Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category
Asher Interviewed
An idea was born through the miracle of modern technology and the wickedly wild unveiling of ChatGPT Artificial Intelligence answering questions with increasing believability. Maybe Chatbots could ask questions, too. Add to that idea the greatest new invention ever achieved, the ability to translate barking to text.
Asher was willing to participate in the bizarre experiment to see if it could work. He donned the high-tech brain wave reader and entered into a conversation with a computer that produced the following:
AI: Mr. Asher, can you hear me through the headgear?
Asher: Whoof!
AI: Somebody needs to turn on the translator.
Asher: You can call me Ash for short. This thing itches.
AI: It works! Okay, Ash, what do you think of your new home?
Asher: I think I could get used to this. These two hoomans seem like they like me. I think one is called, “What?” and the other one answers to, “You ready yet?”
AI: Do you think you will be able to train them?
Asher: Oh, yeah. I’ve got them going to a class in the big city where they practice and practice figuring out how to react to my every need. It’s wild because as they do their drills I get to eat non-stop treats. It can be exhausting but I’m able to take a nap while they pilot the go-fast machine back to our house.
AI: Are you getting used to all those acres of forest and field?
Asher: In fits and starts. Sometimes they free me from that dang leash and I can race after the tree rats that run rampant. The hoomans get all excited about it and try to convince me they’re called “skwerls.” The backyard is good for zooming but the hill tends to tire me out sooner than I like. If I don’t keep running the hoomans tend to take me back in the house. Not that it’s bad in there. Every time I roll a ball under the furniture they just give me a new one. I’ve got so many squeaky things to chomp on stashed around the place, I’ll never be able to destroy them all.
AI: Sounds like you are living a life of luxury.
Asher: Oh, it’s not all bully sticks and squeaking toys. The hoomans are outside every day working on something and their progress gets so pathetic I can’t help myself but help them out. Digging up diseased bushes? I can help dig. Planting new plants? I can dig those up, too. Cutting out dead branches? Oooh, I can chew ’em to bits.
AI: Our batteries are running low. Is there anything you want your humans to understand before we have to shut down the translator?
Asher: I’m sorry I chewed up both pads and both covers you guys put in my crate and the cool tapestry you had draped over it, too. It’s just… well, somethin’ has to give. When I get all riled up, I do what I do best… chew.
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Consciousness
.
waves of brain
conscious and not
driving decisions
unthinking actions
breathing mindlessly
sighing furtively
acting as if everything’s
endlessly wafting
after absolute atrophy
neuroblasts grasping
clasping ideas
vastly vaguer than asking
toward aspects largely reactive
in milliseconds always amassing
forgotten purely by habit
without effort
like a thought
that never
got thunk
.
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Debate
.
unknowable pondering
unthinking utterances
inexplicable exasperation
minus massive doses of reality
missing obvious opportunities
with songbirds returning
aurally dancing emotions to life
melting frosty hearts
soothing unconscious aches
sighs from the skies
helping everyone
listen
March is calling
for systemic change
naturally by the rotation
of a planet
hanging in space
teeming with love
offsetting hate
waiting on guesses
open for debate
.
.
Colors
.
waist deep
in wrinkled fabric
we see Peggy’s cow
slowly wading through colors
shaded by late-hour daylight
the air becoming thickly visible
fence lines just blur
hissing crickets whirl
sounds like boomerangs
fast echoing threads
dancing interwoven beats
sight unseen
playing havoc with the fade
blues and greens
merge between steps
as reality emerges
in the dust
settling
on its brow
.
.
Forgotten
.
coming in for a landing
in a dream
of a dream
with a receipt
that had notes
scribbled around the margin
layer upon layer
of life
float past
a drone’s eye view
great things spread out below
destined to fade to dark
slowly, though
seconds pass between each drip
leaking a history of memories
long forgotten
particularly the ones
that could have explained
everything
.
.
Winter
.
winter
dawn
snow
flakes
falling
piling
deep
everywhere
white
frost
ice
crystals
growing
blowing
melting
freezing
silence
squeaky
cold
bitter
biting
tracks
footprints
drifts
breath
clouds
dusk
gray
monochrome
darkness
stars
stillness
winter
.
.
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Hugs
.
he still remembers
when she didn’t offer that hug
he wanted the most
loss of connection
can be worse
than never connecting at all
erosion implosion
feeding backward emotion
spirals intertwined
smokily lingering
longer than matters
except matters of the heart
follow special rules
and their own sweet time
quietly divine
energy field lines
spine-tingling kinds
minds can’t forget
what cells still recall
embodied realities
toppling over
in a free for all fall
long after lights out
when dreamland pulls back covers
to mystical worlds
featuring hugs
unconfined
.
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