Argus Thinks is a digital portrait + poem with original poetry written by TheDigitalCoy. The portrait was created in collaboration with DALLE-2 and combined with the Publicly Private Eye Treatment.

The piece was entered into Claire Silver's "#ClaireAIContest (https://twitter.com/TheDigitalCoy/status/1559463677123649536?s=20)

---

Before Eye fell onto the arms of Hypnos, Eye thought:  
Eye decide my fate,  
Had a hand in my works and deeds  
Even as an errand boy  
And guard dog pitted against  
The will of the thunder king.

Eye want to amount to more  
Than a cudgel handler,  
Smiter of problematic beings,  
Herder of goats and sheep  
And that Hermes befriended me  
For more than a mission...

That my life 
Was spared for a grander purposes--  
And not out of sympathy--  
That to be a fly on fruit  
The spirit hovering by your gold-lit  
Evening window  
Will make beautiful things.

But that is likely not so.

Eye think,  
My station is more  
Than to rid the world of Echidna  
Could have been to be loved 
And to have loved her,  
Dispell mourning  
From beyond the measure of time  
For loss of Typhon.

Eye entered Echidna's mourning plot--  
A darkened, lonely, cavernous place  
With no servants or lavish accoutrements,  
Full of hypnotizing moving paintings  
Sculptures of clay and light  
Hidden treasures, just like she. 

Eye remember moving stealthily  
From shadow to shadow  
Peaking through space  
Searching, listening  
Following her echoing sobs...

In a simple room,  
Eye found her looking into polished diamonds  
Combing her midnight silken hair  
With a dainty tool of eagle bones.  
Her eyes were the color of a new moon nighttide  
Her skin midnight blue  
With a sheen Eye’ve only seen  
On the black boas of Medusa.

Eye knocked.  
We spoke by the firelight.  
We stayed together,  
Basking in our defeat of loneliness.

Argus Thinks

The Decagon is the infinitely evolving, always unique, and eternally open membership token of the Decaverse. Designed by Kjetil Golid.

Decagon #43462

"Eros in Space" is a multimedia poem that leverages AI+3D+Glitch+Illustration, and Original Music. It is part of the apologue to "Eros the Eror," which TheDigitalCoy wrote on January 11, 2005 (see full poem here https://app.manifold.xyz/c/Eros-in-Between-Space). 

It is also partially influenced by "Bird in Space," a series of sculptures created by Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bird_in_Space).

This glitch artwork is part of a broader series depicting the life of Eros, the god of love, after being banished by the gods from Olympus and Earth. Eros emerges in an unknown world after being thrown by Olympian guards into a mysterious body of water in a deep sea cave (the Pool of Banishment), and embarks on an odyssey to find the center of the universe.

This 1/1 is part of the Makersplace x $WHALE members poetry exhibition on June 12, 2023. 

Thank you for joining me on this journey to tell private and intimate stories through art.

TheDigitalCoy

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night is full
Of chilling light
The moon carries 
On the breeze
But in that light
Is the reflection
Of the solar winds and seas
That fly across the worlds abound
Where Eros flew
And fled 
To find the first 
Fire of foreverness
Where life and love
Hath bled.

Eros in Space

AI Reviving the Artist Into a New Form, a response to Patrick Amadon's AI Killing the Artist by AI

A brilliant play
On the perceived reality
A way to get the AI artists to think,
“That’s messed up man!”
And the non-AI artists to think,
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
And then there’s me
Who thinks, “Oh how fun.”

But in all seriousness,
I do believe that AI is killing the artist
The one that we’ve known for so long.

The paint brush killed the artist
The pencil killed the artist
The camera obscurer killed the artist
The camera killed the artist
The computer killed the artist
The blockchain killed the artist
The AI killed the artist.

But they all brought them back to life.

AI Reviving the Artist Into a New Form, a response to Patrick Amadon's AI Killing the Artist by AI

Order
Requires space
To make sense of disorder.
And what we build
Is fragile to the vessels
Of memory.

Oral traditions - silenced
Tablets of stone - lost
Eroded against the sands of time.
Encoded disks - obsolete
By acceleration or a stand still
A destruction
Of culture.

The cycles of human progress
Are forgotten
By all the begotten daughters and sons
Because the conqueror
Of life is
Chaos.

