Screen Dump 803

The fray resumes the fray

inundated with submissions for redactions . . .

It reminds you of everything

as if honing in on DNA

will unveil yet another double helix

in your backstory . . . 

At the feeders, black-capped chickadees,

whited-out, remain untroubled . . .

Autodidacts pay homage to autofictions

slanted autofictions

redacted autofictions

dripping in time to the musical notes

of someone else's autofiction . . .

The wizard . . . the wonderful wizard

spurns happenstance with remorse . . .

his almost comic anti-otherness

from the burnished depths

of his life as an accomplice

unfolds with complicity . . .

Missing persons clutter mental walk-ups

trying to insinuate themselves back

into your one wild and precious life

while Them-That-Got agree to convene

a solution . . . but there is no solution . . .

Noa Bachner

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, 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

with the clickety-clack on the trestle

of the train with its nightmarish boxcars . . .

Of course, the focalization or fragmentation

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

eager to terminate your membership . . .

Antonio Palmerini