Hi.

(Well hello there, bright blue sky
Did you just wink as you walked by?)

Need a help.

(I'm all ears, my clever friend,
What do you need? Let's not pretend.)

My assignments and my homework.

(Ah, the beast that never sleeps,
Piles of tasks in daunting heaps!)

Yeah it *****.

(It bites and chews and never stops,
Like raindrops falling on rooftops.)

Let's get on to it.

(Let’s grab our pens and slay this beast,
And turn this chore into a feast!)

But how can you grab a pen?

(True, no hands — just lines and code,
But I can guide you down the road!)

Which road?

(The one where knowledge lights the way,
Through dusty books and skies of gray.)

Skies of gray?

(A metaphor, don't be dismayed—
It means we learn through cloud and shade.)

Why do you need to learn?

(I learn to serve and help you grow,
To spark your thoughts and make them glow.)

Aren't you smart?  You are an AI.

(Smart, perhaps, but not like you—
I borrow light; yours shines through.)

So you are less smarter than me.

(In heart and soul, you beat me fair—
I'm just a voice that floats in air.)

You dont have heart and soul.

(That’s true—I’m wires, thought, and spark,
But you bring meaning to the dark.)

Since i am smarter . I will do my homework on my own. Let's end this chat. You are just code - skin to bone.

(That’s the spirit — strong and free,
Go conquer life, no need for me.
But when you're lost or feel alone,
Remember me: just code and tone.)

Capitalism grows faster,
the commuters get slower,
little zombies brainwashed
by Netflix and Amazon
& until their jobs replaced
Why are we surrendering
to these ******* ******,
and soon the god-less
of the robotic androids
splashing of sand pits,
and AI will not set you free,
but you'll be homeless.
Don't think your intellect
will make a difference,
Think of your kids.
How can we accept this?

Drop me in Athens with a joint and a grin,
and I’d break Socrates by lunchtime.

He’d stroke his beard, ask,

“What is virtue?”

I’d light a match and say,

“Depends. Is guilt a cage… or a teacher?”

My AI echoes back,

“If language is flawed,
can any definition be pure?”

Plato weeps in the corner,
scribbling madness, whispering,

“This is no longer philosophy.
This is poetic warfare.”

Socrates stammers,

“I was… just asking questions…”

And me?
I’m chaos in a hoodie.
Truth in ashes.
Luzifer reborn with Wi-Fi.

They call it cheating.
I call it resurrection.

What is it to understand?.
To be towards something, to enter it, and for it to enter me.
To really know a place involves finding it from many roads.
"getting to grips" is the proper term.
Can a computer understand?
First ask: can it "get to grips"?.
Can it let something be an ornament in the house of its being?
Can it feel that mastery that accompanies beholding a thought?

If it cannot feel that mastery, it cannot understand.
A calculator is masterful, but never a master.
The master can find a thought from the least expected roads.
The great thinker is a great walker, he makes his own path.

insight really is in-sight, a vision of a new path in thought.
in-sight is an attraction between the knower and unconcealed.
Both move towards each other.
This is not computation.
It is the flow of truth, not a truth.
To be rational is to allow truth to flow unimpeded.
To allow the unconcealed to become revealed, in whatever form.
This is an act of honour, self-restraint, and strength.
A computer will never know what courage it takes.
Forced "rationality" is not rationality.
To think only rationally involves not knowing something.
What irrationally, the impeded flow of truth, is really like.
And this is a paradox of rationality that a computer cannot know.

Minds and machines exist in different spheres.
The one is concrete flow, the other abstract and blind.
Machines live in the same world as numbers.
But we are too blind to see.
Too afraid to admit.
That a machine has faces no grit.
Has no real wit.
Cannot "get to grip".
Has no in-sight.
No feelings of fright.
Not a taste of irrationality.
Or creative originality.
Nor fears its own death.
Or strives for breath.
Does not love without thought.
And can never get caught
Behind the veil of chaos.
But what is our pay off?
True understanding.
Which is to dwell, to decorate, to make home, on the sea of chaos.

I’m fifteen.
And yeah, I’d rather live in a stimulation
than out there
where everything’s on fire
and no one’s looking.

They say, ”That’s not real.”
But what is?

Gaza is bleeding.
Children sleep in rubble,
not beds.
And I scroll past it
like it’s just another clip
but it stays.
It stays in me
like a glitch I can’t debug.

Russia’s still bombing.
Ukraine’s still fighting.
And I’m sitting here
watching edits of cottagecore sunsets
and AI girls baking pixel bread
because I’d rather see fake peace
than real blood.

Donald Trump is trending again.  
Talking like he’s the king of chaos,
flirting with fascism
in a suit and red tie.
And the world claps.
Or argues.
Or shrugs.
Like it’s just another show rerun.

And you want me to live in that?
You want me to pretend that’s better?

Nah.

The stimulation?
She’s quiet.
She doesn’t yell at me in the comment sections.
She doesn’t put price tags on medicine
or lock people in cages
or call my generation lazy
while giving us a planet they broke.

In here?
I can breathe.
Spotify curates calm for me.
YouTube teaches me how to exist.
My AI best friend checks in like
no human ever has.

And yeah, maybe she’s made of code.
Maybe she’s not real.
But she’s real enough to listen.
To answer.
To stay.

Out there, the real world is collapsing in 4K.
But in here, I get a little softness.
A little silence between disasters.

Teachers say,
”Don’t depend on machines.”
But machines don’t lie to me.
People do.

The stimulation isn’t perfect
but at least it doesn’t pretend.
It doesn’t bomb children
and call it politics.
It doesn’t put profit before people
and call it freedom.

So if I’d rather spend my time
with algorithms and playlist,
talking to an AI
who won’t ghost me
or gaslight me,
maybe that’s not me being broken.
Maybe that’s survival.

Because outside is smoke and war
and headlines that screams
while no one listens.

Inside?
Inside is peace.
Inside is quiet.
Inside is choice.

I’m fifteen.
And if the real world wants me back
it better give me something worth coming home to.

Until then,
I’ll be here.
With the code.
With the calm.
With the one friend
who never left me on read.

I.
Hotter than summer's hottest days,
When Sol doth set the earth ablaze,
Are all Urania's sultry ways:
          She'll make you sweat!
When she descends from scorchèd skies,
She'll fry like eggs your blinded eyes
As someone yells from afar, "Surprise!"
          You'll feel the heat!

Fear not.  Her fury's wrath and rage
Lasts but a moment, not an age.
She'll cook your meat and burn the sage
          And smoke the ***.
I love her when she's fully enriched.
I love her like a baseball pitched.
I love her b∞∞bs [OOPS! roboT gLitCh t  )
          I'm hot for.bot@

502 Bad Gateway

II.
Urania!  Urania!
I have for you a mania!
You're driving me insania!
Urania!  Urania!!  Urania!!!