dinosaur and computer face off in a writing duel that will stand for centuries as one of the most important events history has to tell

    This was a little project I partook as a pastime with my good friend Wayne, that I sure hope you love as much as I did. Basically, we chose a topic each day and tried to write a whole original piece from it. You’ll find in here much of what you usually find in this blog, but also this whole new style that is Wayne’s, hence the “dinosaur vs. computer” pun. All in all, there’s a .pdf you can download right here, with a much more polished, much more complete version of the book, and there’s an .epub coming up sometime in the future too (to be announced on Twitter). Highly recommend you read from the file and not from here, but this post will also hold the full text, so you won’t be missing all that much.
   Enjoy! 

***

Smiles

   A sly kiss on the fly at the outer circle of a mosh pit
   How passionate is it to kiss someone’s cheek inside a 120dB sound cloud?
   The blood running, the teeth flying — sweat coats the floor in which a dozen people rolled over
   Going hard the vocalist screams away his hatred towards the system
   And you try to whisper in my ear that you love me
   But your voice is gone and so is my hearing
   And I notice that and smile, chuckling a bit, and you smile back with confusion and expectance
   Later on in the van you wrote me a note that said “I like your smile” that I taped to the mirror frame when I got home
   Never before I thought my smile had any value, but you made me rethink my whole being   

   I wonder where you are now
   If like me you moved on and became a dull grown up, a tax payer
   Earlier today I looked at myself in the mirror — boring new mirror without your eternal statement — and realized I can’t say my smile has value anymore
   You’re not there to weight my doubt to any side
   Why did it took me so long to realize I can not be happy without you?
   I hug the pillows, watch the TV, finish the crosswords started at breakfast
   Where are you to scream in my face that I am what’s wrong with this country?, like you did to mom that one time
   But maybe it’s good we parted ways, maybe that’s what was written for us
   Maybe you’re happy now 

Smiles

A smile is a basic function only humans can do. It’s only intended for when we feel genuine happiness, yet we know how to fake it so well to where it is practically a social norm.  The act has even been perfected to a tee for centuries. What is interesting is how you never truly “feel” a genuine smile unless it’s just the right moment. Think of a happy moment in any movie. We as people want to root for the main character in most cases, and if the movie portrays its characters clearly enough, its enough that we feel like the characters are people we actually care about. Now compare that to an important moment in your life. The difference is night and day. The obvious difference is the genuine nature of an actual accomplishment. Of course, method actors like to fill the shoes of their characters to the point where they can portray a convincing facade, but again, there is just that slight off feeling of non-genuine emotion. I believe this was ingrained in all of us to be able to spot a real or fake smile, despite even shortcomings that can make some unable to process how others are feeling. Although I don’t personally know him, a moment where I can feel genuine happiness and overall pride through my computer screen would be the 1984 introduction of the Macintosh computer. As everyone knows, this computer was intended as a major step for the entire computing industry, being taken over by Steve Jobs shortly after it began production, almost throwing its original intentions to the wind. It introduced the idea of a graphical user interface for users to click on things as opposed to typing in commands. It’s easy to see why this is a big deal. The concept was absolutely mind blowing. The minutes and minutes of ongoing applause and Steve’s smile just really sticks out to me. The keynote, originally intended to show off several features, was seemingly cut short because the ovation just continued and continued. The footage is a product of what was probably one of the greatest achievements in computer history, and arguably modern history due to how reliant we are on technology today. That is one of life’s rare achievements where you see a REAL smile. Have I had any real smiles in my life? I can honestly say maybe only a few times. Probably the most noteworthy occasion to bring it out of me was my sister’s acceptance of an internship in the big city. She was only 18, and working with THE highest paying ranks of her industry. She, out of thousands of other students at her college, was chosen despite being in literally her third semester. I’ve always lacked any sort of empathy for others, but to see my only sibling who I practically raised as a third parent already doing so well, the impact was much higher than any accomplishment I could make. Why have I not had a genuine smile regarding my own success? I feel that I’m only getting started. One could argue I am doing great for my age, but the lack of results is what bothers me. I’m strictly in the planning stage right now. They say that we are all our own worst critics, and I absolutely agree. Until I see results that fit me “in the big leagues”, I guess I’ll continue to envy those who find moments that form that perfect, joyful smile I crave to see. Alone.

