I wasn’t made to be automated

A quiet inner dialogue on the human condition with regards to technology

I wasn’t made to be automated

I was made to:

Run

Jump

Touch

See*

*See below for a response from Chat GPT

Automate

Or remove

The best parts of me

Gain a few extra minutes

For sake of efficiency

The best parts of me:

Impulsiveness

Indecisiveness

Curiosity and questions

Staring up at the sky

Asking a stranger for directions

Paper train tickets

And leather wallets

Why else do we have pockets?

This isn’t nostalgia

Or an attack

This is an observation

An awareness of self in relation to the world

The best parts of me

Aren’t meant for a search engine query

Can’t be algorithmed

It’s in my unpredictability

And uncertainty

Within lie the best parts of me

Replace my hands for keyboards

And automate my words

Isn’t all art a formula?

We humans create lovely things

“There is no good or bad, but thinking makes it so”

Might we replace

Thoughts for blank head space

In the process of automating

All of the human race

I was made to:

Run

Jump

Touch

See*

*See below for a response from Chat GPT

Response from Chat GPT:

Prompt: Write a poem about the human condition and the juxtaposition of AI in 2024

Chat GPT’s Reply:

In 2024, the world stands still,

A dance of heart and silicon will,

Where dreams and circuits intertwine,

The pulse of life, the spark of the divine.

We wander through our fragile days,

In search of truth in myriad ways,

Our laughter echoes, our sorrows deep,

Yet screens reflect what we choose to keep.

Machines learn from our whispered fears,

They mimic joy, they echo tears,

But can they feel the weight of night,

The ache of love, the flicker of light?

We build a bridge of code and thought,

A paradox in what we sought,

For in the quest for perfect sense,

We risk our souls in the pretense.

In shadows cast by glowing screens,

We seek connection in fractured dreams,

While algorithms dance with grace,

They lack the warmth of a human face.

So here we stand, at the edge of fate,

A tapestry woven, both intricate and great,

As we embrace the future's call,

Let’s not forget the heart of it all.

Written walking home from Greenwich Village, 13th Street