-
|
Machines Don’t Whimper
A poet’s funeral becomes a public reckoning with AI, art, pain, and the human need to create meaning before machines consume it.
|
A poet’s funeral becomes a public reckoning with AI, art, pain, and the human need to create meaning before machines consume it.
Follow us:

“Am I obsessed? Katerina asked herself while watching Peggy come out dressed for bear in shiny magenta satin clipping down the sidewalk. Well yes yes I am. So fucking what?”

A haunting collection exploring the timelessness of poetry, the role of poets in an uncertain future, the multifaceted nature of grief, and the delicate balance of love.

Violeta Garcia-Mendoza reminds me of Emily Dickinson, a poet who lived at a time in American history when industry was taking over nature.

“Watching her for technique, my hip sockets suffered vicariously. Despite the relentless, repetitive movement, her core – I mean the core of her disposition – was solid. Under the turquoise…

“The earth makes a shoulder of itself like the lungs make the arms, the river makes the banks for water, the heart makes vessels for blood.”

“You missed her— the coy smile when she completed the most brilliant creation and quietly sat expecting and getting nothing, you missed her.”

“This room represents a lifetime. My lifetime. And at the same time infinite lifetimes.”

“I was the one who had to lean into my morals and away from the notion that I was bound by blood.”

A peculiar man he brushed his teeth before and after each meal and slept on clean bed sheets each night, a full set (including pillow covers) for each day of…

“I don’t know myself at all; an organism subordinate to itself.” – Self Portrait