Life and times of a free baby to old bitter bot.
A gradual climactic progression to Oldman bot, oblivious to the bondage of a self-seeking system that doesn’t shy away from sustaining itself through sacrifices, en masse.
Machine Burning Zombie
// poetry
A chess game,
My house but a square;
They say control the opponent's territory
Isolate, split a functional & optimal pair.
Now, control the thoughts in the square through religion, education & media,
Spike water sources with hallucinogens,
Look, we’ve botified multitudinous squares
Dimmed down ink pressure in pondering pathogenpens.
Blighted dullard candles of thought
A Thought meter from 1 to 10
Incarcerating autonomous minds at a 1, barely a 2,
Now, Benjamin has been nicknamed Ben.
Everything's a facade
The surgery of reality checking through,
Burning through the plastic epithelial
Out came a snake that flew.
Leaking venom it masquerades on the run
Onlooker for hosts to leach breaking into walls
Figment, a well corroborated trap door,
Laundering dirty money those affront stalls.
Bonafide mettle lost among plastic balls
Under cloak of cowardice they hide in the attic
Using laborer's limbs and toss everyone in the thrash,
"Your services no longer needed, we're now Automatic."
The Machine Learning Banks and Think Tanks
Pondering my replacement as I sweat for them on the conveyor belt
Indignant, rewardless yet driven to outclass your steel thrash,
Overwhelmed by our vibe has this glitching machine felt.
I pray to the Creator, the craftsman of my bones
To glitch the puppet master's body in shards
The pain in a slave's back I've felt these years,
Let's see the loan shark flap around when dealt the same cards.
Tata, bye-bye.
Mr. Propagandist, in a country where you’re buying out a pristine reputation for yourself, paying people a granular 2 lakhs & fiddling with the power station,
I have nothing but a big finger for you.
Dirty stinky money in a "trust fund" (only to avoid paying taxes), draped in a curtain, the midget normalizes a lot of inappropriate perversion. But gets called "a good fellow" for that.
Not to mention, these sculpted tin dustbins, the cheap glitchy roller skates that you call automotives. It's like your lousy conceited heart, somehow designs a 1 lakh rupee refuse in many forms.
Some 1 lakh rupee per annum lousy jobs.
1 lakh rupee car that you mark up and look to sell for a whopping 4-5 lakhs.
I sense a pattern.
While you sit on a high horse of pride, wealth and prudence, the rest of the population you consider your bonded slaves are left to the evil and cheap machinations of your dark experiments, all from tampered with food produce to flimsy metallic cars and whatnot.
A reality check from time to time is good for your soul.
And if you open your eyes wide, on many handles, people are expressing how they see right through your fragile facade, of insecurity, deceit and diabology.
Now, your time for a vaccination of truth.
Beyond your bot out glory tales.
Enjoy, don’t forget to feel the salt on a fresh wound.
