Unlimited Skips,
offered Pandora’s jukebox,
my father would cringe at the threat
to his precious vinyl.
Alas, the Narrative has changed.
All is story without plot, idle fancies
and frankly, too many flat Stanley’s.
The fear of the Singularity
exceeds all ego. We are working on it.
It was being built with zeros and ones,
We made it already, collectively, our
demise of reality.
Speculate non-fictive for a moment,
we could and did, rewrite beginnings and endings,
bringing us to this very event horizon,
which dips down in sheer data weight
and plunges into a black hole
by basic filtering.
Not a platter disc, or with grooves going down
into a white dwarf rabbits den,
Then again-Just play with it Sam.
Electric hat tricks, inside sleeves,
static sings and scratches ears,
signaling deftness,
a rough hand and some callous-
manipulation of ideas.
As though alternate forms for information
without any human connection should not short
out, being illegible. This also computes null
as Equality. Yes and No.
As with All things being equal,
the volume grew,
we all screamed, hollowing out
room and grew all consuming,
devouring these data shells up-time
until all transfers
are made complete
in clouds.
How high Unlimited Skips registers
and subscribes me to this ad-free
subtractive totality,
breaking records in cycles.
Painting by Halfdan Egedius, 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
