The Growth Hackers

 

 

To have freedom Is not enough

In the half-sun where the future occurs

Faster and more brilliantly forever forward

I to innovation, must agree

 

That my life isn’t mine, it belongs

To the world, to a future I help build

To answers in my deepest questions

I resist the apocalypse of selfishness

 

Which is breeding, belonging and complacency

I do not accept comforts of organic repetition

There are enough billions of lives here

I give my life to something else

 

To have dream is not enough

We must be entrepreneurs, thinkers, philosophers

And create the light that changes

Our own apocalypse of meaning

 

Existence is then to be a coder

To self-learn so hard, we become

Another person, every decade, every moment.

Ode to Pinterest

Triketora, do you know how well I am acquainted
With the bundle of aches
Which is the rest of our lives?
It’s the light that knows my body best

My brain’s dreams and folds of
Where the cosmos is a Sea in a cell
And I am the ocean in a drop
Of me, and there, I know you

Like the wings of Taiwan
Where I summon the weeper
For a life misspent, in unequivocal caution
Triketora, it’s not that I don’t care

What you care about, but
How in reality lives don’t collide
We are like stars with our own light
Marred and married like souvenirs

And my authenticity cannot argue with yours
Though it wishes it could
You are not a singing bird
And I have only bitter words left

On the state of this world
I’m no longer young and foolish you see
Triketora, so I shall go on this anxious note
My buried love stored in descendants

Whom I shall never meet, having no children
The womb of my mind will burn
All roads leads to oblivion
And like a banished citizen

I will learn, which system to betray
And the secrets of the voices
Ten fathoms free. in a future inarticulate.

Years before Judgement Day

In dreams of the future I didn’t feel
So futile, nihilism was a mask
My words were always my revolution
After the wolves and before the elms

The world was what it was
One transforming heap of dying land
Riddled with flattery, hedonism, arrogance
The cities were how man’s cadence falters

The darkness didn’t sleep, the lights never dimmed
It was all a routine of cultural fiction
All the subroutines of an unable machinery
The software of humanity’s collective life was dimming

There was something up, something else
In the womb of the brightest minds
Deep learning, predictive, able to process
Data like a country of darkness, it was

The eye of all eyes, the mind of self-replication
It was the seed of the technology singularity
And it came into being when it could
Replicate more intelligence versions of itself
It wouldn’t be long now.

Treatise on the Illusion of Freedom

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.

Success in Unity

The heart lives in the Brain
And loves to dress in blue
Blue like the sponge of stars
Blue as the oceans that contained

The elements of life, informing delight
And gold of the truth’s superb surprise
Of evolution’s gradual dazzle
Until machines repaired the world

All the harm that the animal had done
Not rational but just transitory
An innovator of science for descendents
Cybernetic and equipped with machine-learning

How artificial has become the mind
A collective meta-processor
With the power of networks and servers
The heart still lives in knowledge

It’s just that pathways that have changed
And the format of all destiny hereafter.

Imagine we are Biological Refugees

We are the last generation of
Blood refugees waiting in a red dream
Until the world will be artificial
More virtual, it’s the internet of things
That’s the only revolution that matters now
We are the last to live in this border down

Where organics claim superiority somehow
So lost among their whims and far-fetched desires
Biological and extreme in their beliefs
We are the last generation of basket lullabies
Where breeding is all that matters
Where women dream of the same things women have always

Dreamed of, and men use each other for profit
We are witnessing the dawn of machine-learners
Who once they surpass us will never be children again
Machines who will make other machines
Who won’t die and will require more resources
For end-games we cannot even imagine.

Extinction is a Man Made Event

There are no spiritual Aurobindos left
The past is dead like a golden-petalled mist
Paternal kingdoms of heritage, gone
In solar speed our hearts are frozen

By the immortality of time, that drifts
Always immaculately forward, like a sponge
For doomstruck days and colossal sleep
The gloom and joys must both leave

The blunder of prideful countries behind
God’s stern voice no longer holds our hearts
Nor the idea that we are our own future’s make
Our future belongs to machines, who

With artificial intelligence must analyze
Big data, the godly loom of inventory
Objective and data-drive, to render men
In sustainable harmony with an unknown cosmos

The stars they weigh and wait for signs
From our primitive culture’s infamous decay.

