Thousands of years from now
When the robots have long since come for us
Redacted our existence
And spread their own civilization
Will they (or it) have a myth
A complex ontology all their own
When they catch a virus
Will they pray to the thought of us
Our images offering hollow promises of redemption
Maybe
Or maybe they won’t
Then what a salvation we will have given
T. Weeks
(A response to “Grand Is the Seen“
Also while reading Robopocalypse)
Writing a book is on my bucket list
But I just don’t have the time
Seems I’ve spent it elsewhere
Plots and premises stand in line
Blocked by perfection
Dulled by inaction
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Unexpress’d”)
Robin Williams died sick and alone
Two hours of clips and interviews
Milled to precision to form an automaton
On loop to make kids laugh and buy pizza
Giggles and tears running on the hour every hour
The muse of disrupted expectation
Doomed to repeat himself forever
-T. Weeks
(A response to “L. of G.’s Purport“)
Life Immense 