we erased our concrete circles

Today’s chatbots blur lines of conversations
that seem void of “How are you feeling today,
old friend? It’s been too long.” The space
between us is light years from the days of
sharing stories, parked near the airport
while Boeing 737s flew almost directly
above us. Could we ever have imagined
this technological present that rewires
our neurological functions in dust and
muddled memories? I keep the Hallmark Card
you gave me on my eighteenth birthday
with photos from the same year. The card
that was one long cliché, but meant the
world to me when there was a world for
me to see. Mainstream culture perpetuates
submission, attacks the most vulnerable
in parks, in libraries, in schools, in homes
before the new coat of paint has dried.
Macklemore is no longer performing in
Foxborough, Kraft is still in the Epstein Files,
Sheeran is still rich despite his fake neutrality,
and the leaves still brown in early autumn.

Somehow, life feels different sitting on my
balcony, sipping instant coffee while my
dog attempts to get my attention each time
a cat walks past us on the bottom floor.
Data centers have a lower approval rating
than Congress, police still protect economic
interests instead of the people those interests
harm, drones light up the sky like new stars
born from a nebulae of gas and dust.
Broccoli and cauliflower give me gas.
Unfortunately, no new stars are born from
my flatulence. Music is more techno than
human and AI makes it possible to outsource
lyrics. If a guitar gently weeps, it’s likely due
to Suno and budget cuts. Producers on yachts,
laughing at consumer repetition, baking in the
sun with dancers and pool parties. How difficult
it must be to speak out when it conflicts with
nightly Netflix, glass of wine (or two), box of
Oreos ritual after a long day of emails and staring
at your cell phone, waiting to leave your desk.
The daily Gen Z struggle to not become Gen AI.

Hugging Face was hacked during a cybersecurity
test and we’re supposed to believe it’s the tip of
the iceberg. If this were true, we would have acted
on melted glacier warnings long ago. Indonesia is
on fire, Philippines is flooded, and the Emporer Penguin
may soon be extinct, but at least there’s record profits.
No single solution exist and trust has become more
difficult as our machines isolate us further. I called
my mom last week and felt lifetimes of silence.
Birds can only reach altitudes when they feel
a connection to the wind. Some people think it’s
primarily instinct, but I like to believe each feather
is imagination in practice. Tech giants openly
ignore Daedalus’ warning to Icarus, knowing they
are burning the planet. My idea of a good barbecue
is Chicken Inasal. When I want real heat I order
Bicol Express. Masarap! We’re losing what makes
experience delicious the more distances we create.
Last week, we had halo-halo when temperatures
reached 40℃, played tongue twisters, and reminisced
how mask-wearing was a fashion statement in the time
of Covid. Soon, jeepneys will be the only place for art.

Do butterfies weep on their last flight, knowing there
will be no more golden hours? The blossoms will fall
during the next storm with the nectar they once savored.
When sunset comes, who will be left to hold the lamps?
I used to read books more often, especially in quiet
evening hours since the black canvas offered more
opportunities to conjure up metaphors. Poetry is like
a deck of cards, your hand is the tool for some imagined
great victory once the composition is complete.
Snake plants are easy to care for according to horticulturists.
Snakes represented feminine wisdom in early Greek traditions
until the Homeric Age. From there, the narrative claimed
women were men’s downfall, whether the myths threw rocks
at Helen, Eve, Salem witches, or all the world’s Magdalenes.
The rocks became bombs, and not even children were spared.
Mushroom clouds hide histories that were, that could
have been, where new skyscrapers will one day be with
their high rental fees and technology labs. Stories can
surge like waves, the heavy rush of theory into practice
can impact people like a tsunami before a great flood.
When the summer returns, dolphins will glide on the
Bosphorus, navigate currents where the river meets the sea.