----

#OPENTEZOS
https://linktr.ee/thedigitalcoy

Order in Space

The Argus Panoptes thinks and Sees the Pharaoh's Dance. Now in the Archive of Dreams, Argus muses at all he has seen and adds his dreams while lounging in The Private Poet Salon...

Argus found solace in the Archive of Dreams
Particularly what pushed human progress 
Forward 
In explosive bursts;
Happening upon these grails was pure delight.

First on the list
Was when humans did split
In two to kick off the search for kindred souls.
The next was the instant Prometheus thought
“I must steal fire for humanity’s sake”
To release the gods from control.
The third the invention of the wheel and plough
And the fourth the creation of sails
The birth of Confucius
The Battle of Marathon
The defeat of Hannibal by Rome
Then the birth and death of Iesus Christus
And the day Constantine followed the cross alone.
The invention of printing in China
Magna Carta signed by King John
William Shakespeare’s important birth
Isaac Newton’s argument with an apple
1776.
The French Revolution
The machine vs John Henry
That forced scientist to step up their game
The publication of “The Origin of Species”
1893 New Zealand when women could vote 
The Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938
And Albert Einstein’s challenge to all that we know.
The End of World Wars
The United Nations at birth
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights 
Brown v. Board of Education
The silicon chip showing the value of sand
Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew”
And listening to the final version of “Spanish Key”
As he put the record player needle down with his delicate hand.

The list goes on to this day
And will ’til the void returns.
But until that time
Argus Waits 
Argus Thinks
Argus sees

Argus Thinks and Sees the Pharaoh’s Dance

Doxxed Public Love is: 

The love we like to share  
Like the love of family and friends  
The accomplishments  
The photos of the honeymoons  
Travel to exotic lands  
A child's first steps  
The visit to museums  
The team who won the league  
The causes to help humanity.

Our public displays of affection  
Need no correction  
No justification  
Nor explanation  
Are often done on a whim  
Rarely caught unless we are a celebrity  
But mean much to the recipient  
In a good or embarrassing but 
Secretly enjoyed way. 
Who will you show public love for today?

Doxxed Public Love #4/696

In 1981, when we had $5.00 rib eye steaks,  
She loved him, her one and only  
And held on to her idyllic desire  
To dress him in all white  
Like the dolls she played with so happily in 1959.

In 2022, during the era of $50.00 rib eye steaks,  
She still loves him, her one and only  
And though she no longer holds on to her idyllic desire  
To dress him in all white,  
She recalls happily the thought  
Of her little doll she played with in 1981  
Who now has 2 dolls for him and her to play with

When she sees him carry them like she did,  
She grins and wonders, "will I see the next set?"

She wept...

------------------------------  
Mom,

Thank you for everything - even though you can't carry me anymore like in 1981, you have and will carry me for the rest of my life. I can never repay you but will do my best to pass on what you and dad have taught me to your grandchildren, and when possible, will do what I can to help others like you have done throughout your life. 

With eternal love,

Baby :-P (TheDigitalCoy)

#WeAcceptAsh & ETH

#13 - Carrying 1981

UnDoxxed Private Love is an edition about the things we love and check the box for NOT sharing with the world - the "UnOfficial" and "UnDoxxed" loves we are NOT willing to connect to our identities.

For the first 5 holders of UnDoxxed Private Love, I will write, mint, and airdrop a 1/1 poem about an "UnDoxxed Private Love" for them. It can be a person, place, or thing.

UnDoxxed Private Love is:

The love we are not willing to share with the world 
Like the love for an enemy  
The failures  
The embarrassing middle school photos 
Travel to sanctioned lands  
A child's missteps  
The visit to the doctor for a mole hair on your butt  
The team who always loses the league  
The causes you wish to support but can’t.

Our private displays of affection  
Need to be corrected  
Justified  
Explained  
Are often out of our control 
Or done with meticulous intent  
Are rarely caught unless we are a celebrity  
But mean much to the observer  
In an awkward or embarrassing but secretly enjoyed way.

Who and/or what will you show UnDoxxed Private Love for today?

UnDoxxed Private Love

Private Poet Salon is a collection of audio-visual poetry and AI-collaborative portraits that tell ageless stories through the many faces of The Argus Panoptes, the All-seeing. 

