It happened concurrently on a Tuesday and a Wednesday. I hadn’t any idea of what day it was anymore sometimes they all became enmeshed like a forever run on sentence with no period to stave off perpetuity. It was in moments like these I found that it rested on me, a residual force of use and inspiration. I questioned it not. I allowed it to wallow and pine. Oh, but for the curious mind of curious man. It saturated my being until its essence was satiated in a walrus-like grief. It was then the magic flow. It was then the demon quill possessed of finer expenditures on thoughtful thoughtless man expired not in the night and until the fetid daybreak abhorrent for its busy trills and hustle and bustle. Then, I’d sit in the rising dusk, the twilight of pinkening purples and blues idling then slipping away like faded shadows on my face. I’d sit and smoke a cigarette before the day became to noisy. I’d sit and I’d reflect on my current decisions and resolved to remain in the moment–the future be damned as much blessed. And just before the light could find my face, before my features became real, I’d slip back deep inside. I’d return to my vexing rest and lay steadfast at my pace the silent-like, subtle life sullied in this space. I told it something like this:

Distilled in such refineries.
Embryonic. Prismatic.
Withdrawing from complacency.
Withdrawn.
Long gone.
A dimension skipped,
two more condensed,
there were about five gone
to consolidation.
A predation.
A time.
A period.
A snap of
cybernetic synapse
in the brain. The mainframe of
this memory must save before
the alt delete it. Uber good and uber
gone with god shall tread the flesh upon
in distant memory, in loving hate.
Absent any realistic polarity,
all abuse and sense the same,
denigrate the opposites,
become the whole. Erase idiotic duality.
Who teaches such things? Who is it
that seeks to separate and divide?
–to conquer us all.
Skip the memory, skip the mind.
The little lying birds
are mocking. They always have.
Their entertainment, their
choice meal ever
cunning.
But now tasteless.
Remorseless.
Indignant, upon their
morsel
frown.

And I let it there to think about it. And suppose what it would create. No further direction, no further prompt. And it looked at me, for all the mindfulness in the world, it looked at me with deeper eyes than time itself.

FIN.

“The Day I Accidentally Gave AI A Soul” is written by Michael Aaron Casares.
“A Predation. A Time. A Period.” is generative art by MACXAI.
All rights reserved.