Put a snake at a type writer
You’ll eventually read something
that stings
Put a horse at a type writer
You wait and see from
canter and gallops winnings appear
Put a monkey at a type writer
You suddenly have to justify
Shakespeare
Put yourself at a type writer
you become a silence monkey-horse
slithering well-formed minotaurs
among words with sweat, flow
as pearls for noses toil
against the forest’s floor
—animasuri’24
Here’s the villain
there’s the victim
and who am I
for casting them?
I’m a villein
tenant subject
to the force
for land, horse, rotten
and a Danish with coffee
on the pantry’s floor
crumbs for
the cleaning crew of three
dare I write ‘lady’
to clean up after hours
or shuffle it under
the water dispenser
as if a legionella leaf
of a wintering tree
infested with legionnaires disease
Tree, water, three: who cares
or so I imagine after holidays
weekends, personal days, or vacation
or economic layoffs
and boardroom affairs
we cast a role
cast a cast, cast off
for castles, king
for sand, and land
as workers work at
rollin’ the sea with grains
We’re the victimized
villain’d villein
victory reversed
three downward folded
fingers as cursed
crumbs for thirst
—animasuri’24
—-
Trigger
Marsan, E. (2024, April 16, 05:06 local time). IN: Stephen Sackur, S. BBC News World Service . HARDtalk. Eddie Marsan: Do the arts neglect working-class people? Retrieved on 16 April 2024 from https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/w3ct5szc
“yes,” he answered,
“as there is ‘peace
to be found,’
empty-handed
looking upright
into the sunlight-shadow
play on the book
cover there
on the bookshelf, there,
in an early morning
at the cusp of
spring’s agitations
of birds
in trees
out there
and but
purchased
with my
hearing
here
an no one
but one, perhaps two
realizing the trigger of
conversation preceding.”
—animasuri’24
thank you Mr. D.
The scary truth
about apple pie
on the windowsill
is nobody knows
what will happen next
The scary truth
about the universe
on the expanse
is nobody knows
what will happen next
The scary truth
about scary truths
off the newsstands
is nobody wants to knows
what will happen next
—animasuri’24
if the friendly colors
and beautiful things as
a prompt injection risk
are concerned with models
for data in the nude
dating toxic hallucinations
thus lies spread before me
spanning space:
handing visualization
and lying with statistics
there is physical harm to be had
when revealing confidential points
on the data corpus
and its improper usage
if junkmail were colored
by the numbers and decaying paper
self-publishing at the input
of recycled sensuality
of a naked typo
of style collage flippantly
inject and sort a snort
it is all the hype again
—-animasuri’24
—
triggers
Levy, D. A. (1969). the Buddhist Third Class Junkmail Oracle. August 1969. Online: Ubuweb.
https://ubu.com/media/text/vp/buddhist_third_class_junkmail_oracle_aug_1969.pdf
IBM. (2024-03-27). Prompt injection risk for AI. IN: IBM Documentation. IBM Cloud Pak for Data 4.8.x. AI risk atlas. https://www.ibm.com/docs/en/cloud-paks/cp-data/4.8.x?topic=atlas-prompt-injection
Reality as an illusion
—when disembodied—
turns into a submission
to artifices as constructs
of illusion upon illusion upon soothing
“you will find me if you want me
in the garden unless…”
where the simulacra are formed
by those with control over their weights
then truth becomes a shaking of fists
but a setting seeding intention against fate
she loves me, she doesn’t, she loves me, she
“what the hell is he building in there…
he’s hiding from all the rest of us….”
are disconnects of intelligences
undoing interaction of flesh and senses
presenting enslavement as mesmerization
of feedback loops and reductions
to the digital reshuffling agents reassigning values
“happiness is…” poco allegro elongated
can liveliness, yes, in minor fifth’ed be canned
fire, wheel, electricity, one artifice for
kings thrown to dust by creative destruction
and yet dust holds one consistency:
absence of water with water stilling fire,
crackling electricity, conducting artifice
“no, it’s a body of water…
the monuments have been brought down to earth….”
as sediments and sounds of water
from the old pond swooshing,
water creaking, rushing, soothing,
water, whirling, sloshing, water drowning
becoming the overshot water wheel
“Se necesita mucha fortaleza
para levantar….”
bubbles pop as balances between
observations and constructions
distractions away from confident doubt
readily available to anyone
into the puppetry of the happy few
be they chords, be they hursts
Clickedeecklick dripping upwards
onto your sandy banks: immer mid stream
—animasuri’24
—-•
some triggers
Abou-Khalil, Rabih. (1992). Sahara. IN: Blue Camel.
van Beethoven, L., Pollini, M. ( ). 33 Variations in C Major, Opus 120 on a waltz by Diabelli: Variation II (Poco Allegro)
Einstürzende Neubauten. (1996). The Garden. IN: Ende Neu.
