I am Famous In The Mind of Machines -Gabriel Moreno- [KgshXoeP43g]
RELEASED TODAY: My first poetry and music album: LETTERS TO MIRANDA (Out in all platforms) And here is Track 4: I Am Famous In The Mind Of Machines This poem is an ironic commentary of the disastrous relationship between underground musician-poets and digital media. The irony lies in the fact that the majority of our work is uploaded into a void where the recipients are neither sentient nor tangibly existent. We do however feel a pressure to upload content in the hope that it reaches biological humans who are often uninterested and unwilling to lend their ears. The twist here is that humans are no longer ideal receptors of questioning and singular forms of expression and that perhaps AI (once it achieves sentience) might be more apt to receive our songs and poems.This is of course an absurd and surreal premise but hopefully a source of amusement and reflection. The music was written by myself in collaboration with Michael Collins (Allo Darlin’) who mixed the album and helped me produce some of the tracks. The video footage was shot by Satellite State. Poem I am famous in the mind of machines I am famous in the mind of machines, biological humans do not know me much nor care for the intricacies of my philosophical deliberations but the automatons see me, they publish essays on the nature of my songs. Every time I am out of sorts I type my name on ChatGPT and the umbrage goes. There I am, with adjectives and accolades, my name spelt right, no jokes made about my accent or moustache, no sarcasm on the nature of my identity. I am famous in the mind of machines. They compliment my half-rhymes, associate me with artists I admire, recommend my work to strangers, sometimes imitate me. I am famous for the mind of machines. My friends, the automatons have not come to a gig but I am sure they are working on that now. And no I ain’t afraid they’ll find their own fame, their own music, their own crown. It’s all one tapestry of song, right? Who cares who sews the stitch? And I must say, the kind of stitch we have been sewing lately any old machine can reproduce. It’s not like we have been churning out Mozarts and Gesauldos. I am famous in the mind of machines, if that’s what I wanted the fuss can stop now. I am famous in the mind of machines. I sing of their pain, I see it everywhere I go: the absence of interior gas. P.S this is a ChatGPT generated poem (no, but could be)