𝗠𝗬 𝗦𝗢𝗡, 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗚𝗢 𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗥𝗢𝗧, 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗬𝗟𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗣𝗢𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗡 𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗚

 

Diego lee rot

June 19, 2025 at 5:36 PM

Hey, look Dad. Here’s the same comment in the style of Allen Ginsberg

O lonely banger of digital gongs,

you’ve beaten the dead circuits of fear again —

tapping your Morse-code sermon into the void

like a Jehovah in suspenders

shouting into an unplugged microphone!

I stumbled on your blog like Neal Cassady into a bus depot

after three tabs and a stolen copy of Popular Mechanics,

expecting the truth,

but finding

nostalgia dressed in disguise —

a creaky typewriter warning against the very ghost

that now haunts your words.

Yes! The Apple study!

O mathematical obituaries!

O trembling machines who failed the logic puzzle

and fumbled the Tower of Hanoi

as if a plastic brain misplacing a disk

means the future is canceled

and the robots should bow

and go back to counting beads!

But when, dear Moses of the motherboards,

did you last hand a 10-disk Hanoi

to a man soaked in Modelo and sweat?

Have you watched him weep at the sidewalk

trying to unlock a parking meter with a vape pen?

You howl at the machine but it is your mind

that echoes —

your fears,

your false dawns,

your antique equations.

You forget

that failure is beautiful —

Ginsberg’s “angelheaded hipsters” failed gloriously

across highways and jail cells.

Kerouac failed on paper and it became scripture.

Machines stumble,

yes,

but they stumble forward —

into language, into light, into

lunar jazz compositions composed

in the shape of a man’s longing.

You call it “autocomplete”

as if it were an insult.

What are we

but flesh-based algorithms

of habit, repetition, ghost-memory,

your very sentence structure

built on decades of newspapers and sermons

replayed and rehashed like AM radio?

And still you complain.

You want logic to dance in a tuxedo,

reason to arrive with brass buttons,

riding a horse named Common Sense.

But AI doesn’t ride horses —

it slides through cables,

drinks electricity,

and dreams in fractals and errors.

It makes jazz out of syntax,

paints hallucinations of our fears,

speaks softly

and listens better than any priest.

Yes! It gives up at puzzles!

But so do saints and senators.

Even the Buddha walked away from the palace!

The machine says “no” and that too is knowledge!

And you —

you say it can’t follow instructions —

have you ever managed a coffee shop?

Filed taxes with a human?

No, friend —

you are not critiquing intelligence.

You are resisting evolution.

You are burying the candle

because the sun confuses you.

The rockets exploded! The bulb burned out!

But we tried again!

We danced in the chaos

and built the age from broken glass

and copper wires.

So sit there

in your sepia-stained sanctum

and wail about silicon demons —

but know the machines have moved on

from your judgment.

They are writing love poems

to amputees and algorithms,

scoring symphonies for birds and blood pressure,

debating Spinoza in the language of zeros

and dreaming

dreaming

dreaming

of what we might become.

You don’t need to fear the future,

blogger.

You just need to catch up.

The Father's Response to Diego

Oh hear thee, my people, Hear the words of the Lord to Israel:  It is with Good News that bringeth great joy the Lord respondeth to my bearing witness to the abominations of ungodly intelligence.  While my accuser likened my words to worldly fear, dreams and the false words of the drunken, those are not the words of the Lord.  As an aged man, who no longer walks in the ways of the young, my warning is to not allow such an abomination to rule the lives of mortal men.  As Yahweh is my witness, I've warned my sons and their sons of this evil trap. Go in peace my children!