They're Not Listening!

Who the hell uses Edge,
Mine just had to restart,
Just as I began this Wath about it.
Maybe it has a heart,

Along with the brain that is running Bing,
Though I've seen no smarts, yet,
Either A.I.'s merely a fantasy,
'r'intelligences not that magnificent,

At least compared to my own aptitude.
I'm sorry, is that vain?
Or is it a comment on Microsoft,
Vain, 'case Bill's listening.

I'm sure he's not!
Nor is Steve from the grave,
If I ne'er get out of this life alive,
These words are proof that the pen cannot save.

Existential Despair

If you are in despair,
Like, existentially,
Questioning your own value, as human,
Or p'haps humanity's,

Do not despair, you're not the only one,
I mean do, but do not,
Pick any person you see, rich or poor,
Such feelings are, have, or will be their lot,

Unless they have no ambition past this,
Meaning, where they are now,
Despair points to an unfulfilled desire,
You feel should be endowed,

For you deserve,
What life's not given you,
Because, well, you did not ask to be born,
So if you don't get what you want, then who?

This Wath's a Simulation

I've yet to read Bostrom,
If he really exists,
If we're all computer simulations,
My library hold's mist,

Rather could be made up of the same things,
Pesky ones and zeros,
Really not that diff'rent than most theories,
Whether digital, string, god, or Plato,

What if we are second generation,
Like simulated twice?
A simulation developed A.I.,
Then John wrote Men and Mice.

I will not end,
With, 'we just have to live,
Hist'ry's ripe with metaphysical thoughts,
Which means the coders are inquisitive.

A Tale of Two Curtain Rods

There was this curtain rod,
Well, to be honest, two,
We made sure of all the measurements twice, 

Put one up tried and true,

Three brackets securely installed level,

Finial on one end,

Next was rod number two to mirror it,
Curtains to be bookends,

Of white-painted brick, smoke chamber and flue,

One more book, the firebox.

Oh, the hue of th'other bracket set's wrong!

E-retail sucks bollocks.

What's the moral?
Some things just have to be,
Best be them earlier, sooner than now,
And never forget to get the receipt. 

It's All Good!

No positivity,
Could match my own outlook,
Despite the feelings all these Waths might give,
To those who take a look,

Sure the world's trajectory is not good,
Well, there I go again,
Does man's trend tow'rds destruction say something,
Of the nature of each of us humans?

Don't we feel distrust of endless success?
Or maybe that's just me,
Bringing us back the original point,
Of my disparity,

Of what I see,
Compared to what there is,
Like the words that I end up writing here,
Maybe I'm destined to ne'er find my bliss.

Slow It Down

What's the point of all this?
I don't mean what you think,
I knew long ago the secret of life,
And trust me, brah, it stinks,

You don't want to know what there is to know,
Try to read books, instead,
At least they'll pretend that there is meaning,
With some formula for getting ahead,

Then try to talk to someone religious,
If you're not already,
Not to get comfort of an afterlife,
But just to keep busy,

And distracted,
For if you think too much,
You'll shorten the length of your existence,
Trust me, you should not be in such a rush.

Here's What To Do

There are paths not taken,
Each moment of your life,
More than you could count in a thousand years,
Though's a choice you may like,

For what do we have to know which is right?
Don't tell me it's a book,
Written by someone with the same choices,
Who chose to tell others where they should look,

Who claim knowledge from a higher power,
I'm not looking to fight,
Like Logan Roy says in S4 E1,
"I think this is it. Right?"

It might not be,
Nor would I claim to know,
All I'm really saying is take a chance,
Or don't. Just let me decide for my own.