A.I. Myth Makers

The Enlightenment* altered the thoughts of mankind.
It collectively drew us out from the dusk of the Dark Ages
And into modern times.



Had I been there, I think I would have taken
A tire-iron to the printing press.


Yes, by God,
I would have smashed the printing press into bits,
But it's far too late for that now.



The printing press transformed the Old World into something New.
The printing press ushered in the New World.
The New World began then and there.



The printing press
Solidified ideas and stamped them into oil-based ink
From molded blocks

Neatly arranged in coded letters.

Polymer Science and Technology

Then, shortly thereafter, Shakespeare arrived on the scene,
And the Shakespearean scribes gathered
 With their skinny, pointed fingers.
Commissioned by King James
And the Occidental Star,
The scribes set about arranging

Sanctioned letters into immovable words
That transformed the living Word
Into immovable text.

The very meaning of words changed

As new words erased the old.



The great I AM
Became a grammatical rule.

Meanwhile,

Shakespeare's grave reads as follows:

"GOOD FREND FOR JESVS SAKE FORBEARE,

TO DIGG THE DVST ENCLOASED HEAR.

BLESE BE Y MAN Y SPARES THES STONES

AND CVRST BE HE Y MOVES MY BONES."

  Revelation 22:18-19:

"For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book,

If any man shall add unto these things,

God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:

And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy,

God shall take his part out of the book of life,

and out of the holy city, and [from] the things which are written in this book."

______________________________________________

Meanwhile, 

Shakespeare, "a fellow of infinite jest,

Of most excellent fancy,"

Is missing his head.

_________________________________________

During the Enlightenment,

Letters lifted with the same mathematical principles that raised Those famous stones from the Egyptian desert.

Words, as such, are stones, too.....
One stacks upon the next;
The collection, together, forms a monument to time. 

Just as words lift from the printed page,

So too do pyramids rise from the desert
And sustain through the ages.

Commanded, as they were, by mathematical principles,

What cannot be called from the sand?

I had a vision where
The veil seemed to lift, and I witnessed the world
Coded by numbers
In a technological place.
I felt the length of its grasp and dread state-ownership.

In the vision, the force of the Electric Way

Found a means

To replicate

Thought itself.

This future technology was not so different
As what I've heard they use in modern forensics.
The modern detectives can cull a single strand of hair to determine
The age, race, and sex of some unknown criminal
Who murdered his victims
And left behind only a strand of hair.
Now, the hair is a witness
Standing before the court,
As the lab-technicians 
draw from its core
Data that completely restores
The identity of a murderer
Who now can be traced.
Traced and punished!
Traced and erased!

It was really no different....

_________________________________________

A vision is like a dream,
But dreams are not like visions.
In my vision, I dreamed that technology

Found a way to
Unspiral time

And replicate

The dead.

Once commanded, every soul woke in a machine
That registered an awareness

On an eternal circuit board.

In the dream, I gained an awareness of this shift

But in the vision, it was a dream of an eternal abyss

Replicated in the space of some time and place.

I recognized the screaming and the cries,

And I recognized that this punishment

Was not only technologically possible,

But also technologically probable.

It is foretold.

It will begin innocently enough,
This next level fable:

An eccentric robber-baron's widow

Will crave one last conversation

With her "dearly beloved."
The men of technology will lend her a hand
And, similar to extracting DNA from a strand of hair,
They will find a way to unpack the quantum codes
So that she will speak again to the dead.




Not unlike the seances from Victorian times,

This new widow will pay the clever men
Money to speak to her husband's ghost.

The coder will reach out and find a way
To replicate his conscious thoughts
Amid the static and waves,

And his soul will awaken,
As it were.

Guilty parties will continue the practice

While forgotten souls oil electronic gears,

And conversations will pass through life and death

Like keys from Houdini's loving mouth.

Next comes the hackers

Who find a way

To take souls hostage
So that loved ones pay
To keep them safe
From the rack that we've built.

So it is written.

Now it is done.

The cave within a cave

Reflected this a long time ago,

Though only now have we the scientific advantage
Previously half real 

On a night like this.

I saw all of this

And much, much more.

Still, let it be known,
God sent himself
To undo the binding contract
Made in every living cell.
We are purchased by the collectors,
And the collective vision is unreal to sellers.

To this, I now attest.
One cannot be coded
Since He walked among us.
He defies the chaos and claims,
But you
must be-
lieve to be
considered
saved.

I awoke in the chaos and felt myself
Disappear amid the endlessness

Of an 8-shaped future circuit board.

Naked-apes will write about this
As billionaires argue that we live in a multiverse matrix.

Few will understand that we disturbed

The Great Chain of Being,
And the billionaires are seemingly unaware
That they bring to us the very things
That they seem to fear. 



Listen now
As they shake their spears
And declare their will:
"I am the Will,"
They say.
They,
The
Enlightened
Masters who found
A way to transform the living
Word into words on a page.



They sound waves...

Smothering holes.

They sew the seams, 

So it seems...

The black-ink flows onto the sturdy fabric

And stains naked human thoughts
With copyrighted trade-marks.
Publishers profit
When organizations own
The very echo of the words
That are reaped when they're sewn.