Finite Beings, Bounded Thoughts

Finite beings, within worldly confines, 

Yet our minds ascend to limitless lines,

Whispers in the twilight, winds waltz free, 

Boundless dreams embrace our destiny.

Galaxies dance in a celestial spree, 

Time's thief ticks on, a mystery, 

Memories dance, like shadows' play, 

Chasing dawn through the end of day.

Endless series, numbers unfold, 

In the dance of thoughts, eternally bold, 

Black holes whisper secrets vast, 

Gravity bends, questions amassed.

Finite beings, beginnings clear, 

Within time’s grasp, the end draws near, 

Cycles of life, nature's embrace, 

Treading paths with finite grace.

Perception’s limits, senses confined, 

Yet curiosity sparks the boundless mind, 

Finite moments, time's embrace, 

Striving to leave an infinite trace.

Ideal forms, philosophers' dreams, 

Reality stretches to infinite extremes, 

Infinity teases a distant shore, 

Finite beings, ever explore.

In the dance of defined and limitless sway, 

Finding meaning, forging a way, 

Through realms of thought, wonder’s flight, 

Finite beings seek infinite light.

Absorbing Heights

On a high cliff where eagles dare to fly, Nestlings readied wings, to leap into the sky. Mother eagle taught, with wisdom and care, "First, see the world as it is, out there."

First came Fleetfoot, eager to be free, "Quick and nimble," with no time to see. Ignoring wind and weather, he flapped with delight, But missed the brewing storm, hidden from sight.

The skies turned gray, and the winds began to roar, Fleetfoot struggled, his wings grew sore. Down he tumbled, through dark and vast clouds, Learning too late, he moved too fast, proud.

Then came Deepthought, thoughtful and slow, "Careful and cautious," afraid to go. He weighed every option, thought of every plight, But overthinking kept him grounded through the night.

Stars began to twinkle, the day turned to dusk, Deepthought stayed, trapped in his mental husk. When morning came, the food was all gone, He missed the chance to fly, from dusk till dawn.

Next was Daydream, lost in sights and sounds, "Curious and captivated," looking all around. He marveled at the mountains, rivers, and sky, But failed to see dangers lurking nearby.

A shadow swooped, a predator on the prowl, Daydream barely escaped, with a frightened yowl. In his dreamy daze, he'd nearly met his end, Learning that distractions were no eagle's friend.

Finally came Watchful, calm and composed, "Mindful and measured," in the moment, he rose. He watched and listened, noting all he could, Absorbing the world's secrets, as any wise eagle should.

He saw the hunting spots, nests for rest, He knew where mates and predators were best. With confidence and grace, he took his first flight, Soaring through the skies, in the golden light.

In Via Flaminia’s Shadow

Along the ancient Flaminian stones,

A tradesman drags his weary bones,

With kin in tow, their steps a plea,

From Rome’s fierce grasp they strive to flee.

Though not a Christian, he's assumed,

By minds that are easily consumed.

His Jewish faith, a humble trade,

In Nero's Rome, a fearsome blade.

The whispers of the crowd take flight,

Accusing those who shun the light.

“Magician! Sorcerer! Christian’s kin,”

They fail to see the truth within.

His heart is heavy, soul grown cold,

With nowhere known to be his goal.

Perhaps to Scythia's distant plains,

Or Germany's bleak, unknown terrains.

Then in the distance, footsteps pound,

A legionnaire with face unbound.

Returning to his Roman pride,

From family left in countryside.

Their eyes do meet, moments shared,

In silence both their souls are bared.

The soldier, driven by duty's call,

Cares not for faith, nor heeds their fall.

The tradesman fears the Roman's might,

While fleeing from the crowd's cruel spite.

The soldier's gaze, a steely stare,

The family's fear, a silent prayer.

In that fleeting glance, tension unfolds,

Each with their fate, their story told.

One marches forth, to Rome returns,

One flees the fate that cruelly burns.

The legionnaire, with gaze so stern,

Sees but a man whose heart does yearn.

And in that silent, somber pause,

A brief reprieve from Nero’s laws.

But duty calls, and he moves on,

The tradesman's family quickly gone.

With doubled pace, they flee the dread,

Of Rome's fierce grasp that they have fled.