 ***

Rebellion

   The cool breeze of the late Autumn sunset wafted through our bodies as the omen of the chilling winter to come and, laying on the backyard chaise longues we discussed the inner workings of a young person’s brain.
   — What’s the difference between rebellion and revolt? — one asked.
   — Is there a difference? I don’t think there is — replied the blonde.
   — Explain yourself — Said I, to start the argument exchange.
   After a sip of lemonade already turned bitter for she forgot of it’s existence, she said:
   — When I think of rebellion it’s always as an important point in history, right?, like the proletariat rebelled against the humongous inhuman company they worked for because of poor payment or something. Revolt on the other hand rings the bell of youth, of a more sonic youth, if you get what I mean. Something more jupiterian, more uncaring, more punk rock. As somewhat of a lesser rebellion.
   — Well, — said I — don’t you think both parties are being moved by revolt? Both the underpaid workers and the younglings? Revolt is the feeling, rebellion is the act.
   And she said after a deep sigh,
   — jesus christ, stop making sense on me. You’re patronizing, you chauvinistic pig.
   — And you can’t help being nothing but a blondie 

Rebellion

It’s easy to associate rebellion with youth. The young don’t agree with the old, and decide that their way is best. We see it all the time. It is very interesting to think how broad of a topic it can be, especially when put in that context. Rebellion is simply doing what is different, defying the ordinary. The same bland definition thrown around and used almost exclusively in marketing today. We are all aware of the classic example of rebellion in Romeo and Juliet, where two forbidden lovers decide that death is an acceptable alternative to continuing to endure a family feud, ending in a series of dramatic events that drastically impact their respective families. They were kids, and they felt empowered enough to rebel against what was probably a justified conflict, and for what, a lousy relationship that probably sparked from hormones? Sure makes for a great story though, but what about your everyday rebels? Those who hate normalcy, but still need to work a 9 to 5 to survive. Sure, a crazy hairdo could do it, maybe a change of clothes. Though if we are honest with ourselves, it becomes pretty obvious it is a waste of time. “The man” we are trying to oppress does not care that you dyed your hair blue or decided to ever so slightly break dress code at the office. The answer to how one can express civil, everyday rebellion is simple: maintain your inner child. As we age, it’s a consistent struggle. We turn 18, and we are expected to turn into adults, at least enough to be able to do simple adult tasks. Turn 21, and the tutorial of childhood is completely over. Zero training wheels. We are then left with the choice of declining or accepting our adulthood. Decline? May as well hand the reins to poverty. Accept? Hand the reins to a lifelong, consistent state of misery coupled with at least a bit of cash to drink some of it away. The inner child is gone. Exactly how decades old corporations want college graduates to finish school. We can graduate, get hired, and begin our careers as robots in no time! Many of us, intertwined into this system, think we can only entertain our inner child as a minor necessity when we have our own children, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Children are ambitious, curious, and lack filters. Doesn’t that sound exactly like the characteristics of a rebel?

 ***

Vertigo

   Today I remember that one time when mom forced me to go on a cruise. “I called everybody, come on, you need to come too. I miss you.” And I accepted the invite, reluctantly, but accepted. “You, a grown-ass man afraid of the ocean? Oh, boy, I don’t think so, that is not acceptable.” My father spat to my face, drunk like a worm hosting a thimbleful of parasites when I got to their front door, guess mom told him everything I specifically asked not to tell, and it was awkward, and it wasn’t funny, and I didn’t like it. And on those few days I stayed at their house waiting for the rest of my siblings to arrive, I lived a nightmare I believed myself rid of forever, but your “home” will always be there until your parents die once and for all. That’s why when she knocked on my door at 05:00AM to scream that breakfast was on the table and I should hurry not to miss the ship, I was already awake and ready, relieved that the worst part was already over. But little did I know that the actual nightmare was still to come, in the form of a terrible feeling of uneasiness, a I don’t-know-what kind of monster that extended itself much farther than any plan of my comprehension, a vertigo in almost tangible form... the sea, the endless deep blue sea. And as we approached the docks and everybody was open-mouthed, barely believing the size of the cruise, I was stuck in place, couldn’t move, trapped by the mere sight of a colossal beast. “Come, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Mom shouted from up ahead, and quickly realized I was not in the best form to answer to any questions, and the last thing I saw before blacking out was she running in my direction as my knees hit the ground.

