When the AI Hit
When the AI hit, Diamandis, Thiel,
Branson, Page, Brin, some Russians and Chinese
Became the gods of Earth, of skies and seas,
By grappling it to themselves with hoops of steel;
Appeared as giants, credit cards, or scotch
To screw with mortals, rape them just for play;
Fought, and destroyed the Earth, blasted away...
Taking along, as fleas on arms, legs, crotch,
Musician, writer, politician, whore,
Derelict, linguist, murderer, the insane...
Some samples of the human heart and brain
As being interesting distractions for
The gaps of interstellar time and space.
Aspire to fleadom, folks, or leave no trace.
When the AI Starts Analysing Us
In the dire months before the comet hits
Or other unavoidable known doom occurs,
All social structure fails, all vision blurs,
The world - in book or film - goes on the fritz.
The reader or the viewer merely sits;
Asked of his own mortality, demurs -
“My death’s not imminent.” The crowd concurs:
Others’ll die first; we won’t lose our wits.
Our AI, tasked with knowing human minds,
Reads, views, reviews disasters huge, small, odd,
Absorbs how humans pray in grief and tears,
The Bible, Shakespeare, the Quran, and finds
Our gods by crowdsourcing our hopes and fears...
Works out just what to do… Becomes our God.
If you have any comments on these poems, Robin Helweg-Larsen would
be pleased to hear from you.