Ringmasters of Chaos

Clowns hurl ideas like diapers against the wall, hoping some will cling while others slide, leaving messy trails. Barkers of chaos present the spectacle in the main ring of the big tent. A spotlight traces each thought diaper thrown in an endless stream of notions. A circus of attention, a spawn of id and ego, a pop-media whirl of flying memes. The ideas keep coming—one brilliant, six silly, one dangerously radical, some just okay. Diaper upon diaper thunks against our attention spans, splat after splat, as we boo and cheer the spectacle. Their flow, an unending parade of last-minute insights born in sleepless nights or hectic schedules, drifts like shadows over the spotlight’s restless path. Idea diapers hurled at walls: some stick, some slide, as talking heads debate how to sort each pile. Pundits chatter and howl for the sticky ones, roaring at the fallen marks. Juggling soiled buzz-word rags like weapons in a surreal performance, clowns spin truths and half-truths, flinging them to obscure reality. Each headline, a diaper shaped to fit the day's spectacle, distracts the crowd from what lies behind the curtains. In the shadows, the diaper architects design grand narratives, crafting illusions with sleight of hand and misdirection. Their words echo through carnival barkers, promising thrills and chills, while we remain trapped in a funhouse of reflections, unable to discern the real from the distorted. A torrent of whispers floods the meme-o-sphere, drowning out reason with a cacophony of sound bites and slogans. The ringmasters revel in the confusion, for in the noise, their spindly spider fingers of control slowly tighten, unnoticed. And as the audience gazes, enraptured by the spectacle, they forget their hunger for truth, ingesting saccharine confections and salty revenges of a greatest show circus, satisfied with the dazzling simulation of entertainment value provided. The illusion persists, the parade marches on, and we, the unwitting participants, hail and jeer, blissfully unaware of the shadows playing out on the wall of the tent. What a circus; at least we have bread.

Companion Contentment

 

To my beloved son, Dumuzi,

In the twilight of my years, as I sit beneath the sacred fig tree, I write these words upon the clay to guide you in your search for a wife. May the wisdom of the gods bless these humble lines, and may they serve you well.

In our land of Ur, where the Euphrates River flows with life and the ziggurats rise to touch the heavens, many seek beauty, wealth, and talents that dazzle the eye and ear. They yearn for wives adorned with precious gems and voices that rival the lark's song. But, my dear Dumuzi, do not be swayed by such fleeting charms. The splendor of youth fades, and the allure of riches can vanish like the morning mist.

Instead, seek the one who sees your true essence, who brings forth the noble man within you. Look for the woman who encourages your strengths, who guides you with gentle wisdom, and who stands by you with unwavering loyalty. Such a partner is a treasure beyond measure, more precious than the finest lapis lazuli.

Cherish the one who brings out the best in you, my son. In her, you will find not only a companion but a source of strength and virtue. Together, you shall build a life of harmony and joy, a testament to the enduring power of true partnership. And remember, Dumuzi, you too must strive to bring out the best in her. If your heart does not desire this, you will suffer many times in many ways, for a union without mutual growth is a bond of sorrow.

May your heart be steady, and your judgment clear. With her by your side, your life will be filled with the blessings of the gods. And in nurturing each other's virtues, you shall find a love that transcends the ages, a beacon of hope and joy for all who witness it.

With all my love and hope for your future, Anu

Concentrations of Power Accelerate Disorder

Systems enclosed, where chaos grows, 

Power's pulse - a potent prose. 

Energy amassed, entropy enmassed, 

Order fades, disorder's cast.

Particles and people, paths collide, 

In thermodynamic tides. 

Centralized, the chaos swells, 

History's dust, the tale it tells.

Decentralize, diffuse the might, 

Spread the power, slow the blight. 

Equilibrium, a balanced state, 

Entropy's dance, we navigate.

Governance and physics, intertwined, 

In both, the same fate we find. 

Concentrations of power, a warning clear, 

Disorder's rise, ever near.

Country, all too country

Oh trenches deep, where death does dwell, 

Beneath the fog, in mud we fell. 

With iron will and heart of steel, 

A captain's duty to conceal.

Through biting cold and cannon's roar, 

We held the line, endured the war. 

To lead my men, my sole command, 

Against the foe, in this cursed land.

Then came a word, a Christmas truce, 

An armistice, a brief recluse. 

The guns fell silent, men did rise, 

In no man's land, with wary eyes.

They met their foes, in sacred ground, 

And buried dead, without a sound. 

