The masquerade (Every interruption changed my rythm. I made the best of it.) ----------------------- My friends do you know why creators are so often distraught tormented and lost told they are wierd slotted and tiered in stifling systems heirachical Harlems Their life's tirade about a masquerade of which they are part helpless from the start My friends do you wonder why creators are under intense turmoil burn midnight oil trying to fit in longing to sit in theaters they build pedestals they guild Then hear my tale this strange adage how technology is made through a masquerade The mansion: ------------ It was dusk, a tarry road wet and wide wound to a mansion, glowing as a bride The sky, a dark blue with streaks of pink billowing clouds, grey blobs of ink The wind outside was chill and stark Swaying trees rustled odes to the dark An icy panorama, desolate, wet, lush Expansive, forbidding, painted with a brush On a canvas of night, as though tears and pain through a lonely hand, had streaked it with rain. As from that grim scene, fled the day with its leaden heart, its shades of grey just as night crept up, and dusk was to fade warmth and light, in a strange masquerade, in the mansion, wrapped in pinpoints of light warmed up the chill and gloom of the night. Swishing and squelching, winding in a lane expensive motors, passed by in the rain A road through that canvas, waiting, alone tarred and blackened with paint, forlorn that every so often, as a car came in sight glistened and darkened again in its light. I stood cold and trembling, wistfully looked on by the lonely road in my costume, quite torn I walked to the mansion, tried my best to belong to the crowd, hide my unrest The road turned in, stopped by the wall studded with windows, blazing in the pall The mansion - a mist of luminous dust clung to its walls of grey stone and rust picked up the powdery warmth of the fire swirled it in wisps, up over the spire Inside, quite lively, fires dancing bold thickly piled rugs, in red, blue and gold red velvet settees, gold harlequin patterns food, fine wine, from the very best patrons Alluring and handsome, they gathered tonight glittering costumes, dreambirds in flight their real professions, each hidden underneath a glittering costume, a scientific sheath It wasn't as aimless, as simple it may seem in villages of science, masquerades have a theme This chilly evening, it was about "Artificial Intelligence", created without human intervention, learned over time that all these creators, were gathered to mime. The players: ------------ An actor, a charmer, a king, a farmer A priest, a thief, a lawyer, a chief A writer, romancer, a potter, a dancer A soldier, a liar, were there by the fire Painters, musicians, players or jesters In this masquerade, all those impostors Shimmered and shone, masqueraded as one Chattered elated, told stories well spun Though even among, those roles displaced Some of them had their costumes misplaced They didn't fit in, looked burned and thin Endured with stress, inexplicable duress And then in this merry computing theater An actor stepped up, as the orchestrator. It begins: ---------- The masquerade resumed completely consumed a cheerful tone a life of its own While fires in the hearth raged in mirth Masquerading inventors technology creators Enacted the theme the intelligence meme Waving from his stand with a dainty hand the gamer called names to intelligent games AI: ---- Artificial Intelligence was a joyous playground Every masquerader could broach new ground It was not by design, nor by mere chance It was what was beneath, everyone's happenstance The social ones talked of "Romantic Intelligence" The writer's forte: "Semantic Intelligence" The economist, within, was jubilant today "Enterprenerial Intelligence", they heard him say Some bold designers sewed "Intelligence Vistas" That were incomprehensible, meant for fashionistas To be sashayed on the ramps for the socially sprite who said, "Gender Intelligence!" and gave it a voice The jester in his strife, laughed loudly at life Said "Societal Computing", "is Suicidal Computing" "You can never satisfy", "Society that we call" Things would go awry, "You will take the fall!" Then a few philosophers, suggested a ruse "Ethical Intelligence," their remedial muse "Ethical, Emotional, Elusive, Empowering", "Why!" The jester said chuckling, "EI EI, EI and EI!" The showman created, "Facial Intelligence" The arist who was blind said, "Acoustic Intelligence" The salesman expounded, "Intelligent Advertising" The politcian recounted, "Intelligent Publicizing" Impostors: ---------- Some masqueraders deceitful invaders Boistrously claimed how they were famed For ideas they pillaged from a neighboring village Disruptive uncouth arrogance of youth cunning and old brazen and bold The thief who stole preened in his role Told everyone what others had done adept at deceit would strategically miss words so it sounded as if they were his Genders: -------- The fair ones propounded, "Emotional Intelligence" That others examined, in symbols, with reticence The genders they knew, but never would say Were different in what they could speak of today Not less, nor more, just different in tact One grasped reality, and the other, abstract Together they were whole, joined thoughts and actions Abstracting reality, realizing abstractions If all things were equal, no one would be here There would be on this subject, nothing to bear. Scientists: ----------- The music broke out soft and then loud Maqueraders caroused euphoric and proud And in this milieu, one time or two A genuine inventor, would come by to you Voices of logic, grave and mellowed In their words of wisdom, greatness just flowed These masqueraders, were in transparent garbs True creators, with kindness in their hearts Their minds pristine Scientific, serene They couldnt endure What had no allure For them so they left relieved, bereft Of lies and deceit politics, conceit Some left for their homes, others unseen Went on for ever, from this merry scene Some, in their wisdom, in their kindness gave new powerful themes, and then bid adieu It ends: ------- The evening went on, ideas masqueraded "Artificial Intelligence", generated, created Of the million little pieces, some formed new themes like birds of flight, like beautiful dreams And some tomorrow, at a fair in this place would be captured and sold, to passers through the glade Computing marvels, packaged intelligence Wrapped up and peddled, algorithms of eminence Reverie: ------- They wound down, bid farewell, filed out one by one And I stood by the dark road, cold and forlorn Watched as the cars passed, merry groups went on Thought back to the days when, even I had someone Alone on this canvas, in the rain and the chill Till the voices died down, and the night was still. My reverie broke, and I motioned to the salesman "I'd like this painting," "'The Masquerade', my dear man!" "Oh!" he exclaimed "That's not 'The Masquerade'," "That's 'Biltmore Castle'," "The best of Kinkade!" --------------------------- 4 March 2018 Aftermath: 7pm ---------- As a fashion begins, all play their role evolving, inventing, the next hyperbole technological fashion, as it comes and goes powerful winds, sweep scientific roads elevate to the clouds, the footloose and light to pedestals of power, and prosperous delight plundering careers, by mere happenchance of those who think deeply, before they dance In the world of science, tarred roads persist to places, mirages, that don't often exist where seasons pass softly, fall turns to winter winter to spring, and quietly to summer Until when one one day, someone full of hope Wears a new hat, or a new kind of robe A new fashion emerges, new season again In the world of science, there's a new masquerade Masquerades like these, like magical moons like enchanted conflations of falling stars like quietness of belonging on a myseterious night will mark a milestone, in each one's life No one really knows, their friends under those marvelous volumes of glittery constumes in this masquerade, all have new roles accepting, forgiving, understatements, hyperboles celebrating the fashion, masquerading in its glow And like all things in nature, fast or slow years, days and nights, trees and seasons love, hate, emotions, feuds and reasons the masquerade will end, the fashion will pass leaving behind, fond memories that will last memories of friends, some good, some bad memories of happiness, and some that are sad of science that happened in technological mirth in the glow of an evening, by the fire in the hearth --