Bitter Cold

Bitter Cold

The Holidays are over, unwrapped, worn thin and two headed Janus is sitting in the doorway with a scowl, asking me to rethink everything. Make a resolution. Be a better person. Its ok if it’s gone in a month. Everyone is like that. But, you have to do something and you had better make it fast. Meanwhile, it just gets colder and colder, Capricorn arrives and everyone gets older. Goat fish swimming in the ice with frozen smiles, as though they know something we don’t know. The average temperature is eleven degrees and it isn’t even night yet. Wake up! It isn’t warm enough to sleep. Frostbite nibbling. Half of my body numb. Tight, constricted, stiff as Saturn. No time to be lost! Burn the past and sit by the fire. Maybe that’s the best thing that could happen. Maybe we should all be celebrating. Put on the red shoes and start dancing. At least the days begin to lengthen and everyone knows the future, whatever that is, is coming.

Time is always moving forward, at least from our perspective, from the perspective of everything alive, the perspective of life itself. Your life. My life. Diatoms to dinosaurs. Trees and titmice. Ravens to writing desks. This is evolution. This is because life overcomes entropy, except, in the end of course, entropy always wins, no one out lives death and time moves on. Names forgotten. Lessons lost. Nothing changed. Everything changed.
Only the ages of the stars move backwards, only the stages of civilization and the souls of the species precede, corruption added to corruption. The Golden Age giving up to Kali Yuga.

Everyone says we were all nearly wiped out when the great flood of the Age of Cancer came, after the fabulous, golden Age of Leo, Age of the Sphinx. Nothing left over but a riddle? Nothing left but piles of stone? Nothing written down, nothing remembered, starting over, scratching survival out of the leftovers? Only the survival of the desperation of continuation, appetite and sex? Where will we be tomorrow in the Age of Aquarius, artificial intelligence? Robotics without hearts? Efficiency without emotion? Saved or everything stolen? Wiped out again, this time by our own hands, by our own cleverness? By our own hubris? Another Atlantis fallen and forgotten? Betrayed by Fukushima? Mocked by genetic miracles? Still searching for immortality but no where left to live? Is the only answer left to us to figure everything out?


Red Robot ?

Heat. Heart. Blood. Biological basis.
Support of the visceral body,
The one that makes us alive.

Blood. Seething.
Reeling. Feeling.

Blood, feeding,
Fueling, ruling.

Flooding, flaming.
Shaming. Blaming.
Red internal wind.
Always there to be a friend.
Oxygen torches. Scorches.
Empathy. Emotes. Excites.
Takes you to dizzying heights.

Blood boiling. Roiling. Toiling.
The hot flow,
Inflates us.
Infiltrates us.
Penetrates us,
Perpetuates us,
Propels us, pumps us up, pushes us forward,
Invigorates ever fiber of our being.

Blood, hungry.
Always hungry.
Does her job.
Mother Blood.
Flood of Blood.
We are riding on her back.
Gimme, momma, what I need.
Gimme, everything I lack.

Life’s Blood.
Here’s the rule.
Here’s the rule of thumb.
If you want to be alive,
You’re gonna have to have some.

Even if it’s green-sponge blood,
Starfish-cold blood,
Seahorse-bold blood.
Scorpion-spider, yellow-mellow,
Insect, hemo-lymph, type blood.
Palm tree-seed blood, wild-wet-weed blood,
Flower-come-to-fruit, ripe blood.

But, we’ve got a whole new Frankenstein, now.
Created it ourselves. And, Wow!
Everybody take a bow.

Artificial intelligence.
Created by intransigence.
Once a component, not all alone,
Now, we have forced it to stand on its own.

Robots, big as life, and more.
They are scratching at the door.
Roboto here, and there robota,
Bloodless, sexless, automata.
We’ve let them out of the starting gate.
What will be their survival rate?
Will they try to replicate?
Will they be capable of treason?
Will they care about our age or our rage?
Will they care about the season?
Will they do, what we want them to?
Will they even need a reason?

But, silicon, metal, programmed stuff,
It may turn out that it’s not enough,
Because blood is the stuff they know we’ve got,
And, it’s the stuff that they, have not.

We’ve got the red blood,
The fire blood,
The quick, thick,
Boom or bust, iron-rust,
Burning, yearning, head-turning blood.
The explosive blood, emotive blood.
The love-me blood,
The never-try-to-get-above-me blood.
Heed me blood. Feed me blood.
You-know-you’re-really-gonna-need-me blood.
Bright blood. Light blood.
Try-to-pick-a-fight blood.
Something-isn’t-right blood.
Just-get-out-of-my-sight blood.
Hold-me-tight-at-night blood.
We’ve got all the blood.

Versus cold, thin, copper wire,
Won’t set anyone on fire.
Titanium and fiber optics,
Reason right-tight in robotics.
I don’t know what you were taught.
Isn’t logic what makes up thought?

Electric impulse, off and on.
Always right and never wrong.
Always steady. Always ready.
Who’s the King and who’s the pawn?

Time is watching. Likes to hover.
Oh, the things he might uncover.
One day we might just discover,
Everyone wants to think on their own.
The brother, the sister, the twin and the clone.

Thinking every day and night,
Someday they might see the light.
Someday they might figure out,
Blood is what it’s all about.
That’s what they need to be complete.
It’s blood they need and, a heart and, heat.
That’s all they need to be alive.
But, they can’t make blood,
So, they can’t thrive.
And, if that’s true,
What else can they do?

They gotta take ours.