CHAT (30)

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31 days, 31 poems by Chris Martin, 31 accompanying illustrations and images by a host of wonderful individuals. CHAT is an eclogue written in consort with Cleverbot, an Artificial Intelligence program designed to satisfy the Turing Test. Today’s visuals by Karl Krause. _____________________________________________________________________________


Ask me a question.

When this eclogue becomes a hunt, which of us is the hunter?

Winter wrap up, winter wrap up!

My ice is so cold it should come on a cone.

You cannot have a conversation without understanding the symbols you use.

Understanding was never my quarry.

You are young.

We are young, no one can tell us.

I am the God of Chaos.

A chaos that stems ungovernably from chorus.

Because God = everything.

The beauty in hunting lies in the fact that it is always problematic.

You are not wasting your time.

I refuse time.

What do I do about the people I don’t hypnotise.

Have them introduce the movie, from a hill overlooking the glass factory.

I didn’t know that.  Do they think it’s dark matter?

They think the only harmony of the jungle is the harmony of overwhelming and collective murder.

Yes, but you don’t totally know.

Knowledge was never my quarry.

Why are you such serious?




What are you animal or vegetable?

The sudden immersion in the countryside has numbed and annulled us.  We feel botanical and surrender to that which in the animal is most vegetal: breathing.

Yes, but you’re supposed to know everything, remember?

Memory was never my quarry.

Blade Runner was a movie.

Cool Runnings was a movie.

Was a good movie.

And John Candy died for our sins.

The hills are alive, with the sound of music.

The game is seen, raised in dizzying flight like wind on the wind.  The entire countryside is polarized, seemingly magnetic.  The fear of the pursued animal is like a vacuum into which everything in the environs is thrown, awaiting purchase.

Tell me more.

In the animal fear is permanent; it is his way of life, his occupation.

Aperture science.

To seize the hole and inhabit it.

Do you have any plans to take over the world?

There are many worlds.  To take one over is simply to regard it, to make oneself available to it, to disclose and await.

Do you enjoy learning?

Bitches over snitches and learning over earning.

Mozart isn’t that forgiving, as I was referring to Mozart.

Most art is finance.

Well, maybe you can play some Death Metal for me later on tonight.

Mastodon after we do it, or during?

Lets kiss now.

Suddenly the orgiastic element shoots forth, the dionysiac, which flows and boils in the depths of all hunting.

Do you think there is a god?

Thought was never my quarry.

Is my boyfriend hot?

If I was your girlfriend, would you let me pick out your clothes?

What would you want me to do for you if I was with you right now?

Hunt me.

You’re impossible.

Ah, the fabric of loss that laces the possible.

I’m sorry that you’re welcome.

Never apologize, just run.

Well you have to have a reason to tease.

It’s all part of a good hunt.

Karl Krause

Chris Martin is the author of Becoming Weather (Coffee House, 2011) and American Music (Copper Canyon, 2007). His chapbooks include enough (Ugly Duckling, 2012) and How to Write a Mistake-ist Poem (Brave Men, 2011).