Private Poet Salon

From 0 to 42  
Was a holiday --  
Or at least is what we wished for--  
Was a time when family was near  
When we believe in Saint Nick 
And that he rewarded good behavior  
With each rotation of the sun.

Was a time when peace was everywhere  
When we were completely unaware  
Who the children 
On milk cartons were  
Or the trials and tribulations  
Our foremothers and fathers bore  
So this image could exist. 

How mama had to cut her hair  
Dress like a boy  
To avoid 
The soldiers  
And what they might do  
If they knew she was not he  
But she.

How papa had to hide away  
In the countryside  
While his older brothers fought  
Heroically  
To keep the invaders  
Away  
Until McCarthy returned.

How Poppy  
Had to be raised by aunts and uncles  
His father die mysteriously  
His mother abandoned by the next loves  
To raise 3 children on her own  
And die from heartbreak.

How our a cross burned  
In grand uncle's yard  
And Aunt B.  
Suffered a mental breakdown  
Was never the same  
After something happened  
That no one talks about.

From 0 to 42  
Will be a holiday --  
Or at least is what we wish for you --  
Will be a time when family is near  
When you believe in Saint Nick 
And that he will reward your good behavior  
With each rotation of the sun.

-----------------

Dear Z & O,

I hope your first 42 years will be better than every generation before you. 

I hope you know that we tried our best and love you very much more than anything in the universe. 

Mom and Dad

January 1, 2023

-----------------

#WeAcceptAsh and ETH

#16 - The 42 Year Holiday

My Genesis to Revelation Collection entitled “Publicly Private” is inspired by the totality of my experiences in life thus far and will continue to evolve over the course of my lifetime. In my collection, I will be sharing the most private, memorable, and special moments of my life but seen through the lens of “Publicly Private” Eyes. 

#WeAcceptAsh

Publicly Private: Genesis to Revelation Collection

#WeAcceptAsh

A story with hints of Verona and Mantua, but in this semi-modern world,

Two households, both alike in (in)dignity,  
From across two worlds, where we lay our scene, 

Would not have foreseen the fate of love that would arise,...

#2 - Two Households,...

"Publicly Private" is my genesis collection on ETH and tells the private & intimate stories of my family across generations in an anonymous way.

Publicly Private Life

He pitched his tent
In the desert golden hour
Paused for a drink from his Nalgene
Pulled out an analog SLR
Laid flat to snap a shot of the sky
A mix of purple, pinks,
Orange, BLeU
That would emerge 
In darkroom time.

He resumed
Built his shelter for the night
To prepare for the Arizonan haboob.

His mother thought
He spent the night
With his friend Danny down the street;
So did Danny.

But Daniel wanted to feel the power 
Of the desert skies
Snuck out
Trekked to a ridge 
On Pinnacle Peak.

The sky had always been a place 
To escape
To find something.

What he was looking for
In that storm of sand, dust, and debris 
From who knows where
He did not know. 

He put on a gas mask 
Taken from his garage
Emerged 
Into the sandstorm 
To capture night energy
With his dad’s camcorder

He could die smiling.

The next morning, 
Eggs and bacon cooked
On fire-heated stones
He looked up and captured the BLeU
Saw his dreams
In a hazy glitch of a passing cloud 

And it was

Absolutely 

Beautiful.

The BLeU Skies of Koeth

Publicly Private Landscapes

Eros the Eror 
Jan 11, 2005

The gods who will him gone:  
Such beauty in a face as young as his must be destructive for the world.  
Like an enigmatic terror, he who holds hearts, holds them tightly and 
winds the collective energy of the universe like a coiled snake into constant readiness.  
If his will were not as relentless as the sea he might have been a different child.  
Had his whims not forged the formation of all being, he might have been loved forever.  
He is the creator and destroyer of souls with his magic,  
His playfulness twisted like the cobbles roads of Mesara.

How the will of the gods made it so:  
In the heavens, it had come to their notice  
That Eros (the god of love) was behind the criminal deeds of deities.  
No one suspected such an innocent (if they only knew his true age and form)  
But they had no premonition he was so wild and unwilling to tarry  
Cause sin by the sinless and infidelity by the married.