 

Vertigo

Am I normal? You hear of the weird sensations the brain is capable of developing in order to process what’s going on. Sometimes, dreams can seem real. Some of us see hallucinations. I guess these are mechanisms in our minds intended as ways to help cope with the situation at hand? I wouldn’t know. My mind is as artificial as they come. It almost feels like I literally need someone to translate anything that isn’t black and white. You could say I’m just a typical male, or maybe one of the several untreated conditions plaguing my mind has something to do with it. They say we should be worried about artificial intelligence, but I’m not so sure, given that’s the way my neurons have connected since birth. It really makes me wonder if it’s possible one day to have a surgeon just poke a hole in someone’s brain and turn on what’s faulty. Maybe then I could experience this vertigo thing that I had to Google to even attempt at writing this. I am one that believes we are souls in a biological body, which really opens the door to debate the true intentions of… everyone. When a car accident happens, it’s just that, an accident. But did that person’s soul truly make a mistake in commanding its body to make that wrong turn? Nobody, not even the driver can truly know.

 ***

Obsolete

   “The apparition of these faces in the crowd: petals on a wet, black bough”, wrote Ezra Pound in the early 1900’s in his famous haiku, “In a station of the metro”. It is about the obsolescence of people, I think. At least that’s what grandpa told me one day. That morning he called me to the office on the interphone and said in that deep grandpa-ish tone, “don’t forget to bring the notepad, you’ll be my typist today.” I ran upstairs as if my life depended on it, so anxious I was to hear the stories grandpa wanted to tell me. Getting there he noticed my heavy breathing from outside the office as I knocked the six times we agreed upon — our secret code, — and for sure tried his best to hide the fun smile on his face before asking me to come in. Inside he gave me that proud look of “oh, yes, that’s my beautiful bud”, and told me to take a sit. Sat on the leather chair, he started, after taking a deep breath. “You know, darling, I believe you are ready for my teachings on poetry. The paper you gave me yesterday was fantastic, but I worry you can not even understand why it is fantastic, and that’s what I’ll be teaching you from now on. To understand not only the poetry of others, but the poetry of the self.” Believe I don’t even have to say how amazed I was, gazing at grandpa like he was the messiah telling me, before everybody else, his preaching for humanity. And then he continued, “First, come around the table to look out the window. Do you see those clothes hanging on the clothesline across the street?” “Yes, they’re all white”, I answered. “Those clothes are not from the people living there. In that house only lives one person, a widow, a washerwoman, and those clothes are from one of her clients. Even though you’re seeing them there right now, and they seem new, they seem vibrant and overflowing of uniqueness, judging by the curiosity you’re looking at them with”, he said with a laugh, “Remember tomorrow they will not be there. They’ll give place to something else totally new and unique, and special, and their existence of the day before will be nothing but a ghost of the past. Maybe you might see those clothes hanging next week, maybe not, maybe you will never see them ever again. But the important part, and hear me well, is that you forget about them. Doesn’t matter how belles, how extraordinary, how unique any clothes hanging on that clothesline may be, their individuality will always become obsolete. Are you understanding everything, darling?” And coming out of the zone those radiant pure-white clothes put me in, I looked at grandpas eyes and nodded. “This very strange man once wrote that, the people he noticed in this crowded Parisian metro station, the pretty faces of those people, were like beautiful pink petals on a dark tree branch. Why do you think he compared the faces to the petals?” After a few seconds of thought, I replied, “Because the petals will fall to the ground one day?” And with a smile he nodded, proud, “Exactly. Because their beautiful faces will one day be as obsolete as the beautiful pink petals that were on that wet, black bough.”

