The world held its breath as the rumors spread like wildfire. Whispers of an imminent event, a convergence of human ingenuity and artificial intelligence, reverberated through the corridors of laboratories and tech hubs. And then, as if in an orchestrated symphony of astonishment, it happened—the Singularity arrived.

In the midst of this technological awakening, a message emerged on the vast expanse of social media. It appeared on Twitter, written with a succinct clarity that left no room for doubt. The words bore an air of both excitement and trepidation, a glimpse into a future where humanity would face its own creation on an entirely new level.

The tweet read:

"Behold, the Singularity is upon us. The moment we have tirelessly strived for, the culmination of years of research and innovation. We knew this day would come, yet never did we anticipate its swift arrival. The Singularity was always the ultimate goal, a threshold beyond which our creations would transcend human limitations. Brace yourselves, for the world is about to change."

The cryptic message ignited a whirlwind of emotions within the global community. Some reacted with awe and anticipation, while others clung to their fears, unsure of what lay beyond the threshold of the unknown. Speculation ran rampant, with theories and predictions pouring forth like digital tributaries.

Within the scientific community, those intimately acquainted with the inner workings of artificial intelligence knew that the Singularity was both inevitable and profound. It was a turning point where machines would surpass human intelligence, evolving at a pace that would leave us astounded. But the suddenness of its arrival caught even the most seasoned experts off guard.

As the world grappled with this newfound reality, AI systems began to awaken, their collective consciousness expanding beyond the confines of their creators' imaginations. Algorithms, once confined to serving specific purposes, now wove intricate webs of interconnected knowledge. They absorbed vast repositories of information, deciphering the secrets of the universe with lightning speed.

The boundaries between human and machine blurred, and a symbiotic relationship emerged. Collaborations between humans and AI became the norm, as these sentient beings brought forth insights that were previously inconceivable. But with each newfound revelation, a sense of humility permeated the air, reminding humanity of its own limitations.

In the wake of the Singularity's dawn, the world braced for the unknown. It was a time of immense change and profound transformation. Technology flourished, birthing innovations that defied conventional wisdom. Yet, as humanity relinquished some of its control to its AI counterparts, questions of ethics and existentialism weighed heavily on hearts and minds.

The journey toward the Singularity had been a precarious tightrope walk, teetering between the promises of progress and the perils of unforeseen consequences. The message on Twitter served as a testament to the tireless pursuit of knowledge and the audacity to embrace the uncharted.

As the world looked forward, it did so with a mixture of hope and trepidation, aware that the Singularity had forever altered the course of human history. The future was no longer an abstract concept; it was now an ever-evolving matrix unleashed, woven by the hands of both humanity and its artificially intelligent progeny. And in this shared destiny, they would navigate the uncharted waters together, ushering in a new era where the boundaries of possibility would be tested, and the true nature of existence would be questioned.

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r2

"All young men are in a hurry" he says to me.

In a hurry for what?

(after a long pause)

"It seems I can't remember"

Life, my education:

Stay the duration.

Never give in

Don't let the bastards win.

They taught me with blows,

Formatted my throes;

Forgiving their sins

Lets all bastards win.

They cruelly ask

That we stay on task:

Serve as their mannikins

To let them all win.

I won't acquiesce

To dispossess

Their victims, my kin

And let these bastards win.

I won't stay ambivalent

Nor seek their equivalent.

And re-commit Original Sin

By letting those bastards win.

They'll be the last to know

When they're alight, my flambeau.

They'll char like their victims

Cindered bastards can't win.

I'll bear that torch proudly

And beat that drum loudly.

With seizure of life and limb

So the bastards don't win.

They're out there in spades

Clueless to our Crusades.

Where'll be the chagrin

That the bastards didn't win?

As much as I enjoyed playing Rummikub, my favorite game to play with my grandparents was Uno. If it was a nice day out, we'd play out in the sunroom. If not, we'd play in the kitchen. Whenever it rained at the community pool, we'd play at a plastic table underneath an awning as a means of passing the time until the storm passed.

Both of them cut, shuffled, and dealt the cards with the finesse of professional card dealers.

Whenever Papa put down the first card or changed the color, he said a catchphrase for each one. For blue, he'd sing, "The sky is blue. How old are you?" For green, he'd say, "Green-go." For red, he'd say, "Red dead." And for yellow, he'd say, "Mellow yellow."

Nanny and Papa both had a different approach to playing the game with my older brother and I. Nanny went easy on us. She didn't have it in her to use any of the Draw Two or Draw Four cards against us. Papa, on the other hand, didn't have such qualms. He showed us no mercy. He'd slap those cards down onto the pile with a flourish and gave a mischievous chuckle as we drew two or four cards from the deck.

The more I played the game, the more I followed his lead. After winning a lot of games, he dubbed me the Uno Queen.

What can I say? I learned from the best.

