20.0c

an engineering rush (i)

Dylan Harris

20.0c

an engineering rush (i)

Dylan Harris

Potato Press

Some of these poems have appeared in Never Bury Poetry.

by Dylan Harris

4 anticipating the metaverse, 3 nation six dog, 2 discard

chapbooks

20.0: s chew, r dye-de-ho, q antwerp, p tension nitro ego, o church is dangerous vital, n tin rush, m the A rush, l an engineering rush (ii), k Miss Demeanour, j flock state, i be infinity, h Namings, g nation six dog, f uncivil law, e dead write, d chase chase, c an engineering rush (i), b a much for we, a The Joy Of Tax

19.9: c Inn, b Swoop, a An Ode To The A14

19.8: c Rose, b Hymnen, a Darmstadt

Copyright © 1985-2007, Dylan Harris

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Published by Potato Press

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http://dylanharris.org/

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(Specify “20.0c” in the subject line of any email)

Recitals of some of these poems may be found online

an engineering rush (i)

new scientist

a song so dire

the argument

another bitch

homework

hymnen

recreated arts

the game

oh gods

rushed off

unanswering

This poem was inspired by Nick Bostrom's Simulation Argument.

http://www.simulation-argument.com/

an engineering rush (i)

new scientist

we’re living in a computer simulation

seriously

read new scientist

week 4

July 2K2

near the PM’s paternal piece

the week he appointed Canterbury Rowan

the programmers—simulators—

can manoeuvre everything

in this simulated world

they’ll be gods

and glancing round this planet

ours clearly have surreal humour

so i expect hints

they wouldn’t waste complexity

to simulate something simple

perhaps the whole universe is fake

maybe they’re evolving multiverses

(think of kaku’s hyperspace)

even megaverses

if the hint’s linguistic

I’d expect some common word

saying what the gods desire

consider those concepts

universe multiverse megaverse

spot the common part

yes

the gods are seeking verse

failed simulations get deleted

that’s in no–one’s interest

so we whom the gods desire to write

must write

everyone else must help

fund poets to strut their scans

grants for ranting poesie

declare the bard the verse messiah

free poets’ holidays in xanadu

nubile young women do your duty

save your life save the world

throw yourselves under the nearest poet

especially me

toyboys to the girlie poets

everybody save yourselves

be good to us

be very very good

a song so dire

… it lives down to its billing …

pretty girl

now’s your time

muse a poet

rhyme a line

with a nic–nac padiwac

give a dog a bone

ruff rough wruff ruff rough wruff rough

pretty girl

do your bit

aid a poet

rhythm hit

with a nic–nac padiwac

give a dog a bone

all the girls are going down

pretty girl

duty calls

knickers down

play his balls

…I seem to have run out of rugbyness…

the argument

technology is accelerating

computing racing

in ten years

all PCs combined

will be as complex

as a conscious mind

in fifty years

a watch will tick that power

active clothes could wear

a hundred living minds

in a simulated world

if our race survives

and assuming we can build a self

(the arguments against

seem to me

like the reasons why

a man could never fly)

so

these machines are builded here

but

they might get banned

though would a ban apply

in all cultures

in all times

forever

and would the ban

be utterly obeyed

in all cultures

in all times

forever

so

somewhere somewhen

people run the programs

containing conscious minds

living lives in simulated worlds

historians can like to argue over port

they’ll recreate and reconstruct

to see what wrecks events

they will

kids can like to play dread games

set in simple hubris worlds

they’ll try a life back then

they will

penmen can like to matchstick–make

a real or some invented place

they’ll entice their ‘readers’ in

they will

business prefers the cheap design

let the simulants run the risks

then simply nick the best result

they will

and education

wow

what this can do for education

now

today’s machines are not enough

to run a conscious mind

but their exuberant quantity

one billion made

will be as zero

tomorrow

and even if

a hundred years from now

the computer count remains the same

and even if

a hundred years from now

their users do no more than us

then a billion games will run

with a billion best opponents

in a billion conscious hosting worlds

and if the human race

lasts a billion years

there’ll be just the one true history

and a billion billion simulations

that’s quite a lot to one

that we’re alive

in a simulated world

if the race survived

the next one hundred years

another bitch

this adds another source of luck

far beyond control

to snatch a random death

an impacting asteroid

a local supernova

a wandering black hole

colliding branes

some other dreadful event

we’ve yet to comprehend

personal mischance

a transport crash

a falling tree

a falling tortoise

earthquakes tempests monsoons

judicial injustice

lord pisswater running england

murder mayhem war

disease age

now we add

winding up a simulator

just get on with life

the simulators

archetypal as ancient gods

are just another bitch

by which to die

homework

i hate that divinity master

with his keep still

and his don’t mess about

and his why can’t you behave

if he weren’t so boring

if he made lessons fun

i’d listen

and he keeps on about

his holy prince

who saved the church

that dull prince

who never won a battle

who only ever killed

some pigs

and now i’ve got

this really boring homework

to make a boring change

to boring history

well i’m fed up

and i don’t like him

and i don’t like his holy prince

the perfect boyhood

the perfect engagement

the perfect life

so i’ll make that prince a king

and he has three wives

and he divorces one

and he kills one

no

he’ll have six

and he divorces two

and he kills two

and he dies of syphilis

and the pope still makes him

defender of the faith

run computer run

ooh

the king’s pet greek

died from a flying tortoise

before he wrote

‘the prince’

which is now a nasty work

written by some roman

'cept rome's not there

hrmph!