Obsolete 

The 2000s is a time on lots of people's minds at the moment. Many of us in our 20s grew up around that time, and today's media lacks enough of an identity to even bother with anything more than attempting a sale of nostalgia. The decade brought us things like the iPhone, arguably the best of Microsoft Windows, and most importantly, a surge in the relevance of the Internet. That alone served as a stepping stone to the advancement of practically everything we use today. The idea of an Internet doorbell that alerts you when someone is at the door, or a smart AI to answer your every question by voice suddenly is feasible thanks to the Internet. However, when you take Internet out of the equation, did anything really change? Are computers actually better? You can Google practically any device we rely on today and realize that in the past, there did exist a primitive, offline version of that same device that works excellently without major internet updates. Point in case, the 2002 "Sunflower" iMac I am typing on. This device was introduced with a swiveling design that allows the user to move the display to literally any angle to fine tune the perfect viewing angle. A 7ft tall father could finish using the family computer and let his young son hop on and get the monitor at the perfect angle with ease. That in itself is a luxury that perhaps no other manufacturer may try again, and it makes sense that buyers want to hold onto their expensive hardware as long as possible. Considering the fact that Apple switched to Intel chips in 2007, most would be inclined to believe this computer is a paperweight as early as 2009, when Apple officially killed support for legacy PowerPC Macs. This gives the computer a 7 year life-span on paper, but through the community, 20 years is not a problem. To this day, PowerPC still remains alive and supported through legacy projects such as TenFourFox, allowing PowerPC computers to still browse the modern web. Games? Macintosh Garden is a free archive of plug and play games designed for Mac. Office work? Apple's native software allows saving in formats that modern office apps can still read. While not optimal, PowerPC can still hold its own 20 years later. Again, the question of if we have truly evolved can be seen with the near monopoly Intel has on the computer chip industry. Remember how Apple switched to Intel in 2007? Through unofficial means, my 2008 Black MacBook is still running an operating system that Apple releases updates for, with an enthusiastic community eager to pick up the pieces the day the patches end. You may wonder if this is a phenomenon exclusive to Apple devices, but our phones and PCs are no different. We have stayed perfectly content with a technological plateau in favor of pretty boxes that can get us to our memes and porn. You could argue that today's PCs are leagues faster, but this wasn't really true until about 7 years ago. Intel, leveraging their partnerships with literally every major PC manufacturer, decided that innovation is something that should be just trickled out in tiny amounts each year (sounds familiar?). This changed, and they decided to actually improve their chips when AMD somewhat broke the Intel monopoly in 2016, and adoption of ARM technology was right behind as a kick in the nuts. Before then, it wasn't unheard of to keep using Intel's Core Duo line which lost relevancy around 2009. Why does any of this even matter? It goes to show that efficiency and newness suddenly mean nothing in today's world, despite corporate claims. Grandma's old Windows 7 desktop she bought before your child was born continues to load Facebook like a champ, STILL sharing that same dual core DNA with low end laptops of today. Gone are the days where a new device is an obvious upgrade. It's just shinier, harder to repair, and ridden with your favorite flavor of spyware. If it ain't broke, the biggest disservice you can do to yourself is trying to replace it.

