So I dumped my screen dumps into ChatGPT & got this reDump:

Worrying the linearity of it all . . .

Yet why embellish, twist the truth? . . .

Alright, so we’re all in on the trickery

of collapsing the distance between screen and self,

where nothing is truly as it seems -

as declared by those observing from the shadows . . .

the frozen breath of autumn clinging to the world . . .

But this puddle of prose still makes its way, yes? . . .

You see it, I see it, we all see it . . .

The fox moves easily through the frost

its coat, sleek and well-suited for winter’s bite . . .

Yet your voice, though layered, is fragile

tending to crack . . . much like Proust

dreaming of madeleine crumbs on the edge of memory . . .

Perhaps a subtlety hidden deep within

the algorithms of the next app update

or perhaps it’s the recurring rhythm of something else -

a subway car grinding through the quiet tunnels

hauling your restless thoughts from stop to stop . . .

Naturally, it’s all about perspective -

the point of view shifting like Joyce’s stream of consciousness

where words drift, ready to withdraw their invitation . . .

Will

Screen Dump 802

Troubling yourself over the chronology of events . . .

But why the embellishments? . . .

OK, so the use of fourth-wall-pulverizing techniques

currently in vogue . . . bare bones judged idiomatically,

as announced, by the watchers at the gate . . .

the mortuary silence of winter . . .

But this cesspool of a script squeezed through, yes? . . .

You know it . . . we all know it . . .

Deer don't seem to mind the snow much

since their hair is hollow and a very good insulator . . .

But your words, though camouflaged, are spindly . . .

prone to slippage . . . not unlike Mallarmé

holding a cigar in his hand

for Manet's portrait of him . . . 

Doubtless, a subtlety in Microsoft's latest release . . .

and the eventual re-opening engaging the clickety-clack

of the train with its nightmarish boxcars on the trestle . . .

Of course, the focalization or fragmentation

in Woolf's To the Lighthouse . . . words bobbing along

eager to terminate your membership . . .

Antonio Palmerini

 Screen Dump 532

(reposted from Thursday, November 26, 2020)

In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again

as my life is done in watermelon sugar.

          - Richard Brautigan

The iterations in needle towers lining the streets

trouble redundancy with their button-downess

and lucrative curbs . . . You sought monasticism

and safety and time off . . . eschewing the chatter

of masked players mired in the foibles

of middle and end games . . . escorting regret

at a moment's notice . . . Shocking, yes? . . .

the mess of moves that arrived with the pizza . . .

a meals-on-wheels sort of gig . . .

about to hold forth when your bishop pinned my queen

in watermelon sugar . . . and that was that . . .

We could consult the tale of the tape, I suppose . . .

Queen's Gambit Anya Taylor-Joy

Screen Dump 801

As if traversing Wordle's words

on a walking pad

through a supermarket's aisles of innuendoes

all life long . . . all life long . . .

An ancient pipe organ with meantone tuning

insinuates

all stops pulled

encrypted with comforter

and mug of Kuchika tea . . .

a passing fancy seeps into the day

drifting into the free-floating white . . .

The fray awaits your arrival . . .

The Late Middle Ages? . . .

The revamp? . . .

Why now? . . .

The shakedown . . . a faded fiction . . . explanatory . . .

The opening scene . . . muted, yes? . . .

The Director's cut . . . a fashionista's foreplay . . .

with outtakes no less

to make do with the trancelike snow . . .

Indeed, the polyphony suits . . .

Kali Malone