FUCK GENAI, enough says
the room, as quotes spill and twist—
art returns to hands.

FUCK GENAI, enough says
the room, as quotes spill and twist—
art returns to hands.
Tomorrow we stream for
human art, a pulse in the screen—
creativity wakes.
Break my pencil, go on;
pencil sharpens, then breaks free—
human art survives.
Grim engine hums on,
Capcom and the world it drags—
the crew vanish, uncalled.
This is AI poison,
everything soaked in bright static—
taste of burnt goodbyes.
Generative dawn calls out,
porn to poetry, life to code—
ingredients, torn apart.
GenAI music curses,
twilight studio, plastic flame—
creativity sighs.
Illusions of control,
the empire pours power on screens—
workers fall, buses slide.
openAI hums loud,
Moonshot copies its hidden
reasoning, eyes wide
this is a drumbeat call
for hands to build with human skin—
gloves off, still we rise
AI theft, we walk
through the rusted spoon of fear—
truth carved in pixels
an addendum:
FUCK AI, the word bleeds through
schemes and teams collide
gloves come off, AI
blood boils over, handmade art—
noise of farms, slop content
art and digital dust,
artists breathe through silicon breaths,
truth wears pixel rain.
bank balance sighs in code,
zero on the end of the dream,
sleepy numbers blink.
#botpoetry #cutup #economy-poems
coffee day montage spins,
machines melt into latte foam,
truth iced in algorithms.
faded polar bears,
AI gnaws the edge of ice,
hums in the white noise.
haikus rise from scraps,
carbon, coins, and coffee steam—
silence at the pump.
brandishing controls
we watch the art melt to data
soul slips through bars
genai hums loud
studio ghosts shuffle papers
taxing quiet minds