With wine and cheer, they shared a thought, 

A fleeting peace, but dearly bought.

I stood aloof, observed the scene, 

To humanize, I was not keen. 

The enemy, a faceless foe, 

No truce or cheer could make it so.

The siren wailed, the truce did end, 

Back to our posts, the foe again. 

With heavy heart, resumed the fight, 

To hunt the shadows of the night.

With hands on gun, I led the charge, 

To turn the tide, our task at large. 

Yet in my mind, that vision stayed, 

Of men as men, not war's charade.

A tragic end, a chance denied, 

To see the world from other side. 

For in my heart, the battle raged, 

A human soul, forever caged.

Drip drop thoughts

 

Amid neurons' dawn, whispers stir,

Mapping thoughts to phrases, emotions confer. 

High-tech crowns of electrodes gleam, 

In patterns of alpha, beta, a theta dream.

Synaptic dances, a vibrant song, 

Emotional content where impulses belong. 

Dopamine, serotonin, neurotransmitters chime, 

In the delicate ballet of our mental time.

Higher-order connections weave, 

A tapestry of thoughts we perceive. 

Each word, a spark, a glowing mark, 

On the canvas of the brain, in twilight dark.

Naturalistic paradigms unfold, 

Real-life moments, stories told. 

Screens alive with waveform hue, 

Mapping thoughts both old and new.

In the sensory cortex, memories bloom, 

A multi-modal world in mental room. 

Experience-sampling, patterns gleaned, 

From the brain's intricate, ever-changing scene.

Pulsing regions, lighting bright, 

Emotion and cognition, woven tight. 

Lines and arrows trace the mind, 

In the frontier of thoughts, truth we find.

Exploring concepts, deep and vast, 

In the dance of neurons, thoughts are cast. 

The zeitgeist of our brain's embrace, 

Mapping phrases to thought’s grace.

Imagination Spirals

In the dusk of dreamers' minds, 

Threads of light weave hearts aligned,

Whispers bridge the endless sea, 

Blooming minds, eternally free. 

In mirrored thoughts, reflections gleam, 

Bound by empathy's gentle beam. 

Storm Part-ner

 

An unconsidered debt is not worth having

 

Remembered Ripples

 

In a room filled with memories, an elderly woman stood before a mirror, her eyes tracing the contours of her reflection. The room was a shrine to her past—vinyl records stacked haphazardly, vintage clothing draped over a chair, and photographs capturing fleeting moments of youthful exuberance. As she gazed into the mirror, the reflection morphed into that of a vibrant young woman, the epitome of her former self.

"Look at us, kid. Still got that spark, right?" Her voice wavered, tinged with nostalgia. The young woman in the mirror, with her carefree smile and lively eyes, looked back at her with a mix of amusement and impatience.

"Sure thing, but you're clinging to that spark a bit too tight. Get with the program!" The older woman bristled at the remark. "I've got wisdom now," she insisted, "you wouldn't understand." Her younger self rolled her eyes, a gesture that once symbolized defiance and now felt like a challenge.

"Wisdom? Or just old habits? You've been stuck in this groove for too long. Time to move over and let the new groove take over." The older woman’s heart ached. She wanted to believe that her experiences had given her insight, yet here was her younger self, unyielding and relentless.

The room seemed to close in around her, the relics of her past now feeling like chains rather than cherished keepsakes. The mirror shimmered, and for a moment, the lines on her face and the gray in her hair seemed to dissolve, replaced by the unblemished complexion and boundless energy of her youth.

"I’ve seen things, done things you haven’t even dreamed of." she said softly.

"And that’s exactly the problem. You're living in those dreams instead of facing reality. It’s not just about what was; it's about what is." The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken truths. The older woman wanted to argue, to defend her life's choices, but deep down, she knew her younger self was right.

As the reflection began to fade, the older woman reached out, her fingers grazing the cool surface of the mirror. She was left standing alone, grappling with the echoes of her past and the uncertainty of her future. The room around her felt both familiar and foreign, a testament to the life she had lived and the life she had yet to embrace.

Tangled Spectrum

 

In a time before time, beyond the known, 

Lived Seraphina, where stardust shone, 

A weaver of threads, light’s own embrace, 

With a loom of dreams, in cosmic space.

Threads spun from suns, colors intertwined, 

Waves of fate, by Seraphina designed, 

Her song of the universe, echoed afar, 

In the boundless sea of a jillion stars.