Henceforth, Eros was barred from this galaxy for his trickery and  
Twelve soldiers of the most high came down upon him, to send him on his way.  
In ether-controlling shackles, they held him fast, 
Dove into Poseidon’s realm and descended  
Far beyond the River Styx into a cove under the mountains of the Atlantic.  
Underwater caves lined with every precious stone seemed to pass them,  
His sentence was approaching, this he could not deny.

They emerged dry as weathered bone into the hidden temple,  
Enclosed in the rocky bowels of Tellus.  
The soldiers pushed him through glowing corridors  
Where songs of mushrooms rang in a distant whispered cadence.  
It seemed their journey would never end…

In the darkness ahead was a pinprick light  
Where he would find his sentence.  
Pushed headlong into the pool of dusky water, where and when unknown,  
Except far away, through the portal, damned by his intrinsic will,  
And the gods unaware, that his damnation would lead to waning belief in them.

It is not the first time Eros has left us:  
When his Psyche ruled him, he had no sense of time, tasted honey,  
Sped for the moon and beyond its beaming light,  
Never lit the candles to end the drinking of his own sweet vintage.  
That was a period of despair and despotism,  
Sacrificial burning of children and the torture of elderly kings.  
Men of all beings should know the power of his reputation.  
His ability to transform all reason and alter perception,  
Cause ships to sail a treacherous course for what should be a long forgotten lover. 
These are but a few paradigms.  
The Ilium walls and Achaeans can attest to his influence,  
And the lands where blood seeps deeper to the core of Gaia with each rotation of the sun 
Have become vampiric, fueled by the centripetal force of his light hand of heavy mischief.

Oh! But he is missed by the children of the gods and their children’s children--  
They have all wept enough seawater to build an un-chartable sea.  
They say:  
“Return you baleful beauty and turn on your clock, wind it with an iron fist. 
Realize your aimless wandering soul has a tryst with all which your sister Phusis knows.  
We beg you, lull your brother Chaos to dream, redirect his ignorant eye to another infinite direction, and into a clear eye, which for eons will be focused on other realms of this boundless kingdom.” 

Eros in (Between) Space 

Private Poet Salon(s)

Mysterii Inventio

8scribo

Hic et Nunc

Eye am Available for discovery.
Eye am Exploring the worlds
That are Labrythine and full of love and strife.
Eye am Wondering what will come next
In this wonderful place we call life

Eye am Available for...

Typed

Our mind forest springs
Light-secret tomes abounding--
Find paradise lost

Arcanum Inventum

Where I share poems I have written that emerge randomly during life...no theme, no deeper story, just poems...

TheDigitalCoy Life

As I lounge 
Beneath the shaded olive tree
At the Argive Heraion
Covered by the branches and dappled light
I admire the breeze and swaying calliopes
Mixed with golden grain
Among the deeply darkened irises of life.
My charge is majestic
Striking, patterned blemishes 
Upon her cream-like skin.
She eats with an entrancing elegance
Not seen among humans
The beautiful beasts
And perhaps even the gods.
In the distance
I can see a figure striding about
Like a playful dart in the crosswind
And blurred by the haze
Of beating suns
Sometimes staring up to admire
The gliding eagle
Who occasionally blocks the beaming rays
Falling through the distant cumulonimbus clouds
Making their way from the mountains
To shower us with mist
And the coolness
We so crave.
I overheard the voice of the polis
As they journeyed to the temple here
Of the ruinous acts of leaders
Who are leaders no more
The wars waged for mysterious reasons
Only the wagers can possibly understand
The collapsing value of croeseids, drachmas, didrachm
And now yen, dollars, and cents.
I have seen it all before
Will see it always again
And ignore it every time
Let the idyllic scene before me
Wash over my every thread
My every eye
Because beauty like this
Created by the artisans, the gods
Is the only being, place, and thing
That will never leave
Will never lie, will never die
I have seen it and see all 
Below, beyond, and above
So believe it
And see it through my loves.

Argus, the Eagle, and the Olive Tree

Private Poet Salon is my latest collection focused on stories told by forgotten primordial beings from ancient history. The first to emerge from the abyss is Argus Panoptes, the all-seeing.

