Didn't know you also did poetry, Miss Layne! I'm very impressed with the style and tone.
Is the poem about the hollowness of ai 'art' and 'literature' and how it a pale and monstrous imitation of humanity? Perhaps the clay monster represents repressed trauma escaping into art? And it's destruction is further repression? I'm really curious.
Earth gleamed like an eyelid, half-closed against the waking light
A swift sunrise cast a rainbow sheen from the North Pole to the Amazon River
Auroras swirled a golden green over the northern fjords
Hurricanes spun like cotton-candy through the dazzling blue. Checkered green flashed around the equator like emerald.
“Lady Gaia… with her dream coat on”
“Are you slacking poetically, Lt Watson?”
John smiled, Aurora’s necklace glinting off his visor
“Lunchbreak, Commander — taking a moment to smell the roses”
His Scottish roots softening on the final vowels
“You can’t actually do that in space”
“Ah see, how lovely our Mother Earth. My heart can’t help but weep for joy and fill with rhyme, rhythm — ”
“That’s fine. Weep and work” said Susan dryly.
“Affirmative, singing is out!”
John, quiet for a full minute began to softly hum Louis Armstrong’s eternal tune.
“Seems you weren’t being specific, Commander” Martinez chimed in “He’s invoking a loophole”
“Darn, said Susan. She switched to Ground Control ‘CapComm, confirm TS5 Protocol upload’ I don’t like it when I do that”
“Hmm, hmm-hmm” floating behind the controls in the cabin Martinez swayed his head, moving with the hum. A pen tumbling tirelessly near his elbow.
“I hear ya, Lou” with a push he started to softly spin next to his pencil, tapping out the slow beat on anything within reach
He responded quickly and concisely to a command-inquiry from Mission Control, switching seamlessly back to the rhythm, in sync as John’s baritone softly rose.
“The rules lack coherence. What exactly constitutes .. a loop—hole?” Susan tightened the panel, as John rumbled towards the first verse.
“Copy, CapComm. ST5 initiated”
Martinez faithfully kept the thread
“Oh, he’s not backing down. He has got to have a hand. Has to — closing in on thirty seconds flat”
“A pathetic bluff. This was not the seventh sunrise! — fine”
She shrugged, gave the panel a fist-bump, and led in the first verse.
In Mission Control, Flight Director Martin Barnhill chuckled as they listened in to the banter between “The Riddlers“
All readings were within nominal parameters as laughter rippled along the watchful hum in the room.
None of them knew the rules.
A single screen lit up.
How long had it hidden among the highways of the high-speed bandwidth?
It moved so fast, it was almost instantly everywhere. Billions of screens flashed up a bright red, filled with pitch-black numbers… counting down.
A nanosecond… to find every server, every satellite waiting to connect.
Hidden networks, underground bases, super-stealth submarines, it brought them all to heel.
The wave glittered and shattered against the Earth’s surface like light off a startled eye.
It broke through every wall, ignored all protocols, enslaved all commands, and bound them all.
A nanosecond… to take annihilation away from us, like scissors from a toddler — to take all control, responsibility, and command out of our hands.
——
In Tokyo, commuters froze on escalators as the walls of the subway flickered into crimson.
In Nairobi, a teacher’s smartboard dissolved mid-lesson; startled young faces, lit blood-red.
On an oil rig off the coast of Brazil, the crew gathered around a tablet glowing red
In a New York penthouse, every digital picture frame dialed to that same red hue.
Then Time Square did too
No message. No logo. Just a timer, doing time.
The brightest minds did the math.
The timers ticked in perfect, global unison down to some shared moment in time.
Within the hour the world was buzzing like a beehive. Governments ordered shut-downs; engineers pulled plugs, threw kill switches, prayed to Mother Earth and all the gods
It didn’t do a damn thing. The timers stayed lit, keeping time.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, a passenger plane’s cockpit went crimson.
The pilot tapped his console, muttered a silent curse, sighed in relief as his screen flashed back to its trusted green
No critical systems were hit
Power grids kept humming, traffic control obeyed, planes landed.
But billions of screens froze to red
Not empty, not broken.
Bright red.
“Yeah, that one is great. My favourite is ‘Measure of a Man’ where Data has to fight for his ri… Ground Control, please come back — ”
Martinez tapped the screen to his left that had changed colour.
“CapCom, come again, if any screen does what? … “ He slowly froze, eyes glued to the numbers.
Pitch-black against bright red,
counting down …
Thank you so much for your insightful lectures and sharing your work and lighting a spark
Off topic, but have you seen Anthony Gramuglia’s now two videos trying to smear you? Do you plan on responding to his claims about you?
Edit: This is not intended to come off as a threat or a criticism, but rather as a loyal follower’s sage warning about an increasingly coordinated ideological smear campaign against you.
Didn't know you also did poetry, Miss Layne! I'm very impressed with the style and tone.
Is the poem about the hollowness of ai 'art' and 'literature' and how it a pale and monstrous imitation of humanity? Perhaps the clay monster represents repressed trauma escaping into art? And it's destruction is further repression? I'm really curious.
Thank you! I would be more curious to know what you found in it.
Beautiful
Thank you!
Thank you. The writing is very meditative. Worth going back to over and over again to extrapolate new meaning. My favorite kind of writing.
Thank you! That is very high praise.
Beautiful poem.