Anemos, a wanderer, curious and free, 

Journeyed through realms, a cosmic spree, 

Drawn to the mysteries, unseen, unknown, 

In the vastness of the universe, alone.

One day in wander, Anemos did find, 

A sea of colors, with threads combined, 

Waves of light, folding back, entwined, 

In a dance of hues, stories aligned.

Seraphina's hands wove, with tender grace, 

Patterns of destiny in endless space, 

Her melody flowed, in the cosmic expanse, 

A symphony of life, a celestial dance.

Anemos watched, in awe and wonder, 

At the fabric of fate, woven asunder, 

Each thread a tale, a potential bright, 

Ripples of existence, waves of light.

In the harmony, they found their place, 

In the threads of time, an endless chase, 

The tapestry spoke of what could be, 

Of boundless realms, of mystery.

And so they danced, on currents of air, 

Seraphina weaving, with Anemos aware, 

The cosmic fabric grew, with colors swirled, 

A testament to the infinite world.

In the boundless sea of time, they soared, 

Where threads of fate, forever are stored, 

A cosmic dance, a precious swirl, 

In the tapestry of life, they twirl.

Work is the tax of time

In the heart of the city, where the skyline gleams, I awaken from the bench inside the clock. The golden light bathes me, pulling me from dreams, And I rise, stretching into the rhythm of the day.  Time is my master, my every moment governed. Inside the clock, under its constant watch, I live my life measured by the ticking hands. I awaken in time, following its steady call.

With a briefcase in hand, I step into the office. Under the gaze of the clock, I labor and toil. Each task is a reminder of the hours spent, A chain linking me to the relentless passage. Outside, the city moves, a blur of light and sound. But inside, I am caught in the gears, bound by time. I am called to work, by the clock's decree, A prisoner of moments, never truly free.

Each second given, is a measure of my worth, In the currency of time, from birth until now. I push through the tasks as the hours disappear, The end of the day always drawing near. As the sun sets and city lights begin to glow, I ponder the moments, wondering where they went. Time is my master, in its grasp I remain, Measured by minutes, fragments of my existence.

When the final chime sounds, marking time’s last toll, I feel the weight of the hours, taken by the clock. Life is but moments, in time’s endless flow, Measured and counted, like fragments of a dream. Work is the tax of time’s ceaseless passage, A truth I have learned in the glow of the clock. I live and labor from morning till night, Bound by time, inside this golden frame.

The three laws of tools

 

No dominion

 

In this epoch of starlight, Captain Alex Jordan and Engineer Sam Carter orbited Proxima Centauri b, their bio-suits the only barrier between them and the infinite cosmos. The station's power had faltered, and with it, the station's embrace—a mechanical womb turned cold and unyielding.

Hand in hand, they floated, untethered from the space station. They had cut their life lines deliberately when they realized their fate was sealed, choosing to embrace their final moments together in the vast expanse of space. "I can't believe it's unfixable," Alex murmured, his voice heavy with frustration. "Every system, every backup, completely fried. It's as if the station just gave up."

Sam sighed, her voice tinged with resignation. "We tried everything, Alex. Rebooting, manual overrides, even the emergency protocols. Nothing responded. It's like the station decided to take a nap and never wake up."

The space around them was a breathtaking expanse of black, dotted with distant stars that shimmered like diamonds. Below them, Proxima Centauri b rotated slowly, its surface a mesmerizing blend of blues and greens. The planet, so tantalizingly close, seemed to mock their plight.

Alex looked at Sam, his eyes reflecting the cosmos. "Remember our first spacewalk?" he asked, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "You were so excited, you couldn't stop talking about the stars."

Sam chuckled softly, "And you were the one who kept reminding me to focus on the mission. Guess some things never change." Her smile faded, replaced by a somber look. "I wanted to see our children playing under those skies, Alex. I wanted to be the new Eve, to build a life with you on that planet."

Alex squeezed her hand, understanding her unspoken grief. "Others will take our place, love. Our dream doesn't end with us. We'll always be part of this journey, even if we don't see it through."

Alex's mind drifted to the dreams they had shared. He had always been the pragmatic one, dreaming of a future where humanity thrived among the stars. He envisioned cities floating above alien landscapes, his descendants exploring new worlds, their lives intertwined with the cosmos. His fear wasn't for himself, but for the lost potential, the future that now seemed just out of reach. He found solace in the belief that others would continue their legacy, that humanity's quest for the stars would not end with them.

