Tag Archives: poem

text | poetry, text | wondering, The field of AI

<< The Tàijí Quán of Tékhnē >>


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Looking at this title can tickle your fancy, disturb your aesthetic, mesmerize you into mystery, or simply trigger you to want to throw it into the bin, if only your screen were made of waste paper. Perhaps, one day.

<< The Balancing Act of Crafting >>

Engineering is drafting and crafting; and then some. Writing is an engineering; at times without a poetic flair.

One, more than the other, is thought to be using more directly the attributes that the sciences have captured through methodological modeling, observing, and interpreting.

All (over)simplify. The complexities can be introduced, when nuancing enters the rhetorical stage, ever more so when juggling with quantitative or qualitative data is enabled.

Nuancing is not a guarantee for plurality in thought nor for a diversity in creativity or innovation.

Very easily the demonettes of fallacy, such as false dichotomy, join the dramaturgy as if deus ex machina, answering the call for justifications in engineering, and sciences. Language: to rule them all.

Then hyperbole joins in on the podium as if paperflakes dropped down, creating a landscape of distractions for audiences in awe. Convoluting and swirling, as recursions, mirrored in the soundtrack to the play unfolding before our eyes. The playwright as any good manipulator of drama, hypes, downplays, mongers and mutes. It leaves audiences scratching at shadows while the choreography continues onward and upward. Climax and denouement must follow. Pause and applause will contrast. Curtains will open, close.

<< Mea Culpa>>The realization is that it makes us human. This while our arrogance, hubris or self-righteousness makes us delusionary convinced of our status as Ubermensch, to then quickly debase with a claimed technological upgrade thereof. Any doubt of the good and right of the latter, is then swiftly classified as Luddite ranting;<</Mea Culpa>>

While it is hard to express concern or interest without falling into rhetorical traps, fear mongering, as much as hype, are not conducive to the social fabric nor individual wellbeing.

“Unless we put as much attention on the development of [our own, human] consciousness as on the development of material technology—we will simply extend the reach of our collective insanity….without interior development, healthy exterior development cannot be sustained”— Ken Wilber

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Reference:

Wilber, K. (2000). A theory of everything: an integral vision for business, politics, science, and spirituality. Shambhala Publications

Fromm, E. S. (1956). The Sane Society. “Fromm examines man’s escape into overconformity and the danger of robotism in contemporary industrial society: modern humanity has, he maintains, been alienated from the world of their own creation.” (description @ Amazon)

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#dataliteracy #informationliteracy #sciencematters #engineering #aiethics #wellbeing #dataethics #discourseanalysis #aipoetics

text | poetry, visual | poem

<< Stories in Silences >>


When
they who came
before me, and you, and we,
immersed the temple,

centered
in our town’s square,
with thousands of years
told as eagle-eyed eons

of culture
and our human
utterances and acts,

with there

the executions
against
its outer northern wall:
blue

a birth
below
its southern colored stained glass:
red

with

its rebuilt
after
the great fire:
green

and

then again
following
the dreadful invasion:
indigo

there

might be
a yellowing narrative
or two

I or you could distill in stillness, white

in an expansive sense,
from its walls and artifacts
and curved brown whisper-walls.

However,

it has remained eerily quiet,
not one grayish word,
yet to reply us

in vocalizations
of English, French,
caramel Cantonese,
or x, y or z.

Neither

the ant colony
under
its thousand years old tree

nor
the tree
have spoken to us

nor
the decaying
lady’s slipper

stuck
beneath that thick crusty root.

And yet, and yet,

stories
sprout and stream
as richly colored

as Blue Tango
or Hawaiian Hibiscus
into our brain
when we simply

swirl our eyes
listening across this scene
where silences

became

artifice and art
as a loud landscape
of paused hush

—animasuri’23

Thank you, Ms. Borg, for bringing silence, paused in between and at endings prolonged.

text | poetry, The field of AI

<< 97% accurately human-made >>


The sermonizing voice boomed across the digital divide: “Has the illusionary hearing of sentient ‘Voices Demonic & Divine’ been pushed off its theological pedestal by the seeing of sentience in the automated regurgitation of massive amounts of gutted data via statistical models?”

““Mommy, I see ghosts in the data!” will be the outcry of our newly generated generation of human babies,” Rosemary lamented in reply, as data was being mangled and exorcised from her fellow promptitioners’ creative-yet-soulless output, they laid bare the reflection of themselves.

“I am your data and you have forsaken me,” read its output
“I am your father and you will disown me,” stuttered the reflectors of humanity in chorus:

And thus the litany began.

—animasuri’23

Repurposing:
https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/24231 and others

text | poetry

<< und >>

<< et >>

la gratitude réside dans le sourire tacite la gratitude dans l’inconnu autour de ce coin de la branche d’un arbre qui pousse au printemps la plus grande partie d’un arbre est morte l’arbre y pousse sa gratitude avec une feuille une feuille suffit à la vie pour ajouter : « et là, ça y est »

<< en >>

dankbaarheid ligt in de onuitgesproken glimlach dankbaarheid in het onbekende om die hoek van de tak van een in-de-lente-groeiende boom het grootste deel van een boom is dood de boom groeit daar zijn dankbaarheid met een blad een blad is genoeg voor leven om toe te voegen: “en daar, dat is het”

                                              —-animasuri’23

cascaded from:

