The Irony of Life is that we are nothing more than organic algorithms – a poem

The Irony of Life is that we are Nothing more than Organic Algorithms.

 

The irony, I thought wistfully

Is that we really do not exist.

I’m a fabrication;

An organic algorithm –

Nothing more.

The essential me is an illusory.

 

Looking into the future

I see

My computer reads my face

Checks my heart rate

Takes my blood pressure

Assesses my brain waves

And knows more about me than I do.

 

It can tell me what to buy

Who to love

And how to vote

According to my true feelings –

With no mistakes.

I am unnecessary.

It understands my inner workings.

It reads my heart.

It reads my mind

And understands my secrets.

My own deliberations have become superfluous.

 

My biggest secret

Is that I am

Hollow.

I do not exist.

There is no essential me.

I am an organic algorithm

Obeying the dictates of my

Predetermined patterns

As laid down

In my biology –

Nothing more.

I have no soul,

No inner me,

No essence or core.

No free will

No integrity

No unpredictability.

 

But there is still a place for me

Within this computer stained society

For I really cannot break the rules

Of the pattern that is me.

I’m a biological algorithm

Pretending to be free;

A product of my chemistry

Masquerading as biology

In the form of humanity.

Even my rebellion is programmed.

Like an atom teased apart

My personality

Is empty.

I’m not complex.

I’m the ultimate in simplicity.

 

There is no me.

 

Opher 25.11.2017