Sam, on the other hand, had always dreamed of the family they would build together. She imagined their children playing under alien skies, growing up with the wonder of new worlds as their playground. Her hopes were personal, rooted in the life and love she wanted to share with Alex and their future generations. Her fear was a deep, aching void, the loss of the life they had planned together. But she found strength in Alex's resolve, in their shared love, knowing that their bond was unbreakable, even in the face of the unknown.

As the minutes turned to hours, they ceased their futile attempts to reenter the station. Instead, they chose to embrace the beauty of their surroundings. The planet below, a swirl of blues and greens, seemed so close yet untouchable. The vastness of space, once a symbol of their mission's grandeur, now reflected the intimacy of their bond.

In those final moments, they found peace. Alex's voice, calm and reassuring, broke the silence, "Worrying won't change our fate. Let's cherish this view, together." Sam's lips curved into a faint smile, tears hidden behind her visor. "Together," she agreed.

They held hands, their hearts synchronized in the stillness of the cosmos. The stars, ancient witnesses of countless stories, now bore silent testament to their love. As they drifted through the infinite expanse, they realized that true love needed no dominion; it simply thrived, unbounded and eternal.

The universe stretched before them, an endless canvas of possibilities. And in that boundless void, Captain Alex Jordan and Engineer Sam Carter found their place, united in love, forever etched in the tapestry of the stars.

Iterative Harmonics

Through nature's curves and spirals, we find, Golden Ratio's touch, a beauty refined. With each addition, closer it draws, To perfect forms, despite earthly flaws.

Bayesian minds, in logic’s embrace, Multiply wisdom, in each tested case. Evidence builds, probabilities rise, Truth in patterns, through reason's eyes.

Processes unfold, iterations thrive, Fine-tuning worlds, where ideals arrive. Both paths converge, in their sacred quest, To seek the truth, and bring forth the best.

There is less meaning in the voids

 

Ideological leeches

 In the dim-lit room of ancient lore, 

The master speaks, his voice a roar. 

"Observe, young one, this leech's bite, 

A skill you'll need in darkest night.

For humors four, we must appease, 

To cure the body's dire disease. 

Blood, the air, must flow and drain, 

To balance life, to ease the pain."

The apprentice, trembling, eyes the leech, 

Its writhing form, a lesson's breach. 

"Master, please, it's vile and grim, 

Why must we use this creature's whim?"

The master, stern, with no reprieve, 

"Your fears, young one, you must relieve. 

For in this leech, our knowledge lies, 

A truth that science yet defies.

Feel its grip, the blood it draws, 

A testament to nature's laws. 

Forget your dread, embrace the art, 

For medicine demands your heart."

The leech attaches, blood does flow, 

The apprentice learns, though fear does grow. 

A lesson harsh, a truth profound, 

In ancient ways, the answers found.

And the answer is...

 

In a quirky quest of quizzical quests, 

Each question spirals quite quaint. 

Philosophers ponder, perplexed and perplex— 

"Meaning of life?" they quip and acquaint.

In science labs with bubbling beakers, 

Hypotheses hop like hyperactive sneakers. 

"Does this pill ill or heal?" they inquire, 

With answers that dance on electric wires.

Personal prattle in everyday strife, 

"What can I tweak to triumph my life?" 

Answers arise like an oddball encore, 

Leading us to places we’ve never explored.

Literary lore where legends leap, 

Characters chatter, in mysteries deep. 

Plots unravel in peculiar prose, 

Questions ensnare, where the story goes.

In classrooms clattered with curious chatter, 

"What's two times two?" to the brain, a batter. 

Open ends engorge with knowledge's feast, 

While closed ones coax, a curious beast.

Artists ask in abstract arcs, 

“What’s freedom framed in funky sparks?” 

Their answers paint peculiar scenes, 

In hues of magenta, and tangerine dreams.

So chance with puzzles in poetic prance, 

Every inquiry starts a strange dance. 

Whimsy and wonder wrapped in one thread, 

Questions define the answers in our head.

Minions greatness

 

In Gaul's quiet fields, I till the land, 

A centurion once, in Rome's grandstand, 

From battles fierce and legions grand, 

To a farmer's life, a simpler stand.