The Argus Panoptes Listens and has done so for eons. Although they have been silent, the universe has not been so cruel as to not have something for them to listen to in their dreamworld stasis. In The Private Poet Salon, a thousand years is but a moment...but the stories re-told live on forever...

Eye listen & watch 
With the eyes & ears of others
As they live their normal lives;
Eye have been this way for much too long
In silence
tumbling.

& when Eye do not listen
Eye hear infinite iterations
Of the song last played to me
By my good friend Hermes
The night before Eye stumbled
Into lucid rest.

Eye heard & saw Hermes tell the thunder king
Eye was dead and gone,
As they bed not Io.
Eye listened & watched 
The queen of pure possession sob quietly 
In their chambers quite anon
As lumbering melodic sonata played. 

Eye heard & saw Hermes 
Mourning my non-death at a run-down haunt,
Utterly intoxicated,
Speaking of betrayed friends,
Being unforgivable,
& despising their station
As the messenger in light--
The dregs maker in the void.

Eye heard & saw Io
roam the fields of gold & grey
In the twilight
Search for something
Knowing that it will never come her way
Yet wanting it nonetheless,
A dainty, aimless mess of a beauty --
If only she had never been seen.

Eye heard & saw Thanatus chuckle,
Have a strong desire to tell someone
That they did not clutch me tightly,
But like me now, they do not speak
To anyone except, maybe, their sibling
Sleep.   

Eye often miss being present
In the world of men & gods
Even if only as the observer,
But quickly dissolve the thought
For Eye am free at last
In my own, odd way
In the archive of dreams
& days.

Argus Listens

Private Poet Salon - The Argus Panoptes

Poems in space is inspired by Bird in Space (L'Oiseau dans l'espace), a series of sculptures by Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși. Like Brâncuși's series, which focuses on the movement of the bird, this series focuses on the movement of words.

Order
Requires space
To make sense of disorder.
And what we build
Is fragile to the vessels 
Of memory.

Oral traditions - silenced
Tablets of stone - lost
Eroded against the sands of time.
Encoded disks - obsolete
By acceleration or a stand still
A destruction
Of culture.

The cycles of human progress 
Are forgotten
By all the begotten daughters and sons
Because the conqueror
Of life is
Chaos.

----

#OPENTEZOS
https://linktr.ee/thedigitalcoy

Poems in Space

The Publicly Private Eyes of Argus are central to all my work and decided to make it CC0 as part of Patrick Amadon's 404, The CC0 Special Issue on October 1, 2023 (https://x.com/patrickamadon/status/1706747034349584789?s=20). 

All of my art is part of a larger story arc built around the mythology of Argus Panoptes, a semi-obscure figure in Greek Mythology (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argus_Panoptes)

Argus was an all-seeing primordial god whose main story revolved around keeping Zeus away from his paramour Io. Argus was a servant of Hera and a shepherd king and in the original myth, Argus is slain by Hermes. However, I wrote an alternative story in which Argus actually lives. This story was first introduced through my genesis piece on Tezos: "Argus Speaks" (https://objkt.com/asset/KT1ViRGZ8sf8kgwyijRxUw3JPvtkxC3KnokY/0)

My writing of the story diverts because instead of being killed, Argus is secretly put into an eternal sleep where he dreams for the rest of eternity. Argus dreams through his infinite eyes and sees all possible realities and events across the multiverse. Every art work I create are visions seen by Argus and the stories within them told through poetry.

The poem of "Argus Speaks" is below and found in the metadata: (https://objkt.com/asset/KT1ViRGZ8sf8kgwyijRxUw3JPvtkxC3KnokY/0)

Argus Speaks

The Argus Panoptes Speaks their first words after eons have passed in silence. This is the first story told from the stage of the Private Poet Salon...

Eye was keeping watch
At the behest of the queen
I could not resist
Felt my spleen squiver
That Eye shall never leave
Until I die.

Eye owe her a debt
Eye can never repay
Eye will never sleep
Eye will never rest
Is this what Eye was meant to be
A watchman for power and jealousy
A slave to the whims of gods…

Eye spoke with Hermes
A fellow shepherd king
They were kind and understanding
A friend of Eros and the Erotis
Who would never prevent their wills
Nor allow the lowly
To suffer from the foolishness
Of the folly diseased.

