Artificial Life

On the baffling mystery that life is; Maya, Matrix, Brain in the VAT, AI. Maddening. Hopeless. Senseless. I dont know what else to say.


What would it be like?
If we existed as bits and bytes.
Trapped in the matrix,
Programmed onto microchips,
A product of strong AI.
With existential doubts packaged as a part of life,

Is this what it feels like to be alive?
Is the questioning mind a mere proof of life?
What if the questions are being inputted by some sadistic AI Encoder in Vanilla Sky?

We won’t be able to break into the real dimension,
but have the perpetual urge to subside,
Will without capacity?
This seems to be a perpetual torture,
A puzzle to which I subscribed when I got inebriated by Maya’s eyes.
We’re mere puppets, mere pawns in the hands of the fate,
The design they developed sitting in the proverbial skies.
We’re helpless! Free will’s a lie,

Are we machines, or were we taken over by them and reduced to mere raw material to sustain their “lives”,
would we survive the destruction of the object whose scope has expired?

Why would I want to live that life?
I question myself as I wonder if I was ever alive,
Does the world really exists the way it unfolds in front of my eyes,
Why was I subjected to this strife?
This existence if not altogether pointless, is incomprehendible,
Seems hopeless, if not cruel and unkind,

If this is life, what would hell be like?
It’s all so meaningless,
You lead a purposeless death and then you die,

What about artists?
Is the shit they come up with also pre transpired?
Maybe it’s all scripted.
Or maybe I should shut up coz my brain cells seem to have expired.

Do I have to make peace with the fact that I might never get the answers and still make it the purpose of my life?
Run behind in pursuit of an utopian dream that was written for me,
I think I should just shut up and get on with my *huh* “life”.

Life! The perpetual irony; the unrelenting mystery; the gift and the eternal strife.
I wonder if we can uncover all the substrates of existence and design life,
But then again, would that be life?

Vacant Horizons

On loving and losing the love you once had. In a way it points that a man's existence is defined by the struggles he faces. Status Quo is something he abhors.

Every time there's a different reason,
every night is a different hue of blue,

Don’t matter how we blew it,
what matters is it’s gonna take a while to get used to,

Vacant horizons stare me in my face,
Aint it a disgrace we had to go our ways after going strong for so long,

It all feels so wrong,
wished we could've been more wise,
made less alibis,
checked our tempers when they were on rise,

I wished we had shown a little more allegiance,
a little more willingness to try,
and tried to solve the differences as they came by,

But the differences went unchecked,
And between the mounds of egotism,
The valley of revulsion has crept,

We try to hide it under the rug,
But as the stench got unbearable,
The nurturers had to pull the plug,
You end up killing the things you love,

Its gonna feel a bit lonesome,
We're not too keen to undo the wrongs,
We've accepted defeat at the hands of fate,
And we lack the will to challenge,
the verdict we're shown,

you didn't had to go the way you did,
it didn’t had to end the way it did,
but what’s the point in ruminating,
the damage has already been did.