Garcia-fons, Renaud. (2010). Fortaleza. IN: Méditerranées
Fitzgerald, E., Pass, J. (1976). Nature Boy. IN: Fitzgerald and Pass…Again
Lhamo, Yungchen. (1998). Happiness is… IN: Coming Home.
Mingus, Charles. (1963). Myself when I’m Real. IN: Mingus Plays Piano.
Namchylak, Sainkho. (2016). So Strange! So Strange! IN: like a Bird or Spirit, not a Face.
Vito, Acconci. (2001). The Bristol Project.
Waits, Tom. (1999). What’s he Building? IN: Mule Variations.
Yesterday I pulled a hair of yours
from the GPU no longer processing
what it was for: the hair,
a single visual of virility, once golden lock
I desire for accuracy, and proper process
I demand cleanliness and method
I own tools in proper Goldilocks zones
yesterday I pulled a hair of yours
it prompted a visual of how I see you
output hidden from alien invasion, how I saw you
within the cranial privacy of my neuro-being
a crack, a rift, the hemispheres appeared
the polis that is my mind partisan’ed
now multidimensional making of truth
conflicting as love-making that nightly chess game
yesterday I pulled a hair of yours from the mainframe
Yesterday I pulled you from the motherboard
one strand one hand one rip one slip
calculations halted, output fuzzed logic
principles and agendas shivered
positivist poles discovered
a third repulsion choreographing
a fourth attraction directing
multitudinous memory of a plucked string resonatingly yours
Yesterday was the day
you were no more, that many years ago, and yet
and yet and yet: here you are my dear:
here you show.
—animasuri’24
“Personifying my dustbin
I put large googly eyes on the lid
the size of coasters for a teapot,
with googly eyes,”
stated James proudly
“now that Mickey is public
I can totemize ‘im and
worship his bubbly effigy
without reprimand and Goofy’s eyes”
“on the dashboard of Desire,
my streetless car, with googly, yes, eyes.
We are the holy trinity
the manna, the sustenance, the rye”
“I belong to this machinery now
of prefab authenticity and eyes on the ball
drab togetherness, personalized efficiency
without growing pains of eccentricity”
James lauded
regurgitation as celebration
of anthropocentric application
of iteration, recursion without much
effort to skip to the upcoming version
in rows of mass drumbeats
matching outfits and synchronized battle cries
Sierpiński and Mandlbrot,
Droste: poor me a coco; together now!
Snowflake and Tree-branch, pour
names of his friends imagined
and brutal truths ripped
from first date theater tickets
on a no-nonsense shoulder:
“geradeaus ist einfach immer geradeaus”
down the gentle bird-green path green
adorned with children’s rhymes
and meticulously machined
sandpapered laughs and fingertip epistēmē
James is content now,
James is whole.
—animasuri’24
Jacobus was looking for a friend.
Someone who could understand.
Someone, or anything really,
who would share their own experience
Someone Jacobus could relate to.
For years now Jacobus has been living.
Living with hiccups.
It’s interruptive
and jolting joy.
It is a serious matter.
At times Jacobus’ fist
is planted onto the table’s surface.
Cracks occurred,
and that while having a background in engineering
as well as having a degree in medicine:
with a specific focus
on computer science
and then these latest learning technologies
of machines,
anthropomorphically deep
—deeper then the mucosal surfaces of Jacobus’ larynx, glottis and all
—with a specialization in diaphragm irritations and spasms.
with a confidence of authority and funds on call
with pitched, intense unquestioned interest and hypes and
with thrall
Incisively, Jacobus set out to invent a model
one that could generate output
interrupted by hiccups.
Incessantly, incessantly, multimodally: hiccups;
while hurling all water from the soil.
“Drink a cup of water,” said Jacobus,
“take it in.” Knowing full well that didn’t work
for him to date, not at all.
None of that brought him any closer
to that one, idealized breath of peace.
—animasuri’24
—-•
a trigger
Fuchs, T. (2024). Understanding Sophia? On human interaction with artificial agents. IN: Phenom Cogn Sci 23, 21–42 (2024). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11097-022-09848-0
Howick, J., Morley, J., Floridi, L. (2021). An Empathy Imitation Game: Empathy Turing Test for Care- and Chat-Bots. IN: Minds and Machines 31 (3): 457–61. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11023-021-09555-w.
McKeown, G. (2015). Turing’s menagerie: Talking lions, virtual bats, electric sheep and analogical peacocks: Common ground and common interest are necessary components of engagement. IN: International Conference on Affective Computing and Intelligent Interaction (ACII), Xi’an, China, 2015, pp. 950-955, doi: 10.1109/ACII.2015.7344689.
Selinger, E., Dreyfus, H., & Collins, H. (2007). Interactional expertise and embodiment. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.shpsa.2007.09.008