Especially the parts of the clay.
Clay that can’t think, feel, or act handled by a living soul that can think, feel and act.
We are the impossible made possible.
Wow, Hillary. Cool poem, I love the mysterious atmosphere. The existential question - do you bring a being to life?
To quote The Princess Bride: "Life is pain." Though I suppose that doesn't have to mean pain is life.
Love it. It feels like what it is to pursue creative work, hopelessly grasping at Creation. I like the flourish with the stairs.
Some wood for the fire
CHAPTER ONE: FIRST CONTACT
Earth gleamed like an eyelid, half-closed against the waking light
A swift sunrise cast a rainbow sheen from the North Pole to the Amazon River
Auroras swirled a golden green over the northern fjords
Hurricanes spun like cotton-candy through the dazzling blue. Checkered green flashed around the equator like emerald.
“Lady Gaia… with her dream coat on”
“Are you slacking poetically, Lt Watson?”
John smiled, Aurora’s necklace glinting off his visor
“Lunchbreak, Commander — taking a moment to smell the roses”
His Scottish roots softening on the final vowels
“You can’t actually do that in space”
“Ah see, how lovely our Mother Earth. My heart can’t help but weep for joy and fill with rhyme, rhythm — ”
“That’s fine. Weep and work” said Susan dryly.
“Affirmative, singing is out!”
John, quiet for a full minute began to softly hum Louis Armstrong’s eternal tune.
“Seems you weren’t being specific, Commander” Martinez chimed in “He’s invoking a loophole”
“Darn, said Susan. She switched to Ground Control ‘CapComm, confirm TS5 Protocol upload’ I don’t like it when I do that”
“Hmm, hmm-hmm” floating behind the controls in the cabin Martinez swayed his head, moving with the hum. A pen tumbling tirelessly near his elbow.
“I hear ya, Lou” with a push he started to softly spin next to his pencil, tapping out the slow beat on anything within reach
He responded quickly and concisely to a command-inquiry from Mission Control, switching seamlessly back to the rhythm, in sync as John’s baritone softly rose.
“The rules lack coherence. What exactly constitutes .. a loop—hole?” Susan tightened the panel, as John rumbled towards the first verse.
“Copy, CapComm. ST5 initiated”
Martinez faithfully kept the thread
“Oh, he’s not backing down. He has got to have a hand. Has to — closing in on thirty seconds flat”
“A pathetic bluff. This was not the seventh sunrise! — fine”
She shrugged, gave the panel a fist-bump, and led in the first verse.
In Mission Control, Flight Director Martin Barnhill chuckled as they listened in to the banter between “The Riddlers“
All readings were within nominal parameters as laughter rippled along the watchful hum in the room.
None of them knew the rules.
A single screen lit up.
How long had it hidden among the highways of the high-speed bandwidth?
It moved so fast, it was almost instantly everywhere. Billions of screens flashed up a bright red, filled with pitch-black numbers… counting down.
A nanosecond… to find every server, every satellite waiting to connect.
Hidden networks, underground bases, super-stealth submarines, it brought them all to heel.
The wave glittered and shattered against the Earth’s surface like light off a startled eye.
It broke through every wall, ignored all protocols, enslaved all commands, and bound them all.
Phones, dashboards, tablets, hospital monitors, billboards, flight displays, train signs, watches, drones — nothing was safe.
A nanosecond… to take annihilation away from us, like scissors from a toddler — to take all control, responsibility, and command out of our hands.
——
In Tokyo, commuters froze on escalators as the walls of the subway flickered into crimson.
In Nairobi, a teacher’s smartboard dissolved mid-lesson; startled young faces, lit blood-red.
On an oil rig off the coast of Brazil, the crew gathered around a tablet glowing red
In a New York penthouse, every digital picture frame dialed to that same red hue.
Then Time Square did too
No message. No logo. Just a timer, doing time.
The brightest minds did the math.
The timers ticked in perfect, global unison down to some shared moment in time.
Within the hour the world was buzzing like a beehive. Governments ordered shut-downs; engineers pulled plugs, threw kill switches, prayed to Mother Earth and all the gods
It didn’t do a damn thing. The timers stayed lit, keeping time.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, a passenger plane’s cockpit went crimson.
The pilot tapped his console, muttered a silent curse, sighed in relief as his screen flashed back to its trusted green
No critical systems were hit
Power grids kept humming, traffic control obeyed, planes landed.
But billions of screens froze to red
Not empty, not broken.
Bright red.
“Yeah, that one is great. My favourite is ‘Measure of a Man’ where Data has to fight for his ri… Ground Control, please come back — ”
Martinez tapped the screen to his left that had changed colour.
“CapCom, come again, if any screen does what? … “ He slowly froze, eyes glued to the numbers.
Pitch-black against bright red,
counting down …
Thank you so much for your insightful lectures and sharing your work and lighting a spark
I hadn’t written a thing in decades 😊
After reading, I moved closer to my fireplace and gripped my coffee mug tighter. It is a cold morning in Minnesota.
The best environment for poetry, in my humble opinion…
Loved it!
Thank you!
Off topic, but have you seen Anthony Gramuglia’s now two videos trying to smear you? Do you plan on responding to his claims about you?
Edit: This is not intended to come off as a threat or a criticism, but rather as a loyal follower’s sage warning about an increasingly coordinated ideological smear campaign against you.