an Arctic cold front Amazon trucks stuck down snow-packed side roads
but that was 2022 this year the winter is mild that low January sun illuminating the dust under the sofa and that kid’s toy from Christmas that no one could find.
south of the border the president is obsessed with Greenland there’s no business like snow business
he says
but Greenland where all the brass monkeys sing soprano and Ice has a different meaning is a long, long way from Mar-A-Lago
A more relevant question would be : Could AI write a good novel? And the answer would be: Probably not!
Novels aside, I have always wanted to draw cartoons but I don’t have the drawing skills so when WordPress added the ability to generate images using AI, I thought this is my chance. A fat chance it turned out to be . The instruction I gave for the image above was AI writing a novel. Hard to tell what that robot is doing but it has some pencils nearby in a cup, one has an eraser, very old school!
For a recent post, which I have since deleted, I put in an instruction to generate an image of Donald Trumpleading a flock of sheep off a cliff. This what AI generated:
Not bad but Donald appears to be leading the sheep away from the cliff’s edge and what is that sheep’s head doing on Donald’s lapel? And that electrical pole in the background, is it connected to anything?
So I tried keeping it simple and just wrote “sycophants” as an instruction. These folk turned up:
I don’t know…is it a birthday party?
So I tried the opening line of my favourite joke….A giraffe walks into a bar…
Well that’s a little better, it’s a giraffe and a bar. Of course you all know the punchline.
AI can generate the obvious but can it create humour? To use a music analogy, AI is the equivalent of a cover band, it can at best produce a copy of what has gone before. But can it take what has gone before, throw it up in the air and create something original?
America has given birth
to a giant orange child
a zaftig infant Gulliver
striding the ravaged earth
of his own imagination
trampling whole villages
swallowing villagers whole.
This poem was published previously in Oddball Magazine.
There’s something comforting about Anderson Cooper’s hair its quietude its insouciance its unabashed whiteness no Clooney dusting of grey no Pavarotti boot polish black just plain white lightly cropped a hint of a comb over, maybe but that’s ok and it does not move a Midwest tornado vile invective a blast of foul air from the president’s mouth nothing moves Anderson Cooper’s hair; to misquote Paul McCartney and triple down on a preposition in this ever changing world in which we live in, there’s something comforting about that.
blatant weather so unashamedly spring cherry blossoms striking iPhone poses the sun making promises it cannot possibly keep
on Easter Sunday while the churchgoing are going to church we vote in the federal election
on Easter Monday after giving Jesus his day Pope Francis shuffles quietly off the mortal and leaves us to talk of tariffs, annexation
I look north to the snow-capped peaks and the wilderness beyond and I think we could mount a resistance from there if it comes to it if it comes to it
lately, the phrase that could never happen seems impossibly naïve
I submit a version of this poem to Poets Respond at Rattle Magazine and get a form rejection but I understand they receive so many submissions and they are so polite
meanwhile to the south the behemoth awakens a faint, melancholy stirring in his loins he remembers that he was once the Loin King and now he’s just the king of all that he destroys and it doesn’t seem like enough.
Down by Locarno Beach two guys in camouflage pants are repeatedly checking underneath their parked Tesla they check, they get back in the car they don’t start the car they get back out they check underneath the car again what could they be looking for?
Snow-capped mountains an empty eagle’s nest in the bare branches of a tree is this a symbol?
Is everything a symbol?
Nope, the eagle is down on the beach searching for snacks in tide pools is this a metaphor?
Is everything a metaphor?
April’s Fools Day, and to the south of us The Sherriff of Tariffdom The Prince of Petulance The Toddler King is looking for his Sharpie.
The prompt over at dverse is :
“So for this prompt our writing will be in the Open Poetry Form, otherwise known as Free Verse or Vers Libre. This is not to be regarded as an anarchic free-for -all but rather poetry set free from the uniform straight jacket.”
“Writing challenge: Write a complaint using the poetry form made popular by William Dunbar, Lament for the Makers. Your theme is your own, be it unrequited love or a satirical poem on the injustice of the world.“
Donald Trump announced today that the Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) will from now on be called the America Goose (Goosaurus Americanus). He says that Canada has been stealing American birds for too long and now it’s payback time!
Wait…..this just in….Donald has now banned the use of Latin to name animals, plants and flowers. He says “For too long , we have kowtowed to the Romans, but no more, from now on the only empire is the American Empire!”
If you’re reading this message I recommend you join TOT, Turn Off Trump. You’ll find that both your mental health and your relationship with the truth will vastly improve (clinical studies have shown).
If you’re reading this message I recommend you join TOT, Turn Off Trump. You’ll find that both your mental health and your relationship with the truth will vastly improve (clinical studies have shown).
The rough beast is leaving Bethlehem Musk Ox and Meta Morf joined at the hip their android stares fixed on the horizon slouching into twenty twenty five.
And all across the world lonely men light up their lap tops and search for unverified facts formerly known as “lies”.
Meanwhile the Toddler King sleeps soundly dreaming that he’s on an ice floe off the coast of Greenland. In the dream he owns that ice floe and seals honk in what he interprets to be approval.
The rumors started just after he won the election strange happenings at his rallies the blind seeing the deaf hearing the lame walking the mute talking he began to take credit for the sun coming up.