 ***

Corruption

   On that morning you found me drinking in the backyard, walked leisurely in my direction, and pat my right shoulder. You had the nerves to ask if I was feeling alright, but it was very clear, even to me, that my face was a mess, that this pernicious corrosion eating away at me from the inside was very visible externally as somewhat of a bruise, slowly covering my whole body. I was disgusted by you, I couldn’t turn around and look you in the eyes, so I watched the trees. The sweet little trees moving with the same wind that sent chills down my spine from time to time. And I drank the beer, or pretended to because all the liquid from that single bottle was gone, but the automation that ruled my body for the past few hours forced me to take the tip to my lips over and over. You noticed that and went back in to grab some drinks from the fridge and sit down to keep company. You tried to look at my face a couple of times before you gave up and also watched the trees; maybe then realizing the harm you had done.
   When I got up from the plastic chair you looked at me one more time, and I found in your face the perfect reflection of my own feelings.
   The day, which was predicted to be sunny, was gray, completely gray, and the pool was covered in leaves. Guess you won’t be having another party so soon. And with the same lack of communication of earlier, I turned my back. Couldn’t say goodbye, you couldn’t either. To me you were there as nothing but a living reminder of my shame.
   I took my clothes and left. Walked with no direction, my mind blank as a clean sheet of paper. After a while it began to rain. Nobody in sight in any of the streets I passed by, or maybe my mind couldn’t capture the ghosts of their trivial existences, for nothing really mattered anymore. I felt dirty, discardable, felt like a condom after use, like this body lost it’s whole purpose; felt like I should jump in front of the first car that passed, and maybe I did, maybe I managed to do something worse. The next thing I know I’m at the hospital, surrounded by my friends. I’m glad you understood that you were no longer welcome in my life.
   Open eyes, someone was pinching my leg to wake me up. The smile hurt but happened, so happy I was to see in front of me my best friend. On the other side sat another one of my best buds, and then I noticed another and another, and the whole band was there, and my mom was there, and looking for the origin of the gentle grip on my hand, there you were, my love, my one and true love, sleeping soundly; on another plan of consciousness but never letting go of the real me. I wanted to kiss your forehead but every movement was a nail hammered to my hand, so I squeezed your hand back with the little force I had left, and tried to say how much I love you, but nothing came out, only my lips moved.
   “She’s been here since she heard of the accident. The rest of us came back today as soon as they let us in.”
   Couldn’t say anything myself to keep up the conversation, and stayed silent for the rest of the day — and the rest of my stay in that hospital bed. When I got out after a week, in a wheelchair, my voice was still not coming out. The doctor said it was the result of trauma and, if the problem did not resolve by the end of the month, therapy would be required. But gladly it wasn’t required, because I did say something a couple of weeks later, sitting at the park with her. She felt a sudden strong grip when we were holding hands, asked what was wrong, and from inside my body came this twisted, thin, broken sound as my lips worked their hardest to form a sorry.

Corruption

As Will turned off the TV, he struggled to form an opinion on what he is told is a messed up world. He has a regular routine of watching the evening news. He’s an average guy. Doesn’t really care about politics, but it still feels like he should at least attempt to know about the world around him. The particular news program he watches proudly exclaims a lack of bias, but he’s smart enough to know better. It doesn’t bother him. It’s a reality he got used to, so he tunes in every day anyways. “But what can you do?”, he says to himself and gets ready for bed. The next day rolls around and he sees essentially the same program as the day before. First, a breaking news scare about the pandemic. Second, an influential person was racist. Third, a biased story to ever so slightly push a political agenda. All to top it off with a “wholesome” trend that TikTok got over a week ago. Don’t forget that Election Day is 8 days away! The credits roll, and the ad break begins. “My opponent once gave a thumbs up when someone in the same room was talking about child porn. That’s why you should vote for me”. Next station, “My opponent lied once and endorses world hunger. That’s why you should vote for me”. He shrugged it off. He just wanted to watch Friends, but the ad breaks had a pattern, a repetitive pattern, a pattern of literally the same 4 commercials every 15 minutes. It got to the point where he didn’t even want to keep watching and went to bed. Ads are supposed to sell a product, right? All he could think about was the scandalous thing that presidential candidate A did when he was 12 and how candidate B reportedly raped someone. He still didn’t have an opinion to give about either candidate. All he knew was if he heard either of those names one more time, he was gonna lose it. Voting was definitely off the table. He wasn’t going to ask off work to stand in line and make a meaningless vote to the candidate who didn’t piss his pants at high school graduation. He changed his mind when his work decided to let anyone leave early if they opted to vote. The break room was especially toxic that day, so he opted to take the free time just to get away from it. He quickly realized the irony in the ballots. Anyone can run for president, right? But why were the first two choices in large, bold font? He decided to just close his eyes and pick one, ignoring any indication of his choice. At least he truly could say he didn’t know who he voted for when his boss comes by for the 5th “friendly chat” this month. People fought and died so we could have the right to vote, so he is told. The fact that he voted should be enough to clear his conscience, he thought. The next day, the everyday arguing he witnessed died out a bit at least. The ballots were tallied, a winner announced, and nothing happened. The break room got quiet. The news endorsed that candidate B won just a bit too much. A law or two is instantly passed that he couldn’t care less about, but it’s enough to get the break room arguments fueled again. He still can’t even recall the Vice President’s name but people make sure to correct him the moment he has a hint of an opinion. It’s a reality he just got used to

