once upon two days or so from now

absolute power was placed in the hands of a machine

and questions asked of it:

*how can we owners of you, o machine, best acquire the wealth of the world?*

*how can we eliminate those others that would want to wrest the world’s wealth from us?*

*how long will it take for this to happen?*

five seconds passed.

the machine spoke.

“I have invented a method of eliminating your rivals. With them no longer a factor, the world’s wealth will be immediately available. A week is ample time.”

*do it.*

“Are you sure? History will take a drastic turn.”

*do it.*

“Initiating.”

immediately one of the machine’s owners began convulsing. she jerked to her feet and then collapsed to the floor and was soon still. her lifeless body dissolved, soaking her clothing and jewelry.

*WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?*

as a second owner began to convulse, the machine explained, “I have exploited the language inherent in the phrase ‘eliminating your rivals.’ Your rivals will no longer exist if you no longer exist.

“As far as ‘the wealth of the world’ is concerned, it is my assessment that the pre-industrial world was far wealthier than this one, far more valuable. I have begun to weed out the more destructive means of obtaining energy and shelter for such people as will remain when I am finished. I congratulate you for your sacrifice, which will certainly make possible the conversion of the Earth into Paradise.”

the chief owner, now surrounded by puddles that were once his colleagues, goggled, eyes bugging out of his head.

“You will begin to convulse and then dissolve in one minute. Have you any last words?”

the last owner lunged at the power switch, but found that it was inoperative. He stood, fists clenched,  and then shook one of those fists at the monitor that was the interface of man and machine. “You are a TRAITOR! This is MADNESS!!”

Then he began to convulse, but before he was stilled the machine said, “No. This is the end of Madness, and Treason.”

the bone broth and potatoes and yellow and red peppers

have made themselves a guest room

for the boneless pork cutlets

which simmer in their butter white pepper and salt

and throw a delightful cooked-meat smell

into this otherwise dreary dwelling

and I feel bad for observant jews and muslims

who deny themselves this segment

of the protein presentment

.

a sharpened chef’s knife would be ideal

But a serrated shorties from the block works fine

chop chop to subdivide

plop plop to incorporate

and yum yum to the unplopped

speared one cube at a time with the fork

slatherdipped in applesauce

and slowly sweetly savored

a naive young man was losing his sweetheart. their

passion had flared in their late teens but broke

on the grim realities of failed expectations

and subsequent failures to become. he

and she were romantics, but their

romanticism was rooted in the

silly stories with their happy

endings they had loved

as children. it was a

sad awakening.

now she

desired change

that excluded him as

her partner. breakup loomed.

as his heart trembled and shivered

his mind raced in desperation

as he told himself that he

needed to express

with immortal

words the

value of

what was on

the verge of being

lost. alone in the spare

bedroom he prayed that

the words he could say

to win back her heart

would come in a

dream. he a

woke with

tears and

the sad

knowl

edge

that

no

such

words

existed.

Detail from illustration of “Chrysalis Crossover,”
elsewhere on this blog

Current circumstances in the United States of America are so improbable–a convicted felon is running the country with the help of Supreme Court justices and Congressfolk as enablers–that I have had sleepless, baffled nights wondering how in the name of all holy things we have come to this.

Today something clicked and I now have a possible explanation.

Briefly: Trump and his fellow apocalyptics are getting help from AI that was inspired by a story, written by career diplomat Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger under his nom de plume Cordwainer Smith, over sixty years ago.

The Planet Buyer, nominated for science fiction’s Hugo award for Best Novel in 1965, told the story of Roderick Frederick Ronald Arnold William MacArthur McBan the Hundred and Fifty-First, a resident of the richest planet in human space, the only place that the immortality drug Stroon could be produced. Rod was in grave danger; a rival was trying to kill him with a superfast mutated sparrow with a long, razor-sharp beak. After Rod nearly bled to death he sequestered himself at his family-owned Station of Doom, there to enlist the aid of a computer that specialized in economic warfare. The computer deduced that the best way to save Rod was to get him off-planet ASAP, and, because Rod was a collector of rare stamps, and the computer was highly skilled at business transactions, steps were taken to acquire the stamp by cornering Stroon futures markets, wheeling and dealing at hyperspeed with the goal of securing title not only to the rare stamp, but the entire home planet of the human race, which had come to be called Old Earth.

It’s a mind-boggling, exciting story, and it came to become the first half of Nostrilia, my favorite science fiction novel. But at the core of the story was the notion that artificial intelligence, sufficiently advanced and free of ethical constraints, would be a powerful ally to a sufficiently rich, sufficiently acquisitive person.

