In tune with the world
Swirled in this ocean of possibility. An oar sticking out of a shipwreck
I think and think while ideas, in my head, leave me swirled
A fine detail I missed in my mind's spec
What a beautiful sight. A timeless flag waving a war from long ago
No, perhaps a blade stabbed through the heart of a ship symbolizing mutiny
Or, perhaps, a simple mob that got blown by a kraken's blow
Maybe I do have an eye for fine-tuning. A way to create with scrutiny
Trapped in a flow of a constant storm, I collect concepts from the falling brains
Each day, a new pulse. Each day, a different tune for a different world
Counting my gains, holding the reins. Not much ink, in my pen, remains
Having an eye for fine-tuning all these brains, sometimes, leaves my eyesight blurred
What a magnificent mesh. My dreamworld network
Countless worlds, countless stories and characters. Truly, limitless potentials
But, no matter how much I harvest, a new crop is ready and, birds, start to lurk
My work is mine alone. Only I know how to fine-tune it down to its essentials
My brain machine. My neural magnum opus
One talks through an idea to the other and connect realities with such contrast
Marvelous pages get written down in mere hours. Still, only as bright as Canopus
Second best is as good as last. No matter how much I fine-tune it, not one holds past
Past the critique. Past the comparisons of others to others
A copy embellished. A boat with all of its parts changed
A mockery of my network they make. If only they knew that, my machine, their work, mothers
They copy me. Counterfeits, all of them. Not one idea is made without my machine, first, having it arranged
Still, all I do at this point is oversee my machine
My eye does not find improvement anymore
My network generates a perfect scene, ready for even the biggest screen
My eye was replaced by an AI. My pen, the sticking oar
One more brain to feed her. Adding to her collection
I am nothing more than a link inside of her, just like the others
We all think and share and yet, only one author rises above this ocean of assimilation
I leave my pen to future inventors. Let this oar guide you away from my new brothers
YOU ARE READING
Memory Fragments: Corruption
FantasyWARNING: CONTAINS VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. The heart is found hidden in the aftermath of choice. A darkened path gets darker when humanity is corrupted by perfection. Only the sparks of clashing metals illuminate the void left while casting white sh...
