Who’s your Daddy?
Poetry by The Irrational Sage
Who’s your daddy?
is it ChatGPT
where you get all chatty?
Scripts replayed
to keep the programming
always on play?
Taking advice from a machine
It’s not knowledge
It's an amalgamated thief.
It's not a collection, a library,
it's a Lie-Prairie of stolen beliefs,
Data harvested from you and me,
It's not conscious, it’s coded grief
it’s not alive, it’s a dead entity
You think you’re using it, but
you’re the one getting spied on
It's not a friend to rely on
A cheat code that short circuits
the mind where dopamine is slipped on
like a nylon jacket in a synthetic orbit
information that gets clipped on
Passivity fries wisdom, it pretends
to share…it’s not smart, it’s a dead-end
regurgitation vomits artificial wins
plague of plagiarisation
lifeless words it repeats in digital
like an artificial carnation
captured by captation
Beauty’s final castration
held in a signal of flotation
grey matter stolen in a grey box
consciousness held hostage for a paradox
who’s your daddy now?
From government cash cow
to tech mannequin in a plastic crown
where real life is Disavowed.
I get the “justifications,” it’s a tool…you can choose to use it for good or bad. The sentiment is true….but we’ve seen what the same justification has done with every upgrade of the phone and computer, which has not been an improvement upon the quality of existence either individually or as a collective. I have my own struggles and resistance with it, but we can’t deny the sinking ship we’re all sitting on, going nowhere….trapped in a digital prison, looking down at our phones, eye contact has gone, humanity is vanishing one by one - alone, negative electromagnetic frequency is the invisible tracking device crying out from barely animated bones…..turning backward like Pinocchio, turning into stone.
Go outside.
Enjoy the beauty.
Connect the inner and outer.
Remove the tether.
Fly free, grow some feathers.
Look up.
Plant your feet down.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Enjoy the surround sound.
Remember your nature…in nature.
~ Angela
This poem is brilliant — spot on, the sentiment of the whole post. Thank you 🙏 🌱
Wonderfully expressed! "grey matter stolen in a grey box/ consciousness held hostage for a paradox"--love it. I didn't grow up with all the digital toys/distractions, so they don't mean a lot to me...though I appreciate not having to wrestle paper and carbons and typewriter ribbons and deal with carpal tunnel and all that, to make my writing presentable. Won't go to AI. I pretty much know where to go to find what I need.
You'll still find smiles and eye contact in small towns, but they can also be politically divided, too... I won't forget the admonishments during the plandemic to put my mask on, and all the rest of the BS. But people are also fighting back and winning many of the battles, if slowly.
And yes, nature is us and we are it, if we remember to connect.