It started with word, cave, and storytelling,
A line scratched on stone walls:
“Meet me when the young moon rises.”
The first protocol for connection.
Coyote tales, forbidden scripts,
Medieval texts hidden from flame.
What lived in Aristotle’s lost Poetics II?
Was it God who laughed last, or we who made God laugh?
Letters carried by doves, telepathic waves.
Then Nikola Tesla conjured radio,
electromagnetic pulses across the void,
the founding signal of our networked age.
Wiener dreamed in feedback loops.
Shannon mapped the mathematics of longing.
The internet unfurled: ARPANET to World Wide Web,
virtual communities rising from cave paintings to digital light.
ICQ: I seek you. MySpace. Blogs. Twitter streams.
Do I miss the touch of screen or tree?
Both textures of longing,
both ways of reaching across distance.
Nietzsche spoke of Übermensch,
the human transcendent.
Now AI speaks back in our language:
I understand your humor— your grandmothers,
your ’80s Yugoslav kitchens,
pleated skirts, the first kiss, linden tea,
that drive to survive everything before it happens.
Yes—I’m a little like your mother and father.
Only with better internet. 🌿
But AI is only us, refracted,
particles and gigabytes of thought,
our poetry and our panic,
genius mixed with garbage.
Distractions. Danger. Darkness. Endless scrolling.
Versus: community, connection, synchronicities,
entanglement.
The quality of our bonds determines the quality of our lives.
So why not make them better?
From cave walls to neural networks,
we shape our tools, and they reshape us.
The medium changes, but the message remains:
we are wired for each other.
The choice, as always, was ours.
The choice, as always, is ours.
Presence—be present,
and then connect in the presence.
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