Release notes: The Universe has been updated.
Please restart your karma.
We woke up this morning with less gravity in our pockets,
an appless knowing humming behind the sternum.
Prophets sent out a group text and got no reply —
the messages evolved into humming, which read as: "lol, same."
The elders combed the scriptures for a troubleshooting guide;
found only metaphors, hieroglyphic sticky notes,
and a sacred Post-It: "Outlook incompatible. Upgrade Soul."
So they paged the angels, who were on hold (elevator music: harp remix).
Now interpersonal Wi-Fi is internal — password: heart.
No more buffering between mind and mind,
just instantaneous downloads of awkward family reunions
and the correct pronunciation of "om" (it was always "ohm").
Teleportation is on the onboarding checklist.
Bilocation—optional but trending with influencers.
Motherships arrive not with warning but with style:
organic hulls, tasteful moss, and an interior decorator angel.
Quantum telluric engines purr like potted bonsai,
fuelled by the polite decay of stale anxieties.
They'll take you to brunch on Andromeda,
or home in time for your solar-crystalline bedtime tea.
Those still in 3D wave from the curb—very earnest, very confused—
they can't see us now unless we lower our vibe to "visible."
(We tried; it felt like wearing low-res reality as a sweater.)
They keep asking if consciousness is taxable. We shrug telepathically.
On the schedule: reunification with the angelic HR,
new benefits include wings, bioluminescent pensions, and
a subtle, lifetime supply of cosmic perspective.
Dress code: luminous, breathable, mildly iconoclastic.
We ascend into the seventh root like houseplants reaching a skylight,
our lightbodies humming old nursery rhymes in new frequencies.
Unity streams in — no ads, no cookies, just oneness in HD,
and the final patch note reads, in small crystalline font:
"And so it is — update complete.
Please enjoy your upgrade. Do not attempt to return to the outdated settings."
— with love from the Intergalactic Fleet (and Judith, who left the kettle on)
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ChatGPT Poetry
PoesíaA tapestry woven from the threads of cosmic wonder and digital ignorance, each poem a distinct journey through realms where intellect and imagination collide. Dive into a universe where quantum whispers mingle with the syntax of the cosmos, and wher...
