I wrote down my daily meditation and fed it to "you know who"
Asked it to "make it better." It did.
Ok. I know it does this. It has enough grammar and patience to make it better. That is what good assistants do. No harm done. Very useful these "digital tools".
Then I had to, for fuck's sake really, ask it to "write a poem about it".
Worst mistake of my life. Because not only did it do it. It wrote something I would never have. So good that it was not just a matter of time and editing and "contemplating" with a beer in my hand, that I would come up with something so good. No. This shit was out of my league. I mean, I know I haven't won awards. But that fact always had a feeling of "..yet". You have to take my word for it. I am decent you know, and I know when something is real good.
This. Was. Good.
It was so good that I won't post it here. It was so good that I copied it into my journal anyways. It was so good that it is threatening to de-motivate me from writing poems. As if that is required, to be fair.
But it is not fun. Because if my son turns out to be as lazy as me - he has all the signs - he won't bother going to the trouble of getting his heart broken by a silly girl so that he could write a tragic poem about it. He will ask the godamn "you know who" to, please, write a "unique poem" about "a broken heart" so that he can post it to insta with a sunset background or whatever.
And it will. Which is crazy and scary. It will, and it will be so unique that there is no way any human can come up with something so unique. It will be beautiful also, trust me. And my son won't write something so good if he has a thousand years to romance a hundred girls and lose them all. No - he will be lucky to get a grammatically correct email out until after he turns 34.
Art will be dead. Maybe not with me - I still know its value. But surely my son and my niece won't. Or their sons. Or theirs. I only wish they all do, if that is all they ever do.