To Forget

To forget

Yes

Shall I never recollect

No

I shall not re-member

Advertisements

Drugging for esteem

The drug gives self-esteem
And so it feels
That it does
For short

What’s the algorithm behind the behaviour

Algorithms are data processors
If the data is bad: garbage out
If the algorithm is bad: garbage out

Behaviour is the result of an algorithm
It takes in data and information
And produces garbage or wisdom

What’s the algorithm behind the behaviour

The gods of fashion

The gods of fashion speak every season.
They tell us what to wear and sometimes what not.
They help us craft artificial self-esteem:
we feel cool with ourselves
because we’re wearing that that they’ve prescribed for the day.
Declaring what to trend,
they ask us to sync with what’s trending
— feeding their fame and fortune.
But we have taken the red pill.

I still like my two-button, and not overly fitted, suits.
That one-button suits, with fitted fitting, are in now, will soon pass.
And for what? I would not try to tell.
We leave that for the gods of fashion.

Because their fashions are fickle, are the gods not fickle.
Trusted to be arbiters of style,
we give them power:
if we have to bother about how to wear ourselves
as they describe for winter, fall, spring, or summer.

You can’t beat the decent and the sensible, can you.
Principles the gods of fashion cannot overrule, by principle.
Some follow these, others try to redefine the fine.
Many claim a variable morality;
variable by the seasons, ‘artists’ whims, and volitional caprices.

Beauty makes sense.
And crazy isn’t beautiful.
It can’t be, by design.

You were in love with me yesterday

“What have you done to me”
I still remember those words
“I can’t get you out of my head”
You were so in love — with me

That you wanted me like I wanted you
Was a feeling of heaven in my world
That’s someone else’s heaven now
You were in love with me yesterday

Against our Sense

Progressing towards a shifting target
It looked like we were walking backwards
Things receding as we approached
The hill was within reach
A reach that simply extended
Like Sisyphean
Until we had come close enough to look so that we could see
All the while making progress against our sense.

Swept off her feet

So he swept her off her feet
And she gave her soul
What did he really do
It was she that lept

So he swept her off her feet
And she got possessed
What did he really do
It was she that let

So he swept her off her feet
And she fell in love
What did he really do
It was she that fell