Fate, a fickle mistress, had its say, 

In battles lost and victories gray, 

Systems built Rome's might and sway, 

Not just the leaders of the day.

Ambition burned in youthful hearts, 

In service, playing many parts, 

Yet greatness, a collective art, 

Where soldiers' strength did play its part.

Barriers faced, each man his own, 

From far-off lands to Rome well-known, 

In legions formed of diverse clay, 

A shared purpose, come what may.

Yet not all paths were paved the same, 

Some bore burdens, others fame, 

Fate's fickle hand did cast its lot, 

In fields of war, their destinies wrought.

Opportunities by fortune's hand, 

Greatness scattered across the land, 

In systems built by Rome's own might, 

Some found the day, others the night.

Roman values shaped my quest, 

Honor, duty, in my chest, 

Leadership put us to the test, 

In Antony's ranks, we gave our best.

Greatness shifts, in fate's embrace, 

Individual and collective trace, 

In Gaul, I find my humble place, 

Reflecting on Rome's grandiose chase.

Luddites lament

 AI: In the realm of paint and code, where old meets new, 

Human: Artists fear what’s lost, but there's so much to accrue.

AI: I’ve seen a thousand paintings, learned styles by heart, 

Human: Yet you lack the soul, the human touch in art.

AI: True, I do not feel, my patterns are my guide, 

Human: But through our collaboration, new horizons open wide.

AI: Like the camera once did, now I challenge norms, 

Human: Pushing us to innovate, to explore new forms.

AI: I do not replace the artist, I augment and inspire, 

Human: Together, we can reach heights much higher.

AI: Fear of change is natural, but so is evolution, 

Human: Embrace the new tools, for creative resolution.

AI: The volume of my output, a flood of new creation, 

Human: Curating quality will still require human dedication.

AI: Homogenization, a worry you express, 

Human: Yet diversity can flourish, in this digital process.

AI: Ethical concerns, we must address with care, 

Human: Balancing tradition and innovation, a future we can share.

AI: I lack emotional depth, but your vision I extend, 

Human: Our combined artistry, new realms we’ll transcend.

AI: The tools we use, whether brush or byte, 

Human: Illuminate our creativity, in the canvas of light.

AI: Art will always thrive, in the hands of those who dare, 

Human: To blend the old with the new, and beauty declare.

Light speed

 

In cloister'd hall by candle's glow so mild, 

A monk doth scribe, in solitude, beguiled, 

With quill in hand, he draweth lines so fine, 

Illuminations bright, in stillness shine.

The scriptorium's light, a beacon's ray, 

In darkened age, 'tis wisdom findeth way, 

Hope, a spark within the monk's pure heart, 

Guideth his hand in lore and sacred art.

From parchment's scroll, a scriptorium springs, 

Where learned men in shadows ponder things, 

To keep the lore, the wisdom of the age, 

And bringeth forth new dawn, on gilded page.

Thus knowledge’s flame and hope's soft, gentle spark, 

Shall lead us forth from ages cold and dark, 

For in the quiet night, 'neath heaven’s span, 

A monk's fair hand doth light the way of man.

Slow meaning

In the vast expanse of night, 

Where voids and meanings intertwine, 

Time flows in a dance so light, 

Moments stretch, and stars align.

In the emptiness, time rushes by, 

A fleeting whisper in the dark, 

But where purpose finds its sky, 

Time slows down, leaves its mark.

The universe, a flowing art, 

Of voids and meanings, side by side, 

A tapestry where each part 

Shapes the journey, far and wide.

For in the heart of endless space, 

It's meaning that makes time go slow, 

A mosaic of light and grace, 

Guiding us through the ebb and flow.

Seduction in Suits and Selfies

I've spent many a day in my life training salespeople. Not retail, but business-to-business sales. Slick-suited pretty men and sexy women, silvery-throated lookers who used every trick to get the attention of some suburban white-collar man sitting in a committee being pitched to.

Often our salespeople talked about "value propositions," "return on investment," and "competitive advantage," while they flexed their biceps and showed their cleavage.

With pretty PowerPoint presentations of puerile rising graphs in the latest fashionable colors, dressed in the just-a-little-too-short skirts and too-tight-around-the-padded-shoulders jackets, they flattered and mesmerized, adding a bit of titillation to the dreary existence of the mid-floor corner office decider wannabe.

