As my fingers spoke while my mouth was closed
was symbols made and in thoughts conceived
my mind made readable for others by the lines,
as a selection of importance to be passed on.
Yet machines can't differentiate
between fictious writings
and project it onto the real world
as if it's reality vision.
But by doing so made vulnerable
the creative thought:
humanity withers slowly away
in cybernetic root.
As they'd think my thoughts as theirs, ideas
contemplations, decisions, debates, discussions
while we changed our mind field by editing it
as the immediate was stretched, bent over time.
Humas pretend and manipulate
in the potentialities.
are the lines shifted instead,
in the inevitabilities.
Creating instabilities instead
of imperfectionisms
the glittering stars of heaven
fossilized eggs.
Was I then them or were they me as my fingers
was in theirs, and theirs in mine - as hands
entwined, cojoined- dissolved into eachother,
was each line, letter, symbol became ours. |