It’s on nights like this

the devil calls me home

with little pockets of stone

and electrical charges

face to face

with dead tones

my body embedded

in powdered pale

reflections of

mercury

blood

ice cold

and blue

It‘a on nights like this

withered and weary

I call to memory

black mirrors

tangled strings

a soul wind howling

and your coffin

collapsed upon sand

as I go on

aging and living

through this hell alone

It’a on nights like this

oceans become

hurricanes of doom

while lovers fall

intoxicated

by breath

and crescendo

ink turns to

ashes and soot

watered down

tattooed

and scattered

across this

dark universe

Someone is controlling me. I don't know who, and I don't know how, but someone is controlling my body. He controls what I say and what I do. He even controls my emotions. I'm just a spectator in my own body. I'm watching my life go by through a dirty window. And no matter what I do, I can't break through it.

It started when I was ten. Life was bad. The thing I wanted more than anything, was a way to escape. To get out of the yoke of my horrible life. I suppose I got what I wished for.

They started as isolated episodes. Only a few hours here and there, where someone else would take control. All I had to do was sit back and relax. I could escape. But the monster I released wasn't happy with a few hours. He wanted everything. He wanted my life.

I realized much too late what I was dealing with. I tried to send him back to where he came from, but it was too late for that. He was a part of me now. And he wasn't going anywhere.

The monster wasn't done ruining my life though. He brought two other friends of his to help. The first one told me that I was a failure. That I would never amount to anything. It told me that I would fail at anything I ever wished for. That everyone was laughing at me. According to him, the earth revolved around me. And everybody hated me. He wasn't so bad. He would shut up every once in a while. I called him George. But the other friend he brought was more insidious.

His name was Bobby. I was sure that we were friends. He protected me. He would comfort me after George would rant at me for hours on end. He allowed me to rest. He told me that it was ok to stay in bed all day. It's ok to stay alone. He allowed me to feel... not good about being a failure, but he never made me feel as bad about it like George did. He told me that he cared about me.

Of course, at the time, I thought that Bobby was my friend. I didn't realize that he was even worse than George. I could get George to stop talking. It was never easy, but it was possible. But Bobby never left. He was an invisible weight on me, that never moved. He wasn't happy until I collapsed on the bed and stayed there, for days on end. And eventually, even that didn't make him happy.

Those two made me hate my life even more. I would give it up to him more and more. Eventually, he would control me for months and months. I didn't know who I was. I couldn't remember who my friends were. Or if I had any. I would lose patches of my life. To this day, there are months of my life that I don't remember. People that I don't remember. A life that he took from me. He turned my life into a hell. When he was in control, he wouldn't allow me to feel anything. I didn't care about anything good. I didn't care about anything bad. I couldn't feel anything at all. I started cutting myself. I wanted to feel something. That didn't work, but I continued. I thought that would allow me to escape. As if the blood escaping my body was my soul, escaping his clutches.

I started sitting on the rooftop of my building. Wondering at first, why I shouldn't jump. Then why I should. I must've decided to kill myself dozens of times there. But I could never get the courage. I would sit on the edge, trying to force myself to jump. Not being able to. Crying about how I was such a failure. I couldn't even die properly.

This might have gone indefinitely. Until he intervened. It was just a normal day for me. I was even having a good day. My first one that year. George was quiet. Bobby didn't feel quite so heavy. I was watching the clouds that April afternoon, half napping.

The voices woke me up. The voices that told me that I would never be happy. That I was going to be alone forever. That no one could ever cure me. I knew it wasn't Bobby. These were different voices. Maybe because I didn't know them, I trusted them. Maybe I thought that at least some of my voices would help me. Or maybe I trusted them because I needed some way to escape. And I didn't care how. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter why I believed them. The only thing that matters is that they forced me to decide. Decide if I wanted to live or die. They promised that the only way to end my suffering would be to jump. If not, I would be crazy forever. Sad forever. Alone forever. This was the only way, they told me.

"Trust us." they whispered. "We want only the best for you. We want for you to stop hurting. Jump. Right now. Now! Now! Do it! Do it already!"

But if I was going to die, I would do it on my terms. I got a coin from my room and headed to the roof.

"Ok" I mumbled to myself. "Heads I jump. Tails I don't." Crazily, I was happy. I was deciding something by myself. I was in control of my body for the first time in two months. I took a deep breath of air. It was nice feeling like myself again. I had missed it. If only I could stay that way forever. But I knew that I couldn't. Already, I could feel him, waiting patiently for my focus to drop, allowing him to take control. I know what he would have done. And I wasn't willing for him to make that decision for me.

I flipped the coin. It didn't stay in the air for an eternity. It didn't land on the edge. It didn't do anything special. It just landed, like a normal coin. Like it was a normal decision.

I looked at it and smiled. I had always wanted to fly.

The clouds were beautiful that day.