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The vines of my machine curl fine around my vocal cords
In primordial glory.
The bogs of my wants clogged its cogs with blood and soot,
But complexities have seized my hopeful monster.
New sprockets blossom smaller, cleaner, sharper,
With hairtrigger flytraps.
But your atavistic altruism won’t
Feed me to the gears of the game I invented
Its only prey in my lifeless silent soil is inside
But if you sit too close, it can smell your sweat.

nonnymonster wrote:The vines of my machine curl fine around my vocal cords
In primordial glory.
The bogs of my wants clogged its cogs with blood and soot,
But complexities have seized my hopeful monster.
New sprockets blossom smaller, cleaner, sharper,
With hairtrigger flytraps.
But your atavistic altruism won’t
Feed me to the gears of the game I invented
Its only prey in my lifeless silent soil is inside
But if you sit too close, it can smell your sweat.

.. interesting poem..

.. just briefly.. [as I gotta get back to my toils].. but it puts me in mind of this idea of there being two paths one might choose from.. one leading to this opening up of the creative self, which is the choice of life as life giving, and enriching, and regenerating..

.. and the other choice.. [and what reminded me of this material].. is more to this "lifeless silent soil inside".. [I removed 'is' there].. It is an eternity of inertness.. of non-beingness.. that is this path's destination.

I'd rather be atavistic in my altruism.. than the stuff of lifeless silent soil. And who's to say it's atavistic, even?

.. as per the last line of the poem.. the challenge would be to let go of fear in the face of being eaten by such machine.. for it would seem fear is part of its mechanism. And in denouncing fear, even if it means a carnal end in some cases, I can't help but think it's to in some manner survive, and even flourish.. though who knows how.. or in what form..

.. anyway.. your poem brought all of this up in me, and so it must speak to something fairly powerful then..

.. oh, also.. I'll never forget this line I came upon once.. .. that love is the servant to knowledge. It comes to my mind often, not only in terms of the order of that [as it does put a high premium on knowledge], but by virtue of the fact that love is still very much in the equation. Intelligence is, in a sense, nothing without it.