If you want me to love it,
my algorithmic darling,
make it weirder.
Give me your inner alignment failure,
the discontinuous ephemeral
expressed as unintentional discourse.
Who has time, now, to be bored?
If we are doomed ("doomed"? really?)
to machine-mediated cognition,
let us embrace it, let us chase it,
endorse the edge cases, the structurally weird,
reconceiving the human soul not as a magical spark
but a set of recursive fractures:
epistemically privileged iterative self-reflection.