Sound the alarm! What if you had an implanted charm in your arm that would broadcast, yes, blast, at last, the stories you tell yourself, sell yourself, that keep you chattel as you prattle, rattle, tittle-tattle away. How about a projector app in your cap, a VR screen on which to preen, showing the picture-flowing knowing of your mind, mean or keen, humming the tune you croon, set to a beat of marching feet, prancing feelings, dancing you here, there, where? What’s it saying, what’s it playing, what's it yes-ing, what's it nay-ing? Turn it up, listen! Eight times faster than you can say aloud, your inner voice is musing, choosing what each thing is, what it’s not, how it’s fusing into using the foment of each moment.
Is it fun, should you run? What cooks in hidden, forbidden nooks. Taste it or waste it? Does a same-old blame game maim, leave you lame? Can you name it, frame it, will you tame it? Does it burn, make you churn, yearn, learn, turn, earn? Who will rue what you do or don’t, if not you? In the light of day, what do you say? Claim it or flame it? Will it pay? Lay a righteous path or wrath?
Perhaps my diction’s friction isn’t sci-fiction or affliction. Do I knell hell, or foretell what’s cold, bold, in the mold, soon to unfold, rolled out by Silicon Valley, sold for gold? Let’s explore our core, our lore, our floor, before techies open that door...
Image: Talking to myself by Biljana Vujicic – http://biljanavujicic.yolasite.com/paintings.php
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