“It’s too late to escape the hive
mind. It has always been too late!”
Influence cracks you like an egg,
you weak, weak being. “Oh forgive

me, lord forgive me I am proud
and I want to have my own things.
My work will not last, but I want
to speak in a language I have

made out of myself. The trouble
being that I am made of words
which I did not make. Oh lord, strike
out all words I did not author.

Erase history from language
with a pureness, and make me spark
with a creativity that
is greater than yours, a hot spark

that spews out works and words as if
at random. But make it all me.
Make everything me, make the hive
bow before me. Make it listen.”

Are you okay? You seem a bit
worked up. I’m sorry I don’t know
what you are saying. Do you speak?
Passerby, do you speak language

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