When does so much become so little? Believing it’s always your turn
Your debt to yourself is catching up
Your life is empty (as such)
Left with no thing:
Just sand slipping through your fingers
Tell me When does too little become too much?
This quadrille is a reworking of my poem Taking Stock, a cascading poem itself based on the lyrics (italicised) from the Nomeansno song Stocktaking. Shared with dVerse Quadrille #231 – much
You stop crying and they call you strong. The dead assemble to mourn your breathing. A new hell found to which you don’t belong: Four walls surround without any way of leaving.
You stop asking and they call it growth, Answers never satisfied with real meaning. Every new facade demands an oath As a reward to calm the screaming.
You stop speaking and they call it peace, Yet their ever-present chatter remains. New, fresh faces mean they will never cease To encircle you with their hurricanes.
They don’t want you whole, Best conquered and divided; They want you manageable In the maze they have provided; And that starts with getting quiet.
This is inspired by and uses text from the author’s note of Shain’s post Quiet Enough To Keep
Let my AI talk to your AI while we rest and sleep; my artificial assistant became my therapist; I no longer know of what appointments I need to keep, but have the answer to anything at my fingertips.
They’re suggesting that there are other things out there, but that’s a scary thing, our AIs all can agree; I can see it all from here without a worry or care and leave my AI alone to do everything for me.