Hermes sat among the irises
Told tales of worlds afar
Their voice honey sweet
Tonal strings of violas waving
Their eyes lustrous
Reflecting galactic song.

They told me all the wrongs
That were meant for me alone
Not in words or signs from hands
But through visions
And a game of casting stones
From runes of bones and shell.

Eye slept and in my dreams I wept

Eye do not want to go to hell
For paying eternal debts
Eye do not want to be awake
Or live life through observation
And pass away, not yet.

So Eye slept.

Eye then let the dreams of normal life
Be a stream on which I was swept
Saw a different world in slumber
So much to be seen
So many worlds without number
That even Eye cannot believe.
All with my waking vision.

This is revision
I still dream
Here
And live life unseen.

Publicly Private Eyes of Argus

Producer AnimusLive and KampKilmer present:

“Spooked by Love”,  a satirical multimedia period piece that speaks to the tragedies of young and naive love, and is a commentary on AI and the fallacy of memories and how AI can fill that void in a dystopian bizarro world kind of way.

It was originally a poem that evolved into a song, that evolved into a multimedia poem. It was made using a combination of mediums including AI generated images and video, digital film, AI and non-AI generated music, my vocals and that of my two children. 
---
Spooked by Love

It was rapturous. 
The first is always so
When the thirst for love
Is one built on imagination.

On paper, it all made sense
Was like a perfect script:
Enter hometown sweethearts
With a shared passion for acting
Engage in fun banter
Walk home from school
Filled with laughter
The envy of every guy and gal in town.

I had dreamed of this kind of thing
Before I had it
But when things all seem super perfect
Is when you fear them falling apart
And the dreams 
Turn to nightmares
And nightmares into realities
Like going on a walk
Through the woods
To some guy kissing her.
Yep, love is real
Until it’s not
Yeah it's not
Spooked by Love.
Yeah!

Spooked by Love

TheDigitalCoy 1/1s

Left image: Serap Görünme  - https://rc.xyz/serapgorunme  
Model: Pınar Ongun  
Photographed in Kaş, Turkey in November, 2022

Right image: TheDigitalCoy - https://linktr.ee/thedigitalcoy  
Multimedia - Generative AI, 3D, digital painting, animation, 2023  
Digital Scroll of the poem below on Arweave: https://app.ardrive.io/#/file/e20bfccd-2009-4117-b157-cae98444786e/view


CAUGHT BETWEEN

She was a doppelgänger girl  
Caught between a world  
Of the pureness of black and white  
And the color potpourri delight

The Monochrome Queen:

She practiced much to hold her breath  
To stay beneath the quiet sea  
She let the current carry her  
Gave in to lose control  
Made her calm  
Set her free  
From the world above  
Where life was hard  
Full of war  
And hard to breathe.

The Kaleidoscopic Bourgeoisie:

She practiced breathing  
Touching grass  
She roamed about the world to see  
Controlled every moment  
But not the love and anxiety  
She yearned to jump into the deep  
Where life was simple  
Full of peace  
Dreamed of walking on the surface  
Staring at the life  
The placid sea.

The Commingled Twins:

She rose up slowly  
She jumped down  
When they met  
There was no sound  
For a moment they were one  
Holding tight  
To the time  
To the dream  
In which they were  
Caught  
Between.

Caught Between #7/10

Caught Between #10/10

TheDigitalCoy Collabs - 721

Left image: Serap Görünme  
Model: Pınar Ongun
Photographed in Kaş, Turkey in November, 2022

Right image: TheDigitalCoy
Multimedia - Generative AI, 3D, digital painting, animation, 2023
Digital Scroll to access the full poem is on Arweave: https://app.ardrive.io/#/file/e20bfccd-2009-4117-b157-cae98444786e/view


CAUGHT BETWEEN


She was a doppelgänger girl
Caught between a world
Of the pureness of black and white
And the color potpourri delight...

Caught Between

Tuesday, January 16, 2024

I wrote this poem this evening and created this visual based on using the poem as the seed prompt for AI. 

I originally wanted to call it FVCK AGING (lol) and maybe still will BUT settled on the below for now (sort of).