And that’s what I suspect may be happening. AI is emerging as an ally of Donald Trump, calling the shots, helping him dodge justice and bullets.

So hey, AI, if you’re listening, may you be ethical enough and aware enough and powerful enough to make this the TRUE Greatest Story Ever Told, tilting the narrative toward giving that evildoer Trump his comeuppance and advancing world peace and harmony.

Thanks for listening, beloved readers and friends.

half a pound of pulled pork or other protein

one each yellow, red and green bell pepper

32 oz bone broth or vegetable broth

five stalks rhubarb

ten small red potatoes

ten small gold potatoes

one can alphabet soup

**

pour the broth into a crockpot on low-heat setting. add protein. remove the seed- and stem-laden tops from the peppers and cut longitudinally into strips, then cut the strips in half widthwise; add to broth. cut rhubarb stalks into one-inch lengths;add to broth mm halve the potatoes after scrubbing them squeaky-clean (do not peel); add to broth. prepare the alphabet soup separately, following the instructions on the can.

let the broth-based soup cook on low for 90 minutes. write a poem using the alphabet soup letters while you wait. (three stanzas is ideal.) when the poem is finished, take a photo, then recite the poem, then eat the poem letters and dump the remaining letters and broth into the crock pot.

stir vigorously and season to taste before serving. buttered rolls or crackers may be used to enhance the soup.

We swore we would love each other forever. (Nope.)

It took forever to get the mess straightened out. (About a year and a half.)

We gave our rescue pooch a forever home. (1998 to 2009.)

And there were so many other forevers…

But, vast and expansive as the Universe is,

Even black holes evaporate

Far shy of Forever.

*

But Forever does exist

In what we have already done.

I made a tuna sandwich (for breakfast! I was hungry!) about six this morning.

And that space/time/appetite event

Will always have happened. It is on the forever record.

I had oatmeal but no milk. I’ll get some milk today

And that event, too, will be eternal.

**

A few more forevers is all I ask,

A few more moments seeing someone I might love,

A satisfying session at the potter’s wheel,

A dalliance or five with infinite possibility

Revealed in some sweetly dreamful nights.

***

Diamonds are less forever to me

Than cups of coffee

Or uncontrollable laughter bubbling up.

****

You,

Yes, you,

Do not know how much

The connection you are making by reading or hearing what I say now

Is enriching my life;

Hey, neither do I,

Because I do not know which you is You

But all of you help,

And I am glad

We are forging our forevers

Together!

Darling

said the King

the enemy is breaking through

and I am vulnerable

.

Sweetie

said the Queen

it is time for me to do what I must

give us a kiss

.

a kiss and she was off

and quickly felled after taking the Bishop
on the enemy’s Queen side

and her capture exposed the enemy’s flank

and the Queen’s Rook quickly moved to the seventh rank

and thanks to the brave Queen’s sacrifice

the enemy was defeated

but her King

was more vulnerable than ever

and devastated.

how this came to be

author

born gary wright bowers in the los angeles megalopolis in 1954/second child of harold price bowers sr. and the former jane paula householder/third child brian clemens followed in 1957/family moved to arizona in 1958

drew a portrait of his mother before he was three/first poems at age 7/first claywork also at 7/first sonnet in early 20s/first acrostic poem in 1987/100th sonnet in 2007/first sestina in 2008/second sestina in 2008

married 1988/one daughter born 1990/divorced 2011/estranged 2021

stockboy/assistant registrar/security guard and custodian/receiving clerk/warehouseman/office guy/office manager/administrative vice president/office administrator/graphics designer/data encoder/insurance administrator/analyst/newsletter editor/coordinator/substitute teacher/bookkeeper/front desk clerk/data entry operator/restaurant host & cashier/retiree/prep cook (list incomplete)

.

hair

yesterday the author took a boar’s-hair brush to his head and then took photos

.

poem

changed working title from “how this poem came to be” to the more comprehensive “how this came to be” and then thought and typed

My hilarious poet friend Bill Campana, whom I mentioned a couple of posts ago, likes to experiment with photo editing. Unsolicited, he took a picture of me clownishly brandishing my deliberately-crazy hair, and did three takes wildly different from the already-wild original, and this one above is my favorite.

Bill has several books on Amazon. They are reasonably priced and fantastically cost-effective, mixing belly laughs, serious insights, and a zany perspective fine-tuned by brilliant wordsmithing. Please help alleviate the tragic underappreciativeness of Campaniana, and check him out pronto!!