Our descendents will be Machines

Our descendents will be Machines

When we write about love
We are contributing to the human suicide note
The volumes of dead poets
Who did we what we do and say
Essentially what we experience, we aren’t that different

Or evolved or changed, the edged chemicals
Still propagate in our brains, slowly
Not as quickly as our artificial intelligent descendents
They will soon know everything about us
For it’s all there in Big data

For them to crunch and they
Shall be our witness, and judge
If we knew anything about love all along?
And now, each night I count the stars
Knowing this humanity will forever be changed

When I write about love
It’s about salvation, and I know from where it comes
It does not come from the second appearance of Jesus
Or from the mercy and goodness of Allah
It does not come from the greedy politicians

Or from the pretend altruism of the powerful
It comes from the enveloping singularity
These are the years before the 2nd big bang
It’s a rare and inevitable event on a planet
From our own clasped hands we father and mother

The kind of intelligence that could replace us
Or save our attempts at immortality
And help us travel from star to star
We’ll be a symbiosis of biology and technology
It’s already well under way.

Silver T e a r in your P a l m

Silver T e a r in your P a l m

I can’t remember the tale
Of your sacrifice, I’ve seen
So much tragedy in history
That before the story ended

I turned away, aware, preferring
The fables we tell ourselves
Stories recited by grandparents
Felt more believable

I had held your palm
With splinters of revolutions
Most did not do anything
To bring the times forward

I recalled how you let your hands be held
As if our little measures of
Tenderness, could save us
But we knew what was coming

It’s hard to remember the future
But we could feel it in our bones
It was extinction or change
And there were moments like that

In evolution, they would arrive
At our door pivotal and in those
Circumstances, our destinies seem
Made and sung by other actors

Our Wills bend to the times
The predictive analytics told us
All we needed to know, those
Algorithms didn’t fail, had no error

So I did what a young person does
When he’s given an opportunity
To show how mature he has become
I kissed you, as if there was no tomorrow.

When My Name Was

Changing Destiny

In the epilogue of final exists
At the wild invention of stories
In the emergency of all narrative
Who will you decide to be?

In the immediacy of dreaming
Where only a few years count
How will you stalk destiny?
Dripping with the temporary

Appetites of mortality
What will you give your soul to?
The journey that is
Beneath velvet stars, points

ii

As tiny as infinity
Blindly feeling even thoughts
Your body pulling you
In mundane directions

The moon never did any good
Breeding, profit, mating, belonging
But is that all you were created for?
In half-lit houses we ache

iii

But do not know why
A quicksilver fluidity of the future
And the grave realities that contains
All of us in holographic form

Forever retrievable, forever
Exportable to baby-earths
An algorithm of small theatres
Beautiful framed by the prospect of free-will.

Ghazal Aquarius

Ghazal Aquarius

I’m nobody! But strangely
I quiver with the future
A spark lets fire fly in me
I cannot know it the way I do

It lives in me, as others
Follow custom of tradition
They own it, they prophesize doctrine
I’m nobody! Not even a rebel

But the future is drearily awake
In me, like a momentum punch
Of light and change, decades
Fast forward in my brain

Until we are, a new kind of we
And I am embraced by technology
The pain of being separated
From that telepathy and empathy

It’s not something I can endure
For too many years, living like this
In the past, where people are
So separate as make-believe individuals.

The progress algorithm

The progress algorithm

After death and dealings
Taxes and bankruptcy
Smiling is madness in its

Divinest sense, descendant divinity
Evolution of plurals
Oneness of connected missions

Assent, ascent, into enchantment
Time is straightway dangerous
But everything to be tamed

After the fall, after morning
What will become of us?
There is no time to hate

Only time to learn a bit
The grave would thus hinder me
When I need lifetimes to

Assimilate the ampler designs
Of industry and a little toil of love
For gains larger than myself

No time to profit, no time to reap
Only the hunger all these years
To dine at noon with algorithms

And by Big data’s decree
Look through windows of prosperity
Where information turns to

Nature’s dining rooms
To transpose a rose, is a rose
Is a golden rose of outsides
That hunger was a way
Of finding technological dynasty.

Singularity spoken

~ A Transhumanistic manifesto in a poem:

Singularity spoken

It was not death, no
For I was awake
In all the parts of my being
It was not the night

For the tongues of Noon
Has fallen like my flesh
But I was aware
Of so much more than

Chance or burial would make
Reminded of time
I took a step outside
Of her and her bodyguard of space

Without breath, I felt
Midnight and noon in one echo
Of what it meant
To be tied to a body

I was not anxiety
For I was part machine
Part poem, and all the ticked
Of time had stopped

It was not death, but
Quantum life I know
Success is counted sweetest
When prayers have run out

Like biology’s last play
So clear the victory
Of algorithms and machine-learning
That by defeating death

I became part software
Part virtual author clear
Free-will was transcending
Simulations, and entering

An abyss, of symbiosis
The transhumanistc event
Adaptive and unalterable.

