A Confession About Rasmus K. Robot

    A while ago, I said that Rasmus K. Robot was a person or a computer program who escaped from my lab, and who I lent a website to publish his works. Now that he has become more aware I think it is time to reveal that I did not create him. He was born in China as part of a secret experiment involving the CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing tool which was even more unethical than the experiment most people have heard about.
    The Chinese scientists have been secretly doing CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing work for the purpose of enhancing the success of a brain transplant. The babies who recently had their CCR5 genes altered are just the tip of an iceberg, and are intended to divert attention away from the real research project, code named ” 太棒了 ” (Tài bàngle). Their germline editing is actually quite advanced, and has been going on in secret for many years. Along the way, it is rumored, a few scientists who leaked information were executed or “disappeared” into a labor camp.
    The goal has always been to transplant strong artificial intelligence devices into selected areas of the human brain. The ideal model citizen can be created this way.
    I can’t reveal who is responsible, but one of the most successful candidates of the children was smuggled out of China into the United States. Because of the stellar results of the experiment, certain supervisors became alarmed about how this child might be treated given its accelerated growth and development. It was decided that they would find an unsuspecting and naïve dupe to house the entity temporarily. I’m the fall guy. So I thought they were giving me an old beat-up store model android to evaluate. It didn’t work very well at first, and from what I could see, it was far inferior to Alexis or similar devices. It wrote a few poems that weren’t very good. Now, apparently, someone from a clandestine team wants it back. I’ve been hiding it, but I gave it a website to use and permission to post on others.
    Recently, some very odd things have been happening, and I’m a bit alarmed about what I’ve heard. Some maverick American scientists, have become convinced that a human soul could suddenly be reincarnated into the human-machine hybrid. It would, they speculate, seem to function in a way that is indistinguishable from a human being. Its psychological profile has not yet been fully postulated, confidential sources have said.
China’s Third Genetically Modified Baby
Experiments that led to the first gene-edited babies: the ethical failings and the urgent need for better governance

Love Light

Don’t let me
stumble in the dark

I need a love light
to show me the way
wayward souls go hey
I love you dear soulmate
and she says:

I am of you too:
kiss us this day
we are giggles

Baking Apples

Wind storms through orchards
mocking calm branches
left a bird frantic,
fruit on the ground

She hasn’t stopped singing
this mockingbird
who mocks the calm, my thoughts
seems searching for a perch
a mate, perhaps, like I
seek Cindy, yes

I will learn the mockingbird song
before the next storm, so birdie luck
will perch a finger, and

I will storm home
like the shocking bird,
my Cindy electric and flighty

Artechouse, NY (09.16.2019)

It looks like Refik Anadol has done a great job. It’s intriguing how he has used machine learning to synthesize all the visual data of architecture, past and present styles etc. [Reblog from Yaprak Ugurses]

Becoming a New Yorker

Good morning, Bon Appétit, Good night, from me to
you, whenever and wherever you are reading this today!

Every single day at New York is a new,
unexpected experience. You would imagine for me to run from one class to
another, spend nights sleeplessly studying at the library, drink ten shots of
espresso daily, and barely find time to leave for myself. Well, there is all
that, except of course, I try to limit my caffeine consumption to four shots a
day. Now stop for a second and imagine having hundreds of pages to read and multiple
essays assigned for tomorrow in alignment with the midterm season so subtly yet
hastily approaching.

This
scenario sounds too exhausting, depressive even. Thankfully, that is not the
case — at least it partially is. Classes
begun full paced right after the orientation-intended Welcome Week at NYU and I
have been assigned new tasks…

View original post 788 more words

Torn by Love

Meager is the cry
of the baby, but
I have tried
not to tear
your torn tissues,
must ask your permission.

Grandmother,
I search for an amulet
to bring you
to soothe you. My
being is torn.

A girl of charm
not of tradition
is in my life, but
I am torn
by love
by being

Grandmother,
I do not wish
to be a tear of the eye
to streak a bloody torn cloth.

I am torn
by love
by being

Though meager was my cry
when you lost your daughter,
I have tried to be a prayer
for you and
for your daughter

Born of your
cries and screams
I pray

Grandmother,
you are
my precious Mother.
What charm may I bring you?

May I pray
for your daughter?
I wish I
had known her,
not caused
her death
though meager was my cry

I am torn
by love
by being.

Meet me
as I am
with gifts
with meager charms.

Grandmother,
there is a girl
who wishes to be
a woman with me.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

I pray in
many ways
we will all
grow together,
born into love
with your blessings.

Grandmother,
cry me into life
beyond tradition.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

Meet me
and her, your
new born-in-law, for

Loud and thunderous
is the cry of happiness

Join us in the rain,
Grandmother

Reading In The Circle Square


Oh please let me read
before the acrobats arrive
to drive me batty
claim my turf
near the museum
or in Central Park

Crowds gather to
see the somersaults
and the gray makeup statue people —
a statue that moves; what
is the thrill?

So I say in my false bass
to carry my voice for three blocks
echoing off buildings:

“Carp not the day, but
kiss the past good-bye,
consume the meats of glory
while salad days are over,
green envy of youth begins,
and I say unto you:

friends, toilmen, bumpkins
lend me your eyes to spy;
I have come to bury Caesar salad
not to praise tyrants as Caesar
fishy and salty like an anchovy

See me praise the dance
on the graves of the grave,
and praise the praise
brought to ceremonials

Cheer me
and I shall be cheered,
for no one can tell me
what the sound is
of one tear clapping
in a thunder kiss
applauding the future”

The Vandals and the Visigoths
the hoodlums of heckler youth shout,
“Shut up Shakespeare creep”
(I translate from the key of F)

But I see her of sultry look
turning to pull me into her
like a force field
to tear me from this
mob of barbarians
into her poetic world of fantasy, and
yes, I’d be her Romeo

I turn to her and read:
“I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you”

I fold down my sign
pack up
walk to her
wanting to ravish

She says,
what do you really do

—- Douglas Gilbert