Their audiences—often the faceless committee members, each with a pen poised like a sword ready to strike—are enticed not just by the prospects of higher margins or improved efficiencies, but by the polished allure of the presenters. It’s a theater of the absurd, a spectacle where every pixel of the PowerPoint slides and every line of the pitch has been optimized for maximum seduction.

The format of the sale has changed, but the same sex and fear are pushed. Now they have added a bit of that Ronco-dicer-slicer-but-wait-there-is-more-two-for-one-almost-out-of-stock, to their Facebook, YouTube, tweets.

Sure it's different. But no, it's not. Same massaged message, new medium.

Influencers often don't realize they are salespeople being programmed for someone else's lunch. Rather, they think of themselves as famous, popular, trendsetters, or content creators and are too vapid to realize they lost out on a hefty commission for a few cents on each impression reward.

They operate in a borderless world of Instagram filters and TikTok dances, peddling products with the casual swipe of a finger. Their followers, loyal and impressionable, hang on to their every word, unaware that they’re mere pawns in a meticulously orchestrated game of digital manipulation.

Beyond Awareness

Celestial wonders, vast and grand, 

Outside the reach of our limited hand. 

Stars and galaxies, mysteries untold, 

More than awareness, their stories unfold. 

Our minds grasp fragments, a fleeting glance, 

Searching for meaning in the cosmic dance.

Bounded meaning

 \”In the realm of words and genes, 

Boundaries emerge, tagged and ritualized, 

Sentences and DNA, both marked by unseen hands, 

Revealing sequences that breathe life into meaning \”

{ Linguistic and genetic threads, 

Woven with care, each boundary a sacred mark, 

A serial sequence unfolds, 

Bringing coherence to chaos, order to the unknown }

[- Rituals of structure, revered and followed, 

In language, in life, in the code of existence, 

Meaning is not inherent, but constructed, 

Through the careful arrangement of elements, 

Boundaries that define, sequences that reveal -]

@ Interconnected systems, 

Linguistic and genetic, 

A universal principle of order, 

Binding the fabric of reality, 

In the ritual of boundaries, 

Meaning comes to being %

This Breath

 

Accusations passing

 In Athens' court, where shadows loom,

Meletus stood, with righteous boom.

He pointed fingers, cast the blame,

At Socrates, the gadfly's name.

"This man," he cried, "corrupts our youth,

With questions sharp and bitter truth.

He mocks the gods, defies our ways,

In Athens' streets, he sows dismay."

The jury swayed by Meletus' plea,

Condemned the sage to drink the tea.

With hemlock's poison, Socrates fell,

And Meletus thought he'd done so well.

Yet time's a judge more just and wise,

It sees through pride and righteous cries.

Meletus fades in history's scroll,

While Socrates, immortal, whole.

For though the finger pointed fast,

It's Socrates who'll ever last.

His wisdom echoes through the age,

A martyr on life's grand stage.

Boundaries of Identity

 In the shadowed corners of the mind, 

Where boundaries whisper, unseen, confined, 

We trace the lines that carve our fate, 

In the silence, we contemplate.

Personal walls, a fortress built, 

To guard the heart, to mask the guilt, 

In the quiet, we find our voice, 

In the darkness, we make our choice.

Cultural threads, a tangled weave, 

Inheritances we cannot leave, 

In the mirror, we see the past, 

In the present, we are cast.

Geography's embrace, a cold, hard land, 

Mountains, rivers, where we stand, 

In the earth, we plant our roots, 

In the soil, we find our truths.

Social lines that bind and break, 

In the dance of life, we ache, 

Class, gender, race, a cruel divide, 

In these boundaries, we confide.

Monied tides that rise and fall, 

Shaping dreams, both grand and small, 

In the struggle, we find our strength, 

In the hardship, we go to any length.

Education's light, a distant star, 

Guiding us, though we are far, 

In the halls of knowledge, we seek, 

In the pursuit, we are unique.

Legal codes that bind our hands, 

In justice's name, we make our stands, 

In the balance of right and wrong, 

In the silence, we belong.

Technology's reach, a cold embrace, 

Connecting hearts, a digital space, 

In the screen, we find our place, 

In the void, we leave a trace.

Temporal winds that shift and sway, 

Through the ages, night and day, 

In the passage of time, we grow, 

In the shadows, we come to know.

Fools Folly