that divinity master’s still there

and he’s got fat

and he teaches economics

and he goes on about

some prime minister

a tin lady

boring

hymnen

perhaps “hymnen”

has found some costly way

to navigate the multiverse

and needs to find a technoverse

to leap across the branes

or any other reason why

it finds it must investigate

the interstellar avenues

to simulate each universe

to find a way back home

but

if incomprehensible–to–us technology

such as hymnen

simulates our universe

this will include our human race

and all its future history

which simply means our simulators

could themselves be simulants

to understand them

considering some non–human magic technology

is pointless

recreated arts

if we ever build these

mighty civilisation simulating computers

we’ll recreate an ancient greece

see the poetry of Σαπφω* form

other lost works

other great times

bardic celtic britain

the whole pre–writing world

the start of language

excitement discovery

rushing like fumes from a revving car

we’ll create new paradigms of history

what would homer have sung if troy had won

what would shakespeare have played if europe was turkish

what would you be reading if…

*Psappha (Sappho), subject to my ignorant attempt at ancient Greek

the game

in our time

almost every simulation

is not for education

but computer games

if play goes bad

players restart

since we’re here

things are going right

and the nasty chances

haven’t happen

because the player

restarted

or groups of players

war along the entangled net

to the winner’s declaration

Hawking “The Universe In A Nutshell” might say

if i could find my blasted copy

all things can happen do happen

there’s a parallel universe

bolivia wins all the olympic gold

but when we play computer games

or read about a novel’s star

i swear the characters

the ones we’re meant to play or read

are archetypal elemental

how the ancient greeks

made their gods

the players have adventures

starting with a simple task

gaining more complexity

in some fake simplicity

of fighting dread evil

at this ephmera

abu nidal

died in violence

a day or so ago

he

bin laden's godfather of masturbation

i guess the game is to catch bin laden

he’ll have to continue his evil

knowing he’s doomed to defeat

because those playing the game and chasing him

can always restart any section he wins

the immediate gods

the old greek gods the hindu gods the shinto gods

the archetypal gods the players

will slaughter him

and end our stage of the game

and others will play the game again

and he’ll fail again

and die again

and be played again

reincarnation

a life of evil ever repeated

never finding end

we the irrelevant extras

the artificial witnesses

we’ll come and go

according to the game’s design

in reruns replays

sometimes in

sometimes out

eventually nirvana

bin laden

his no choice to be the evil star

he’ll find nothing

it seems

the buddha

was right

oh gods

computer games

the designers

create the world

write the storyline

revise revise

and vanish

the players

run the script

save restart

slaughter the guilty

whatever

our immediate gods

are utterly powerful

and uninvolved

or taking part

might stop the universe

and bugger off

the ancient greeks were right

again

and the ancient jews

their old god our old god

the still alive but dying god

metas up a world

to be the simulators’ god

if that’s what they decide

the message remains

the mechanism can be repeated

built

so what

and if you play a simulation game

where you’re an active god

interfering answering

does this create an artificial world

with priests embarrassed

by fact

all the gods could well be real

theology’s got more complex

rushed off

i’m down

i can’t write in digital oil and build

my engineering rush has rushed off

i’m a snow scene bauble

a bright glass ball to shake for instant winter

i was sitting on a table top

the table vanished

i’m to the floor and smashed

i’m in a dark club

a pretty girl has eyes tangled mine

some bastard turns the lights full on

she realises i’m twice her age

thirty eight times as ugly

the rush she feels in her loins

a need to piss

ah well

the rush may have rushed off

but from such things

comes the great technologies

not this time

unanswering

i can’t help but wonder

you see i foresee

the cry of fundamentalist fools

“thou shalt not see more than me

nor act upon it”

i see life not the mobile flesh

but consciousness and be

clouds of quantum chance

digital virtual data

love that gentle yields

what the geeks threw up tomorrow

to run computer simulations

with consciousness contained

in minds to ask the questions

we howl at gods

when love is bitch dead

but we're the ones to answer

what else than silence is platitude

if the great religious thinkers

have only consistent wishful thoughts

and the ethically whimpering

can only let their fear reply

by killing those with open eyes

then what can a comfortable poet

sitting in a bright english house

on a sunny august dawn

offer

10.3.7

20.0c an engineering rush

An Engineering Rush, a poem from Dylan Harris

20.0c Engineering Rush Dylan Harris poetry poems

(c) 2002-2004 Dylan Harris. This publication is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike Licence 2.0.
See dylanharris.org for details.

2003-12-14T19:12:26