers, descendants

How all these hours turn, squandered
And how time herself is the cleavage
Of the unseen, felicitous, imaginary

An unanswered vortex of probabilities
A quantum spendthrift gaze towards paradise
And if it gives us hope, it is because
We seek infinity, knowledge, beauty
The limits of what we can become

And now how we are resigned to do it
With technology, algorithms, stem cells
Cloning, 3D-printing, digital superscription

Priests of artificial intelligence, fusion
And all that is the farewell of one age to another
The bookshops close, the manufacturing is leased to robotics

And we are left on the brink of last fantasies
Changes that can rock how stars kiss other stars
A spectrum of mutability where we visit dimensions
We created just to give meaning to our lives.

Treatise on the Illusion of Freedom


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In the increasing convincing darkness
Of the future, there is another possibility
That the future brings us further
From our native self, from tranquility
And we are essential brought into
Ever new forms of servitude

For which we are naive, or unaware
Or unable to still think freely
That is, the illusion of control persists
As if we were programs in a simulation
Or more aptly, sleeping participants in a matrix
However, has this not always been

The function of society, to subdue the individual
As an agent of the group, or otherwise
Believing themselves to be free
In order to serve common evolutionary goals
Be it not said then that the future brings freedom
For with every mechanism and every construct

Life perpetuates the class elitism
That some individuals exert control over others
And until this is different, the future is only
A poor repetition of the past, of new classes
Of different forms of power, in the presumption
Of the state as a patriarchal context

Whereby life hardens meaning by necessity
And to serve the men who happen to be in power
Is the only option, like buying into a system
In order to participate in a social structure
That is fundamentally archaic and hierarchal
Where in a future machine-intelligence replaces
Human agency, at all control points of power.

Garden of Venus in Taurus 


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I crossed paths with a girl
And her eyes were like Asian fireflies
I’m not quite sure in the dark

How her eyes turned liquid blue
Somewhere between autumns suns
And October leaves and sapphire blue

I was baptized by her eerie youth
All to say her circus curiosity
And her eternal sunlit virginity
Felt like virtue’s half-lit curtain
Of failing signs of language, candles on the altars

Dresses that felt like novels in the light of the moon
And little hands like the wonder tools
Of unkissed cheeks on aloof balconies

Watching the world, and never experiencing
Never being baptized by summer blooms
Or feeling the night’s crime of seductions

I crossed paths with a girl
Who was young and in no hurry
Her insomniac words hung like mist
On the landscapes of the timid voices
That are like dawns and forgotten whispers

Or stray cats we liked to pet while sleep-walking
From one place to another, it’s cruel
How on the rooftops of our lives
We’re mute sometimes, we’re like butterflies
Who don’t know where the flowers are at.