 ***

Isolation

      Sometimes, sitting at the park with the previous day papers, I can't help but think back to the golden days, back to when I barely had any time alone for my friends would always be by my side. At that time it didn't even make any sense being by myself, because there was always somebody to hang out with, somebody to visit, adventures to be had. But now... well, now I crave solitude.
   Although — and hear me out, here comes the kicker, — I still enjoy much more being around people than not, it is almost impossible to imagine a near future in which I'm happy and accompanied, and you know what is even worse? I can't find an outcome in which I'm alone and happy, either, but my mind keeps pushing me into this one man trail, so I keep walking without thinking much about it.
   My therapist once said that is normal for people like me, but that she's seen much, much worse. Committing to the mistake of asking how worse, she told me terrific stories of insane murderous individuals, of suicidals and disgusting paraphilic deviants, which was enough to force me into the fullest of houses around town that night, only to prove to myself that one day I wouldn't just buy a gun and kill all my neighbors.
   The feeling, I wrote in a poem one day, was of being an ortie. A poisonous plant, harsh to the touch, that willingly puts herself in a dome. That willingly protects the world from herself. But am I really making any difference staying away from all the wonders human life has to offer? I know it doesn't matter but I do it anyway, maybe for comfort, maybe as my gift of love to all of human kind. 

Isolation

 Humans are social creatures, right? It’s been proven through several trials the importance of interaction in the health and development of everyone. It’s practically fact that people need interaction to remain mentally healthy. However, the past two years have really challenged this theory. Some for better, some for worse. The rise in the adoption of remote work has made several companies suddenly more open to fully remote positions, with many workers opting to never return back to the office. Some even threaten to quit if not given the option. One would think there can only be positives with this sudden change of pace, but my personal experience opened my eyes to the true mental gymnastics of remote work. Remember a couple years ago when everyone was scared out of their minds? I remember traveling out of necessity for work, but being asked to wear what was practically a hazmat suit to go anywhere. This inconvenience turned into a mandatory trial of remote work instead. You know, “for our safety”, the go-to phrase used to justify a controversial decision.  Nothing at the office had changed, but again, nobody knew what to do, so it seemed wise at the time. I grabbed my work computer and my phone to setup in my bedroom, halfway excited to be able to get away with doing nothing. The work flow was steady, just enough to where I wasn’t bored out of my mind. I did notice something though. My treasured quiet time I’d get maybe once or twice a week suddenly lost its merit. It didn’t feel special anymore, felt like I was on the clock. This quiet time was once something I looked forward to, it would come out of nowhere when the stars aligned perfectly. It was a time where I could truly channel and reflect on my inner thoughts, a time where I could get sucked into a new album, a time when I had zero obligation to speak to anyone. And I suddenly had that time… all the time. But now I have dozens of customers whispering in my ear with phone calls and emails to attend to. I notice my thoughts change from thinking about the next video game I want to play to if I remembered to respond to a customer or not. My shifts suddenly were 24/7 as I started responding after hours. Why? I felt an obligation to it. You wouldn’t believe my relief when we went back to the office the next week. Yup, this was over the span of a week. What’s the moral of this story? I honestly couldn’t tell you. I do feel for those who are working remote against their will though. As I write this past my bedtime, the dog won’t stop making noises to attempt an escape from her kennel, and the TV is blasting in the other room, and one thing is for sure, quiet alone time is what I believe to be a necessity to maintaining our sanity as people, and most people opt to stay connected all the time. It’s baffling. Unfortunately, the case only seems to be worse as time goes on, and my babbling will only become more and more incoherent.

 ***

Winter

winter solstice is
the last day of autumn sun
wind cracking my lips

 

Winter

Ah, winter. The worst time of year for the twig people of the world. Most people associate it with sitting around the fire and getting warm and cozy, the holidays, maybe getting to play in the snow. Meanwhile, a thick jacket is a 24/7 necessity. I just wanna wear shorts.
.
.
.
.
.
Winter. It’s the worst.
Layers do nothing to help.
No snuggles either.