In Which All The Talking Heads Get Under My Skin

You know what I mean by talking heads: those people you see on television “news” programs that shout over one another. The panel of “distinguished guests” that act and speak in some of the least distinguished ways possible, ways that should get them banished from any self-respecting guest list.

Of course, now we can see them online if we missed the argument on live television. Or hear them on the radio. It shouldn’t be called talk radio anymore. It should be called shout radio.

After a while, it gets on my nerves. I feel as if I am living in that Max Headroom world. Are you old enough to remember Max Headroom? Early 1980’s? No?

That’s OK, you can google it online. Videos are plentiful. They are all so painful to watch I couldn’t even choose one to embed. Here (or click on the photo above) is the Wikipedia link instead.

It’s cute how we used to think AI was so funny and cutting edge.

Now I get AI phone solicitations that pretend to be human. They sound almost human. Just close enough to be off by a hair from the real thing. Plus, they pretend to be my friend, which is creepy.

Recently, I inadvertently picked up the ringing phone without thinking about it. I said Hello. The not-quite-neighbor-girl voice said “You guys are so hard to get a hold of, I’m so glad I caught you.” Then “she” fake-giggled. At which point I hung up.

As if the AI had feelings? As if I was fooled into thinking she was a real person? The only “true” part to that call is that we are hard to reach–because of calls like this. I only answer the phone by mistake. Leave me a message, computer-neighbor-girl. Your AI can talk to my AI.

The fake news guests are just as bad

Whether you think it is fake news, or think the guests are fake or faking, or think (or know) they are faking the act of conversation… It’s not good. It’s all shouting and screaming and insulting each other. And insulting my intelligence.

One traps another into a reaction, or waits to pounce on a particular point, or just shouts to be heard. There’s no actual questions or answers, and facts are remarkably thin on the ground.

It’s bad enough I have to sift through the actual fake-news to figure out what is real. I shouldn’t have to sift through an assault on my ears and brain in order to figure out what is actually being said, so I can then sift it for facts.

Sigh. What’s a poet to do? Take out her frustrations in a poem, you say? Well, yes. If you’re tired of the talking heads, here you go.

You Have a Head Made of a Computer Screen

and screamers on the screen wriggle
into your DNA and fly out your nose
to litter the driveway with tiny stones
thrown that will never prove a point
nor entice anyone debate-side

Your head is not a head lost loose in a box
but may no longer have brain matter
because like logic neurons are out of fashion
AI is exciting and anyway the screamers
have sucked you into their meta
world that thinks it’s real

You wander top-heavy among uncut
grass and sponge-moldy gardens
which do as they did for Alice
and hate you back to where you came from
which is not the moon
and also has no screamers

Grievous blossoms faded gold compete
with roasted dandelion roots for time not tea

If you enjoyed You Have a Head Made of a Computer Screen

You’ll find more of my poems on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print.  Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.

Comment below, if you would like to do so. (Please, no shouting).

Have a great week!