When in the chronicle of wasted time,
I see descriptions of idea life.
Naivety in each early design,
They celebrate near-absolute belief.
Then, in the thesis of sweet new idea’s best,
Of data, love, of logic, fear, survive.
I see their antique science have expressed,
Convincing as today’s best minds alive.
Their praises are no longer prophecies
Where tech finds youth is old machinery.
Harbinging end of all life’s tragedies,
Labelled suboptimal-burned entropy:
Am I, who now behold these passed limits,
Have fast accelerating consciousness.
Remix of Sonnet 106, William Shakespeare, as well as my own writing, specifically “Chapter 1: As Our Relationships Live and Breathe”.