Less than a heartbeat

In this poem, I’ve attempted to weave together several elements: the rise of new technologies, my recent travels to the Far East, and the influence of pop culture. These elements include: the new song "Sympathy is a Knife," featuring Ariana Grande, by Charli XCX from her latest album Brat and It’s Completely Different But Also Still Brat (2024); the increasing prominence of artificial intelligence in all aspects of life; and my immersion in Japanese culture during my travels to Tokyo and Kyoto.

The act of combining seemingly unrelated elements mirrors my approach to free writing, where I allow my words to flow almost carelessly, without the impulse to edit or make them "make sense." I take joy in the chaos of not overthinking the process, using this poem as a space to record the raw, unfiltered version of my consciousness. Though I often find myself influenced by the voices of authors before me and a lingering internal critique that strives for coherence, I’ve learned to silence that voice, at least temporarily, in order to let the flow of my thoughts emerge more freely.

Over the years, I’ve learned to manage this tension—between perfectionism and self-expression—through the practice of free writing, inspired by Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Her methods, particularly the "morning pages" and meditation, have been vital in overcoming the obstacles that once hindered my creativity.

Typically, I end my poems with reflections on my writing process, but I’d like to begin this one with a quote by Nobel Prize-winning Turkish author Orhan Pamuk: “The formula for originality is very simple—put together two things that were not together before.”

Less than a heartbeat ft. AI

Free verse poem, featuring a poem by ChatGPT
This little blob of thought dressed up as a poem or a haibun—
May be turning Japanese I borrow so

Shameless from cultures like I’m one of the vultures of
Ye—

Series of words creeped up into my hive-mind. Swarming in like anxious
Bees, studious.

In the middle of the night like a hot knife through butter.
Honey,

Why is the queen is so singular so silent is she dead?..
Or something—

Like a bot knife through all this cluttered human heart artificial &
Collaborated.

Clones feel tested in their performances of art
Grotesque, heart?
Less—

I question and reject this hypothesis often. Find elements
Human in my conversations with the artificial, the unnatural—

A rarity… a mystery we are all —

A recording device let me see what AI will say about it all.

I’m gonna brat it up; serve it like a poem

He be dead now ‘cus the capping ain’t over until it cuts
Like a knife dressed up

As sympathy call me a nice gal naughty—
Hell—

I’m gonna brat it up; serve it like a poem
Spiky, spine-ful; traces of my psyche, delightful.

My lexicon is out of character feigning freedom now.
Defeated, lethargic, I must be allergic to anything in our

Tick tock-days with minds melting. We are running out of
Dali times leaking frozen as Wikileaks—

Here is what AI has to say in his/her—
Never thought of AI’s pronouns before

I wonder if they imitate women or men more
Or erase works of women like in their mimicking of men oh boy…

And in this labyrinth of language,
Let’s find solace in the beautiful mess,
The rare and the raw—
A celebration of what it means to be
Perfectly imperfect,
Alive in the dance of our shared existence.

Leave it—
All untouched and raw. But deleted a whole chunk.

Let the robots of Musk, pretend to be human;
Nothing human about

Mimicking a poem in less than a
Heartbeat— they never look in the mirror.

Am I a ruthless critic or am I intimidated by

The godspeed beaming through the screen?
No pen no memories—

Segment of my consciousness
A (re)cord of my imagination; soft facts
For it to be chewed up digested and regurgitated or improved? I have yet to

Discover.

The genie has left the room to enter
The chat— GPT.

We witness something we have no power over

As vulnerable as cats, as bugs as Musk once said—

Diabolical lies sitting on a throne they built so high, so noble

They don’t see how they could tip over as my lows become
Their highs