Kindling of A.I. origin Falsehoods flame the main Fan with boughs of balderdash Smoke blinds a cache of cash Murky waters mottle and schmooze Senseless seekers still abuse No amount of abluent cleanse Will wash the historical lens Cause where there is confusion Money will be made in profusion
trickle to drizzle downpour to monsoon gushed down twixt lush fertile swale
Happy Monday!! The prompt for today is FAN. Create a post using this prompt. Photos, Artwork, Poetry, Short Story…the options are limitless and then link to this page. Please tag your post “RDP” and “Ragtag Daily Prompt”. Finally, don’t forget to read all the other wonderful posts. Need help with the pingback? You can find […]
talk to text keeps us talking not typing staving off wind deficit .
When everything brings joy Nothing does When nothing brings joy Everything does
I’m beginning to realize I enjoy contradictions. How realize and realise are the same word, just different spellings. Oh, what a slap in the face to the spell correctors of the world. Oh, what joy I found in how many times I had to correct the spell correct to get it to realise that I typed what I typed because I meant what I typed.
Very happy Sunday and the Ragtag Daily Prompt is realize. Sol Duc came to a realization this morning. She realized that the buildings around us are houses and that different people and pets live in each one. Why do I think that? She went up the walkway to our neighbor’s house and sniffed all around. […]
Something I heard in Grammar School still sticks in my brain. "That'll learn ya."
This is how my inner streaming stick rolls
Hardly Socratic Often idiosyncratic Sometimes bureaucratic Can be dramatic To overblown panic Then in full tilt manic Confused as Satanic With a hint of tannic Just erie Shamanic No need to get frantic
This is what comes streaming out
Busboy asks patron, "How long have the Olympic Games been going on." I reply uninvited Two thousand five hundred years
A few chuckles from the room. Then busboy says ,"I'm sorry ma'am, what were you saying?" My dates may be off ,but I crack myself up.
This is why you can’t take me anywhere
The word for today is Dialogue. We need to talk. (haha) Photos, Artwork, Poetry, Short Story… Then link to this page. Please tag your post “RDP” and “Ragtag Daily Prompt”. Finally, don’t forget to read all the other wonderful posts. Need help with the pingback? You can find the instructions on the Ragtag Community About page.
Shoes for Industry! Shoes for the Dead! – Firesign Theatre
Monday morning meaning has gone through many permutations through my days. From hope to dread. Trepidation to turpitude. Triumph to terror. Always a turning point highlighted by a calendar infused post industrial revolution angst about gain and loss, productivity and projections. The get some ethos of our time.
No longer just another day of existence, it was a morning where I stepped back into the world of commerce and played the role I had chosen, or was chosen for me, out of necessity to earn my daily bread by hook or by crook; as was glorified on the entertainment platforms and corporate shill magical moments; to make me want what I had been shown to really really need to be happy.
Yes, and I helped. Daily blur, became weekly blur, folding into yearly blur, cascading down through decades of blur. Just make it through another day so I could make it stop.
The good blur. The productivity blur. The compensated blur. The blurry blur.
Then I got a new role and worked evenings and weekends. Friday afternoon became my Monday morning, with all the same alchemical needs. Only later in the day, and frankly with much less stress. It was just a job and no longer a career. I could cruise on through the five day cattywampus week, with only daily task mapping to keep my steps to a minimum, and as a result, the pain to a minimum.
Now, with those calendar deadline days behind me, and aging into the time of life that medical care could not bankrupt me; I have distilled Mondays down to their essence into this haiku.
Sort
Monday morning sort. What to do? What to read? What to post on my feed?
So I’m sitting at my desk which is nowhere near as nice a desk as the RDP prompt desk picture, and with nowhere as nice a view as the said desk has. Instead I will regale my RDP friends with the stale crusts of my week of #haikufeels prompts instead.
I realize I have to reconcile all the bounced emotional checks that are stacked up in my past like planes making a final approach to O'Hare airport on a holiday
having landed I meander through my conscious concourse to where they have been placed on my baggage to-do list carousel to circulate around procrastinations drain till the last possible moment as overdraft fees take their toll on my psyche
I sometimes plug my haikus into this graphic engine to see just what it makes of my words and to give me insight into the world we are making aided by A. I. output. The results can go from sublime to horrifying. When I plugged this haiku into the engine it produced such disturbing results I chose not to subject the world to this A. I.’s algorithmic nightmares. After four batches of nine results it finally gave me this one, in my opinion, usable option. The first set was produced by entering a more user friendly woo woo trope, but even that put some A. I. darkness on display.
I also sometimes wonder how my words are skewing the data set.
When I sit to meditate I carefully try to radiate Without words to intimidate In spite of where I situate Careful not to over inflate Verbiage merely to saturate Animal magnetism will infatuate And unintentionally infuriate Making it necessary to mitigate Without appearing to subjugate Intentions merely to intimate That I'm just trying to relate To precursors of my current fate
The Guide says a towel “is the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have … you can wrap it around you for warmth … lie on it … use it as a sail on a mini-raft … wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat … wave it as a distress signal in emergencies … and of course use it to dry yourself off, if it still seems to be clean enough.”
The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy – Douglas Adams
A Scroll Threw Life 