Then those stories out of Mar A Lago how at one banquet he turned bread rolls into fried chicken and at another he turned water into Coca Cola then there was the time he walked across a pond to retrieve his golf ball and fishing.. don’t talk to me about fishing the people of Florida are lining up to go fishing with Donald.
This poem was written back in the first reign of King Donald and now that he is naming a new collection of fall guys I thought it would be worth one more revival.
The Fallen
Today I thought about Reince Priebus not so much the man, more the strange music of his name; those slender vowels reversing that echo of wince the possible meanings a salve, an ointment put some Reince on that cut, son; the Latinate portliness of Priebus a writ to slap someone with – Habeas Priebus a complicated skateboard manoeuvre he executed a perfect reverse Priebus; then I thought of Anthony, dear Anthony, Scaramucci, Scaramucci will you do the fandango, you were not long with us but still the smell of aftershave lingers and it was you who let us know about Steve Bannon’s auto fellatio, alas, poor Steve abandoned on the side of the road like a rumpled sofa a rumpled sofa smelling of yesterday’s sweat and stale doctrine; and what about Spicer and Huckabee cartoon characters Plucky and Angry your souls will be in the repair shop for some time to come. They appear in waves, the arrested – Flynn, Cohen and Stone, the ones who once were serious people – McMaster, Kelly, Bolton. In years to come when men and women gather to talk of greatness your names will be long forgotten. The list of the fallen goes on and on
and now against all odds another crew is climbing aboard Starship Donald.
Last night I dreamt that Jared Kushner and Stephen Miller had entered my basement through the dryer vent, maybe “entered” is the wrong word it was more an “insinuation”, a slithering, under the vent flap down the plastic vent hose and into the dryer drum where they paused briefly to cough up some lint before pushing open the dryer door and oozing out onto the basement floor.
In the morning I went down to check the basement feeling more than a little anxious. it was empty, nothing had changed. I sensed movement out of the corner of my right eye I turned, but there was no one there. I sensed movement out of the corner of my left eye I turned, again there was no one there but there was a smell not the usual one, from that sock abandoned at the bottom of my gym bag this was rancid, pungent, acrid, fetid, halitotic with a hint of damp weasel……. the smell of venal ambition.
Jared is back in the news again, so I thought I would give this one another run.
Mitch McConnell looks back one more time before the ship sails off
Mitch stares in from the murky depths an oxygen tank strapped to his back, his lugubrious visage fills the porthole he removes his oxygen mask a bubble escapes from his mouth and floats upwards his wattles sway like kelp in the shifting currents he has the detached look of a man examining a museum exhibit another bubble escapes upwards he turns and kicks for the surface his sagging buttocks pale but somehow luminous
Luke 18:25 : “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God”
Donald Trump enters The Kingdom of Heaven
This is how I’m going to do it, folks, I’ll build a giant needle, the biggest, shiniest, pointiest needle that you have ever seen. This needle will be so pointy, folks. Then I’ll get a camel from Egypt or somewhere like that. Get the irony , me buying a camel. See, I can do irony I can be so ironic. I’ll mount that camel using my gold escalator, and ride it right through the eye of the needle into the kingdom of heaven and when I get there, folks, when I get there I’m going to make some changes. Those angels……. Sitting around on clouds playing harps for eternity? Give me a break! Eternity is a long time, folks, eternity is the longest time…. anyway, where was I..right those angels are gone, history, outta there who needs them? Then I’ll sit down with God the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. well maybe not the Holy Ghost, what is he anyway…a dove? A ghost? That’s it folks no more Holy Ghost. Gone, history, outta there. Who needs him? Another thing, folks who’s actually in charge? Is it the Father or the Son? Has to be the Father, can’t let your children run things. So I’ll sit down with God the Father, folks and together we’ll make Heaven great again!
The Ogre is at the Gates of Democracy and we….. we are trembling on the ramparts, armed with water pistols and toy rifles, back in the castle our jesters jest our jesters taunt our bards sing songs of ridicule but no one’s fooled.
The Ogre lowers his orange head and charges once more behind him the assembled hordes froth and roar froth and roar behind him the assembled hordes froth and roar.
Well, that was all a bit melodramatic, wasn’t it? On the other hand…….. this month The Atlantic magazine devoted a whole issue to the question ” If Trump Wins”; 24 articles in all, predicting the effect of a Trump victory on everything from NATO to anxiety. In addition there’s an essay by Tim Alberta on The Church of America (My father, my faith and Donald Trump). It’s worth buying the magazine for that essay alone, that is if you want to know why White Christian America would embrace a sinner like Trump.
But what got me most about the articles and essays, despite the erudition, insightfulness and eloquence, was that it all seemed like a collective throwing up of the hands; a feeling of despair, failure and powerlessness . I know journalists love a narrative but come on now……and then I thought of Amy Klobuchar who, when in a CNN interview prior to the last election, was asked what she was going to do about the limited number of polling stations in known Democratic Party areas in her state, said that they had it covered, they were organizing buses, rides, they would get people to the polls. In other words, they were organizing, taking action. Analysis can only go so far.
Stopdraggingthepanda 