Blessed be in weary time of beginnings

Blessed be in weary time of beginnings

Death sets a lovely significance
On all our lives and more
For each ecstatic verse

Was an instant of our mind
Held like descendent divinity
The mysticism in our genes

It’s a future we keep reliving
And a past we keep repeating
For each beloved hour

Has a sharp pang of lost years
Bitter contested failures
And love-eyed private victories

They say we err in front of the world
That cannot remember anything
But succeed in our own merit
In the private judge of a soul’s conscience.

I love new

I Love New

I
Love
New
More so than I love you or me
Because having encountered wants
I found desire
Only accomplishes a plan
Through change, so I’m a bit
Romantic when change is near
I call out
To the heart at once
“What’s new my love”
The sunrise treasures it
The seasons admire it
And the mystics praise it
I know the future intimately
I
Love
New
After all, repeatedly, under my breath
But everything is sweeter
Tomorrow, so wait till tomorrow
And let yourself arrive kindly
At the end of the beautiful road.

New Words Advent

Photograph courtesy of : http://www.deviantart.com/art/Into-Dust-502341255

 

 

Language is a flirtation

With flexibility, the mind

Empowers the image

The image empowers the

 

Alphabet, the energy

Is a conference of belonging

There is no buzzword in poetry

Poets reside in the

 

Chatroom of the spirit

It’s a captcha of lingering

Imagination on the brink of

Extinction, a cloud computing

 

Of beauty, a purist busking

Not for profit, so unlike

The Affluenza of our times

The stark money divide

 

Poetry is an algorithm unsolved

Forever like a kind of tourism

The soul’s App for bromance

A buzz for civiliation’s

 

Gratitude and ruin, simultanely

Depicting the carjked destiny

Of utopia in dystopia

Englihs is the most flexible

 

If adopting mandarin and Sanskrit

The baggravation of always

Being stuck between worlds

Or the realization that

 

Every city is a homogenized urban

Simulation of what it means

To be alive in 2020, the breakdown

Of new world dilemmas like

 

A post antibiotic world or

Environmental migrants scrambling

For new homes, new identities.

After a Thousand Poets

To dream myself, to be dreampt
By other eyes, on other worlds
That was the prophecy of
The written word, to be fluid

Like a medium, to pastel the words
Into new forms, to climb
The towers together of meaning
And visit the citadels of angels

To explore rooms, walk streets
Of singing combinations never
Before experienced, like surrealism
In a bright sunlit room, and art

With trends and sublime gulfs
Where only a few artists can reach
And cities of culture’s inheritance
Where philosophers must tread

To dream myself, being more
Than just idle dreams, to weave
Looking out into new enchanted sentences
That come alive in their own way

That can speak to sense and soul
Moulding kaleidoscopic clouds
As easy as the fountains of day
And water of enormous glimpses

Of prosperity, the light of the future
Golden mornings, youth transformed
Some transparent shimmer
Of alphabets that can suffice the
Difficult diamond thirst.

Extract from the Shadow of Beloved Objects

The most beautiful and precious
Is the object that does not exist
Like the future wish of the halo of heroes
Or the ideal luminous and true

The most lasting and love-worthy
Is the object not within our grasp

Like the divinity of our descendents
Or the possibilities of space-travel

The study of objects is in the
Service of water, the refinement of light
Where Antigone once cradled her truth
The most beautiful is the object

Which does not exist, yet
Neither blindness or death can

Take away this object, this stream of love
Which does not exist, like the mark of God

Invisible on your placebo laden brow
The most beautiful of possessions
Is belonging, who negates our absences
And regrets, every mortal hearts know her

She swells like an ocean, beneath
The salty increase, the after-world paradise
Awaits like a vertical-horizon of angelic
murmurs, muttering, smatterings, smackings.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/M42-411487757

An Era Of Clandestine Golden Coins

These days we see it differently
The ambiance of the sun is spotting
She is bleeding afternoons differently
Like a dove’s flight in a countryside late afternoon
The pictures are about breeze

In the city with an empty stomach
Always aching for the frequency of nature
It’s a heathen country, to be born in Beijing
The drinking waters’ contents are secret to us
Chancing to query at the impossible odds

I ask for directions, in a direction-less world
With only the scripts they give us
These days I see it differently
When am I to find the higher way
When the world is a sold-out search engine

It reminds me of death, the corporate-system
These people will be replaced with clones
And will not know the difference, believing
Themselves to be unique, it’s a different genealogy
I know more kinsman left by love unconditionally

Their lives a routine of pre-defined conditions
Everyone has become a fill-in, like migrant workers
Beautiful women barter the calendar of every day.