scathing dissmised critique

The computer gamer, so wrapped up in their virtual world, has created another. it sounds like a Sci-Fi RPG storyline, but this particular narrative wouldn’t wash and would be left to fester in its clinically efficient data prison of the forgotten game.


So to the beautiful paradox of describing and unfolding the situation to the accused whilst in the whirlpool. The gamer "self titled ; identity affirming" is non responsive to witty, charming and incisive critique of the game and gamer relationship, said gamer is far to engrossed in its deferral of life to engage in its own. It is not entirely a surprise and seems to be an exploded car blocking the destination checkpoint of a short term token economy positive reinforcement barrier. This is quite a sizeable one. So the next conceivable step is to put the argument into a more accessible form, to integrate it into the gamers identity relocation no matter how aesthetic. The assumption is that it will read it into its own identity, yet no creative or open minded thought process will result, just the words "creative or open minded" to the extent that they are literally mutually exclusive. This may have to be looked into by robots, and why do i want these apathetic humans to get used to shooting at robots and desensitising them to the inevitable future, surely i want to supple them up with words like some conceptual artist for example, we shall see, via mechanical cameras.

put an a

put an a in front of something, put a something behind an a. creation. this is so simply a paradoxical nightmare, suck on this alphaville robot

incestuous words

try to write a page without any puns. i would write, without the use of puns but this suggests said puns could be a tool, being controlled and used at will by the pun user. even the idea of a "pun user" suggests this.
i believe they are not tools, used to express meaning and validate intelligence but an unwanted byproduct from a system that if physicallized into a human context, would resemble an incestuous family, so deformed over endless generations, garbling nonsensical noises, mistranslating each other via broken vocal chords, slack tongues and generational social difference.
future generations are kept in test tubes along side their ancient ancestors, unwillingly pickled and preserved to be viewed but not seen by the present concoctions of self proclaimed humanity, judged by a kitchen blender of rules and norms that somehow can be linked to this strange collectives ideas of culture with words.
this serial killer cliched family often; as the movies suggest, prey upon stray travelers, lost in the vast and unforgiving desert of self motivated exploration. captured, mutated, exchanged, raped, married, fed pickled juices and brainwashed until their assimilation into this heinous family is complete and all identity is erased and hope of resolution destroyed.

robot ponders whilst smoking

the comfort cigarette
he needs to be comforted
thoughts that penetrate the face

the dew on the grass is only a barrier
an inverted state, looking up an imaginary mountain

creeping light creeps on him
like a bird that does not creep
sooth away says the bird
make your path

sparkling dew is the rush that comes quietly
arrive ten minutes early

he doesn't realize this transitional transit
conceited narrative melts in the sun
the candle as it once was

the unnoticed clouds make way
their absence
sustain euphoria

dew on the grass
no lesser a barrier
the light is transferred

may there always be clouds

robot observing moments and placing in first person

she licked the tears from my face
the disgusting irony was swallowed but not digested
i couldn't help but smile
her innocence
her infectious, blissful ignorance

                                                                             tears induced by the loss of moments like this

moments that will be romanticized, cherished and despised
i didn't care
free fuel for this heartbroken figure