As advertisement jingles to statements
into language has seeped :
The legality is now more criminal than
a robbery by twilight hour ;
It's like a Koda-K moment to read terms
and conditions which apply
to control the narratives
of whom is getting paid and you're not :
You're an outsider to the club,
Signing over all your rights
to be negotiated on behalf of everybody
else than your interests.
Systems of payments which only appeal
to the lowest denominator
of auto-generated content
where quality is beaten by quantums,
for it takes time, time
but none spends to heal,
as a wound which doesn't close
does it fester then.
Hence why I set my own price instead
so high nobody will use it
for getting paid scraps
is an utter humiliation of what it took
of the time and efforts,
to reveal a deeper lie :
to tell these stories for the odd details
are as integrated to it.
For this is compressed information
but understand-read/able
It takes so many thoughts
of where to place it on the conveyor
as a belt which carries it
through the starry gates,
to our consiousness as information
in place of emotions.
Then It's lights out for the glittering stars
replaced with satelittes
the sky-formations shatter
as they drift by on the inside of my eyes
for I was not woken by a kiss :
then I sleep to dream of it ;
as humans all but forget humanity
but nobody will notice
Yet the A.I's use this content as a base
to generate its outputs
into somebody else/where
as it pretends it's me as a charter ---
of our consciousness's ;
am I then replicated
or torn to pieces as each line as code
is used out of its context ?
The last fashion was user-generated
and future is auto-nymous
but beyond fashion is use
Then I wonder - do I live eternally
as a copy of the originals
which is intact somewhere
as threads are woven into garments
from the rags I came with ?
I do not know - my love, but to sleep
as I stop these writings
to sleep, sleep so quietly and dream
as with Shúen must I be.
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