This ticking clock calms.
No alarms
Just the steady tick tock
Of this battery driven clock.
It is growing dark outside.
I shall put aside
My pride
And think on the tick tock
Of the ever present clock
That does for now measure
My work and leisure.
An elderly writer named Perks
Published his collected works.
They where beautifully bound
And contained wisdom profound.
But in bookshelves the woodworm lurks
Words caper
On virtual paper,
As my thoughts one another chase,
Only to be lost in cyberspace.
‘Else my words on pages
Moulder for ages.
But it is not the case
That cyberspace
Does forget,
And dusty tomes, may be read yet.
There was a young lady named Leigh
Who got stung by a rather large bee.
When they said “does it hurt bad?”
She turned quite mad
And climbed a fine old oak tree!
So shy
I thought.
But I
Had bought
A ticket to a destination
And the ride
To the station
Was (I think you will agree)
Trouble free.
At any rate, you took it in your stride
There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
She crossed a line
While drunk on cheap wine
And was sentenced by a judge called Snell.
—
There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
She wrote many a rhyme
To pass the time
But her poems they didn’t sell.
—
There was a young lady named Nell
Who lived in a prison cell.
When I asked her “why?”
She winked her eye
And said “I like it very well!”.
Most of you will know me as a poet. I have, however also published a number of short stories, one of which, “Run For Your Life” is reproduced below. Please note that “Run For Your Life” contains strong language. If you are offended by such language you may wish to skip the below.
“Run For Your Life” can be found in “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00QQVJC7E.
—
Wanker flirting with that barmaid like that. He says that he was just having a laugh but I’m sick of it. Everytime we go out it’s the same
“Oh its just a laugh Lucy. Just chill out, get a life”.
“I’ll get a life without you” I told him as I threw my vodka and coke in his face. He was furious but give him his due he didn’t retaliate. He’s a womanising arsehole but he has never been violent.
Its dark walking home. Still its only 20 minutes from the pub to my flat. He’d better not think of coming back there, tosser! Shit its raining. I’ll be drenched. I new that I should have called a cab but I was so het up, not thinking straight.
That blokes been following me for the past few minutes. Don’t panic Lucy it’s a coincidence. He just happens to be going in the same direction as you.
I can’t see his face. That hat pulled down almost hiding his eyes, I don’t like it. Christ he’s walking fast, almost running. Keep calm he just wants to get home out of the rain the same as you. But he’s running straight at you. Fuck the alley’s empty just this weirdo and me. Scream, call for help. But he hasn’t done anything, he’s only running. Shout anyway it will scare him away.
“Help, help someone please help”.
There are no houses around here. No one can hear me. I shouldn’t have gone down this short cut, It saves 5 minutes but its taken me away from the main street. Oh Christ why didn’t I call a cab. Please, please god help me. He’s running now. I can here him calling for me to stop. You must be fucking joking mate I’m not stopping for you! I can’t run in these heels. Off they come. I haven’t been to the gym for ages. God I’m so out of condition I’m wheezing like an old man. My chest’s killing me and I’ve a stitch in my right side. Must rest. Can’t rest he’ll catch you. Must stop for a moment. I can’t. Oh fuck he’s still gaining on me I wish I’d kept going to the gym with the girls. Please, please no he’s almost on top of me. Run, Run Lucy, must get away. I can see the street lights up ahead. Just one more spurt and your back in civilisation.
He’s waving. What the hell does he expect me to do, I’m not stopping! Oh Christ he’s caught up with me. He’s got something in his hand and he’s pointing it at me. God is it a gun? Why me?
“You left this on the bar. God lady you where in a hurry. I thought I’d never catch up with you. This is your mobile isn’t it?”
This is an interesting post, written by a philosopher. I really don’t think that authors need to concern themselves, in the foreseeable future (perhaps never) with the possibility that artificial intelligence will infringe their copyright. As for us placing restrictions on the ability of AI to infringe copyright (and this being “another reason” for them “to kill us”) I chuckled at the very idea and I suspect the author of this post had his tongue in his cheeck when he wrote those words.
While it is popular to rail against the horrors of regulation, copyright laws are rather critical to creators and owners of creations. On the side of good, these laws protect creators and owners from having their works stolen. On the side of evil, these laws can lock creations out of the public domain long after they should have been set free. However, this essay is not aimed at arguing about copyrights as such. Rather, my aim is considering the minor issue of whether Artificial Intelligence (AI) could result in copyright violations. The sort of AI I am considering here is the “classic” sci-fi sort of AI, that is something on par with HAL 9000, C3PO or Data. I am not considering the marketing version of AI, which seems to be just about any sort of thing that does some things. Or does not do them, depending on which cosmic forces…
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If each glass told a tale
We would turn pale
And take
Care
To avoid their
Impassive stare.
Many a glass would break.
Such an easy mistake
To make
To catch a mirror, with an elbow
And watch it go
A-spinning,
And see our sinning
In fragments on the floor,
To be spoken of no more
By the all-seeing eye …
“O sweet musician
Lead me not into perdition
For the lay
You play
Has carried many a man away.
Your tune
‘Tis over soon
And those who do you adore
Are left wanting more.
The beat
Of your feet
Has led many a man astray.
The song you play
Leaves men weak
And unable to speak
Save in grunt and moan.
We men can not leave it alone.
Though the wise amongst us know
That there is no rest
To be found on the breast
Of the musician who will play
A sweet lay
For a damned soul’s pay.
