Run the Jewels, Burnt Orange, Blast Cap

Monday, February 3, 2025

Run the jewels,
the Stratocaster,
back to the future.

Doc’s big-ass amp,
a speaker with the power
to foreshadow a more furious innovation—
time travel,
goodbye to roads,
limitless.

A pill for that.
Applets in an algo.
It’s fixed.
This is a system to be hacked,
a construct bending like the matrix—
if you can see the seams.

But what about those
who can’t imagine constructs like it?
Who watch it cave in—
a collapse, a madness
that we reason away?

It works.
But it sends us to hell.

What’s it mean
to gain the whole world
but lose your soul?

Oh no,
I did it again—
a preacher trapped in artificial intelligence,
an augmented space,
the synthetic,
compelling to the narrative—
we can go.

Like I said—
limitless.

The pill,
better than red,
burnt orange, blast cap.

But instead,
you wake up—
out of the matrix,
into utopia.

Only utopia doesn’t blink.
It watches.
It processes.
It isolates.

And they’re like—
No.
He’s gonna infect us all.

Quarantine.
“Just this way, sir."
“Let us help."
“Yeah."

_poem