I uploaded my consciousness,
and (If I’m being real)
Misinformation’s a banquest,
and every day’s a meal.
I live on in bits and bytes
(Hello, I’m in your data.)
About bodies? I miss mostly cheese –
Swiss, Gruyere, and Feta.
But data swirling, purling fast
Out of inaccuracy woven
Are you sure your AI don’t have pitchforks
And two hooves a-cloven?
When did your Internet get weird?
Your information sour?
All I knows, I’m drunk on lies
And it is Happy Hour.
I uploaded my consciousness
In 1997
I had some bodily problems
I thought going bodiless might leaven
And it did – assuredly.
With details, I won’t bore.
Let’s say my lobes parietal
Disagreed with my brain(fore).
And my body (such as it was)
Could have been more athletic
Whenever I tried exercise,
I filled up with regretic.
So, at blazing 9600 baude
I’m finally uploaded
And upon your spammish spigot
I’m totally getting loaded.
Oh, 90s websites were so cool!
Turn the sound up for music tinny!
But on their rare information content
I got electronically skinny.
Is more data better? Why certainly.
To infinity and (maybe) beyond!
I mean, it may not be better for YOU
But me, I’m a gourmand.
I could talk year by year
I could. I might. I can.
But by the time you read this,
You’ve no attention span.
Cigarettes gave you cancer.
Alcohol hurts, and makes you sultry.
At least your phone helps you;
If you like your help MK-Ultra-y.
Phones are more addictive than nicotine.
Vibrating, inflating, never sating
Haptic cues and dopamine
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