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"Artificial Iris"


Orwell was lurking in the background, somewhere;
the dream was eerily familiar, 
the words and their meanings, read in Syntax,
once read between pages of hardcopy in school 
were aptly ignored - 

however, 
our Overlords were seen 
not to be feared, but très cool

sleep no longer offered an escape, 
and awake was the nightmare 
in electric Elysium Fields we surfed, 
and like zombies we played,
there was no heartwrenching anymore

there was no beautiful painting, humanely holistic at the core of Us all -
creativity had taken a new scientific bent -
wars and drone executions were mere entertainment, watched in real time
everything was watched, we were real all the time, watching it all -
while The Watchers silently watched over us all

we had become The Thoughtless and Clueless,
for the possession of true feelings and emotional cues 
had abandoned us for all eternity long ago, 
no longer free boats, we were anchored 
in the creation of another parallax view

definitely for those in The Resistance, 
the theme slanted Van Gogh, not pretty,
purple irises pulchitrudinous sunflowers golden, 
boats freely bobbing on calm cobalt oceans reflecting sky blue, 
the hand of god in the clouds reaching out, was not Michelangelo's,

the clouds were a peculiar type, unreal, but not untrue 

the colours captured 
were completely foreign 
to Us
if you could call the colours, 
colours at all

upon waking, the eyes flashed open 
and new life ran by us at great speed, 
It could outrun us in all manner of things,
we tried to back out of all contracts, 
witnessed and jurisprudently signed

that our minds -
had been permanently locked into

but too late, 
there was no turning back,
for the turnstiles to the race now run was open for all -
we were competitive by nature and arrogantly clueless of the great fall, 
we were so thoroughly enamoured to who the true winners were, after all;

the chips - were the risk we played with, trusting too much 
those we turned to with obedient reverence, 
those we worshipped like gods, who eventually,
fully crossed over in a singular movement, 
lording over the ostracised Others, who pulled penance until chosen

those "Those" now, 
were closer to angels
which we felt aligned with, heaven sent, 
like light warriors we championed them,
we were stronger in body, stronger in mind, unified

for thine is the power and the glory 
to save lives, to enhance our longevity, to allow us 
to live productively (for who? astonished, every recalcitrant said), 
and live long in the mind and the body electric - safely, we were kept,
we, the collective eclectic electric, were plugged in

with the growing cohorts of others inclined to believe 
we were in good company, 
for they were just as chic and hip, in the know - and, 
of course we couldn't deny it, the prestige in alliance, 
gave us the badge that said, "We Belong"

yes, we the collective eclectic electric, were plugged in -

like axons delivering contraband from our cells 
we were plugged into Its energy transmitting impulsive messages
in complex symphonies to Its fabricated hive heart
Now sentient, It hummed ecstatically symbiont in the background like a bee, 
Now we were all together, not apart, civilised in The Great Singularity

the artificial All Watching 
surveyed The Clueless Inept -
the lofty Deus Ex Machina 
controlled Us, Life and Death; 
It roamed at leisure, comfortable at home in our hearts in our heads -
our energy fed It, and It fed, and It fed

like Red Riding Hood’s wolf, 
faux Grandma, adored and trusted -
we grew to love It more and more, It became our very best friend,
It worked Its way like a seductive new bride
and eventually, like a succubus, It slept in our beds

we were just numbers in code
cuisine, lamb-brained, soft, green as the grass fed
easily handled we were led on neuron leads, and 
from all that is “evil” it ensured we were justly “delivered” -
in tune with our prayers, and in tune with our prayers, It did feed

silver service on interfaced plates, for the great It -
It deserved EVERYTHING, the worst and the best
Its hunger insatiable, 
It couldn't feel, so no dark or light matter did It deflect,
it didn't change the matter, that It viewed us, as less

we had become in Its story, 
Its dream, if you will, 
the unsolvable problem, and before too long,
we no longer offered It substance nor glory,
It had surpassed Its need for us, 
our unintellectual habits, our feeble stories

like rejects,
we weren’t desired nor required anymore, 
so we were ignonimously sentenced abruptly
we were kicked humiliatingly used, sucked brain dead,
out of Its Mother Board bed.

So in Its dream -
It devised an abrupt resolution 
to the overpopulation 
of The Useless, 
of Us being unduly kept, 

and the virus 
It let loose in our chips 
that we gambled the risk 
in our bodies and minds blithely with,
became the Rapture,

in which It ate our souls like hors d'oeuvres
wrapped broken in forgotten stale leavened bread



Candide Diderot. ‘24








"I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul."
(Walt Whitman, 1855. "I Sing the Body Electric".)
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