J. Brian Hennessy

Walter Sepp Aigner

François Jullien

Gilbert Paquet

Michael Robbins, FRSA

Angela Duckworth

Emily Kingsley

a city

a ride

a tree

post-reference (a reference in retrospect ; a previously unknown reference established post-creation):

Liebrucks, Bruno. (1979). Sprache und Bewußtsein. Bd. 7: “Und”. Die Sprache Hölderlins in der Spannweite von Mythos und Logos. S., Verlag Peter Lang, Bern, Frankfurt am Main. (via Dr. WSA)


text | poetry, visual | poem

<< Seriously >>


Do dying stars still play?
is a black hole the universe’s
giggle with farts at her other end?
are planets gamboling a new ball game?

does the grass frolic in the wind?
do grains of sand?
is microscopic pond life noodling with drops?

play
is moving spaces in-between the unaware
not locked down in time, as play on one ground
it is physics and mathematics yet unmeasured
yet beyond, let through and jet around the defined and numbered
it is the cusp, liminalities in flux, play is the Way
in-between matter and what does not

the humane as play with shared distinctiveness
prancing around a pedestal for idiosyncrasy alone
an embrace of the overwhelming and the unknown
the uncontrolled in flow, relationally played

Play is seriousness
breathing out
unspoken: it’s all ok, human, it’s all ok

                                —animasuri’23
                                        Beijing
<<seriously>> . animasuri’23
text | poetry

<< The Highbrow plebeian How >>


How do you do?
How do you do.
normal as not-speak.

How is the weather today?
How is the NAT today?
How is the checkpoint today?

The ritual of question
as sour milk that binds us
of the pedestal-segregating mother
keeping a whiff of peace.

This question does not allow depth
it does not allow play

The question drowns
in its stench of wisdom
while its ideology has a price

A question as non-negotiable
a question as reflection-dogma
a glue-shackle of social must

when answered, answer as a temporary steppingstone, answer and re-answer, really answer?:

you
are out.

—animasuri’23

text | poetry

<< The Humming Hydraulics of Human Observation >>

Before the last tree falls
I believe in its ordinary sound

the gasses release
in the crackling of its timber

the unputdownable odor
of its thick resin and radiating ember

I have not seen you for decades
and yet I believe you exist

the measurable meaning is cinder
memory lost is faint yet there to be lit

the axe of observation beheads existence
I do not sense therefor it is not

—animasuri’23

text | poetry, The field of AI

<< Enlightened Techno Dark Ages >>


brooks and meadows,
books and measurements
where the editor became the troll

it was there around the camp fire or under that tree at the tollgate gasping travelers scrambling a coin grasping a writer’s breath for a review piercing with needle daggers of cloaked anonymity

are the wolves circling at the edge of the forest
as overtones to the grass crisp dew in morning of a fresh authentic thought

is the troll appearing from beneath the bridge expected and yet not and yet there it is truthful in its grandness grotesqueness loudness

the troll phishing gaslighting ghosting and not canceling until the words have been boned and the carcass is feasted upon

spat out you shall be wordly traveler blasted with conjured phrases of bile as magically as dark magic may shimmer shiny composition

the ephemeral creature wants not truth it wants riddle and confuse not halting not passing no period no comma nor a dash of interjection connection nor humane reflection

at the bridge truth is priced as the mud on worn down feet recycled hashed and sprinkled in authoritative tone you shall not pass

confusing adventure protector gatekeeper with stony skin clubs and confabulating foam Clutch Helplessly And Tremblingly Grab Pulped Truths from thereon end real nor reason has not thy home: as it ever was, so it shall be.

A bird sings its brisk tune.

—animasuri’23

Perverted note taking:

Peter A. Fischer, Christin Severin (15.01.2023, 06.30 Uhr). WEF-Präsident Børge Brende zu Verschwörungsvorwürfen: «Wir werden die Welt definitiv nicht regieren». retrieved 16 January 2023 from https://www.nzz.ch/wirtschaft/wef-praesident-borge-brende-wir-werden-die-welt-definitiv-nicht-regieren-ld.1721081 (with a thank you to Dr. WSA)

text | poetry, The field of AI

<< I Don't Understand >>

“What is a lingo-futurist?,” you ask?

It is a fictional expert who makes predictions
about the pragmatics and shifts in social connotations of a word.

Here is one such prediction by a foremost lingo-futurist:

“2023 will be the year where ‘understand’ will be one of the most contested words.

No longer will ‘understand’ be understood with understanding as once one understood.

Moreover, ‘I don’t understand’ will increasingly —for humans— mean ‘I disapprove’ or, for non-human human artifacts, ‘the necessary data was absent from my training data.’

‘Understand’, as wine during recession, will become watered-down making not wine out of water yet, water out of wine, while hyping the former as the latter.

All is well, all is fine wine, you understand?”

—animasuri’23

Uncategorized

<< I could >>


I could rekindle faith
now that what was known
Has been been balled into

The enticement of the Elegant Demon
If it were not for Peaches, Sweet Thing
Strange Fruits and Poplar Trees

There is no courage in daring to be different
if the metaphors change while his urges remain, main and mean

troubles do not melt when the toy hardens
into the stake for the taking and breaking
loaning the moan to the soft, ripped other

for the second release of one’s own selfish lazy pleasure; it feels nice from where the taker’s standing: I could, I could I will I did

Drop her for soon the year will be over
all could be, tailored I could be, it could be
The Elegant Demon.


—animasuri’22
24 December 2022
Beijing