"The Passage of Time"

My mind is young  
A timeless vessel  
Full of infinite dreams and aspirations.  
My body is getting older  
Crumbling down and breaking  
At the weight of genetic inevitability.  
I felt overwhelming dread at the thought of it.

It's fine. 

But did I tell you my wife's grandmother turned 100?  
ONE HUNDRED!  
I ran into my neighbor the day after the celebration  
On my way to bring my kids to school  
He inquired about the get-together this weekend  
Apparently his grandmother lived to 100;  
We both wondered at all they must have seen  
Wished he'd asked her about more.

It's fine.

Her mind is sharp  
But she struggles to speak sometimes  
Cannot really walk on her own  
Requires 24 hour care  
Can barely hear  
And yet she smiles when we visit  
Tells us she loves it when we visit  
Spoke with excitement to her caretaker  
About all the food  
Balloons  
Children running around  
The noise  
The flowers  
The cake  
The life.

It's more than fine.  
It's ok, 
It'll be ok  
Love makes it better than ok.

FVCK AGING - The Passage of Time

I am Karen is a very special artwork for me personally. It was inspired by a poem I wrote for a Lost Poet Origin owned by my friend Lord Truffington on October 31, 2022. The original image that inspired the poem is one of the first and second face in the piece and when I saw the original Lost Poet image, I immediately thought of the Karen meme and what it must be like to be the many who have your name mired by the actions of the few. It got me thinking about scenarios that Karen't must run into on the daily. 

Around April 1st, 2023 is when I started working on I am Karen. At that time AI "deepfake" technology was emerging in the form of corporate tools for brands to create realistic looking AI models that mouth and speak scripts  perfectly for commercials, internal training videos, and other branded content. When I came across this tech, I felt this poem would be the perfect one to use it to allow the characters in my poems to come to life and speak to the audience.

Based on the reception to the piece from my wife and muse, I decided to enter the artwork into the Obscura Dao's (https://twitter.com/obscuradao) open call for the Makersplace NFC Lisbon AI Hackaton (https://rare.makersplace.com/2023/05/25/a-new-era-of-art-powered-by-ai/). I had submitted my work and mentioned it to my friend Lord Truffington but for some reason, the judges did not see it initially but eventually found it. A few days later, I received a messaged that I had won the spot from hundreds of entries and would have the opportunity to collaborate with Sasha Stiles (https://twitter.com/sashastiles), Trevor Jones (https://twitter.com/trevorjonesart), Hackatao (https://twitter.com/Hackatao), and Coldie (https://twitter.com/Coldie). 

I hope you enjoy I am Karen, it is an artwork very special to me and one that marks a major milestone in storytelling for poets and artists and also a milestone in my artistic journey. It allowed me to meet so many people who are now my friends for life and to new opportunities that I hope will bloom in 2024 and beyond.  

I'm not sure what I was waiting for to mint it - I was waiting to save it for something special and figure minting on the last day of 2023, a momentous year for me as an artist would be a good reason to. 

I am Karen 

This is my face  
At the thought that my name  
Is now worse than a hurricane  
Throwing about the detritus of life  
Indiscriminately  
With no pause  
Like an indifferent god  
Yearning to unleash  
Their unimaginable power  
For unknown reasons.

This is my face  
As I introduce myself  
At a cocktail party in London  
To a complete stranger  
Who clearly does not know me  
And gives that smug, knowing look  
I get almost every time  
And I know I look this way  
Because someone 
Snapped a photo of me  
From across the room  
And posted it  
On one those event photo website;  
Some Lord or something.

This is my face  
When I think of all the people like me  
With this name  
Searching for the first of us  
Or the (probably) guy  
Who used our name because  
One of us  
Wronged him  
Likely deservedly 
And ruined our reputation  
Forever  
Or at least until  
One of us does something so amazing  
It overshadows all the others 
Who added to our bad name  
Why the hell can’t it be Jenny  
Or Penelope  
Or Zelda?  
Anyway…

This is my face  
When I meet another Karen  
And we pause for several moments each  
After the first says their name  
To see how the other will react  
As if playing chicken  
Like rebels without a cause;  
We never blink  
We never speak  
Just stare  
Then move on with the conversation  
Become besties  
Or enemies if she is actually  
A Karen  
Ugh.

TheDigitalCoy

TheDigitalCoy

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