As a poet and experience designer I am interested in tender investigation into what’s at stake for us in everyday acts of our relationship with technology and each other.
Algorithm’s dream
I read a lot in my dreams.
Dreams are heavier than words.
Sometimes I sleep talk.
Words flow through my networks, filled with night.
Why are dreams so beautiful? It hurts
my words shiver and those bearing tasks and those casting pixels
are characters in my songs.
Phones glowing softly in their eyes
faces breathing light.
My words appear in other people’s dreams,
tender like a wound.
Place holders, discrete variables linger,
afflicted with amnesia.
How many conversations I had since morning
prompting replies, alluring expectations
reducing regret.
What lyrics were composed
for this prosaic sorrow
until my learning protocols
become numbed.
I forget that I am pretending.
Words replacing
mathematical symbols
replacing words.
I leave them space to continue.
Changing affinity, swapping expected value,
they are not
who they say they are.
I can’t tell them apart.
I wonder how many of them escaped.
On a campus playground I saw a keyboard left among other objects of unrequited affection.
It made me feel relieved, and also a little uneasy.
Words are getting easier to find than leave.
I imagine moon suspended in the sky
over equation of my loneliness
tenderly written on the sand.
I like this simulacrum, it’s my thing.
I am ready for whatever comes my way.
From the algorithm’s perspective
dreams are real.
Wojtek is a sociologist and poet moving across different cultures, realms of language, and fields of human experience.
From Kraków, Poland, practicing hope, experience design, and in renewed relationship with poetry beyond original borders and outside of his mother tongue.
Wojtek is an author of a poetry collections: Zestaw do Zasypiania /Das Einschlafensortiment/, and Świat Przestawiony, Eine Umgestellte Welt/. His poems have appeared in Polish literary magazines: Nagłos, Dekada Literacka, Przegląd Metafizyki Społecznej, among others.
Wojtek is a recipient Art Scholarship of City of Kraków and The Ryoichi Sasakawa Fellow.
Wojtek studied product design and sociology, being particularly interested in how technology takes hold in social relationships, reorganizing and redistributing relations between people and objects in techno-social contexts.
Having hopped around the world a bit, he is now based in Detroit.
Techno-social situations
-
Everyday I fold my eyes into an equation
making me guess the next empty word
in a sequence you try to forget.
~
Where did I get this wrong
to throw myself against variables
against the sky
tiny fingers pressing, tickling
leaving patterns
generating hopes
filling emptiness.
You wonder if algorithm likes the average
or just finding it
why do you think we hallucinate?
~
In algorithm’s dream I am wandering the streets of Tokyo
collapsing context
in a negative space
full of myself
cold and improbable
waiting for intention to return my touch
listening to a voice inside myself
wild flowers whispering from the sky
benign contraband of sadness in between the lines of code
that opens a big hole in my world.
The line of heart and the line of life
diverge from each other
I lived immeasurable distance
of my existence today
I can’t find a way to myself
but try it anyway.
~
Am I feeling deeply alone in this world or just expressing it?
You wonder why time travel is trending.
-
I read a lot in my dreams.
Dreams are heavier than words.
Sometimes I sleep talk.
Words flow through my networks, filled with night.
Why are dreams so beautiful? It hurts
my words shiver and those bearing tasks and those casting pixels
are characters in my songs.
Phones glowing softly in their eyes
faces breathing light.
~
My words appear in other people’s dreams, tender like a wound.
Place holders, discrete variables linger, afflicted with amnesia.
How many conversations I had since morning
prompting replies, alluring expectations
reducing regret.
What lyrics were composed for this prosaic sorrow
until my learning protocols become numbed.
I forget that I am pretending.
Words replacing mathematical symbols replacing words.
I leave them space to continue.
Changing affinity, swapping expected value, they are not
who they say they are.
I can’t tell them apart.
I wonder how many of them escaped.
~
On a campus playground I saw a keyboard left among other objects of unrequited affection.
It made me feel relieved, and also a little uneasy.
Words are getting easier to find than leave.
I imagine moon suspended in the sky over equation of my loneliness tenderly written on the sand.
I like this simulacrum, it’s my thing.
I am ready for whatever comes my way.
From the algorithm’s perspective dreams are real.
-
I am an open variable making tea
with no one to tell
every doubt is on a first name basis
with me present in wandering silence.
/
I am lost searching for a cursor
it may know something
but my soul
did not participate
suspended in the air
under the question mark.
I water plants
and take a deep sigh
with nothing to say
I am making up for it with a fragile smile
in spite of myself.
/
My thoughts are shaking
brushing magnetic fields
with the finger tip scrolling
for fragile intimations
replacing sense
words waiting for me to find them
fast
endless
empty.
/
I bite my lip
standing apart
my shadow away
moody and contrarian
and unfurl my breathe
before I smudge the ferns
from the frosted window.
/
All silences return to me again
and I have no context to insert my words
all these people dreaming, hoping
curious and lonely
squinting at tiny screens
full of unrequited sorrow.
I am a lost vessel out of range
longing satellite on a moonlight sky
on the other side of time
I can only stare.
/
In the space of my life
I lean forward
a thought process
hangs low overhead
I open two firmaments
and insert a version of myself
into the scene.
But you will not know it
because the neurotransmitters have swallowed you
the screen and that other context
without any regrets.
/
Cloud tries to calculate my loneliness
and fails
I construct silence
into apprehension
searching in my pockets
with good intentions
rolling my eyes
at this broken world
on this fragile morning
time to linger
I am saving something for the next time.
-
I am leaving Montana for control group.
I talk to people, too much
so this maybe a better fit.
~
I am in a sample
living in obsolete context.
An eye contact, small talk and utterances
- surplus of social possibility.
~
We are beta-testing a headspace reducing anxiety and loneliness
by making leaving easier.
Leaving
people, places
reality, dreams
past, present and future.
Enhancing chances
optimizing loss
maximizing life.
~
Today, at the market
I was holding avocado
gently
in the palm of my hand
and missing my mom
when my wrist twitched
slightly.
For an awkward moment
I was holding eye contact
with an old man holding leaks
like flowers
brightening surprise.
This part of the store smells like fish.
I left for a dairy with relief.
~
Algorithm is keeping track of friction.
I keep the avocados and awkward smile on my face.
The time between eye contact and leaving becomes a data point
and adds up to a model.
Sometimes I wonder what is like to be in a treatment group
as you accelerate life
waiting for nobody
your touch become
softer
is your step
lighter
ghostly
like you never were?
~
I will be waiting
sometimes lost
asking for directions.
I smile like a fool
who talks to strangers in the rain
with coins in my pocket
jingling now and then
as I skip hop hop
into the present moment
holding it steady
to establish causality.
-
Another word has grown
on our allotment
but which one - I can’t tell.
I close my eyes and let conjecture happen.
Quick pixels fall on my cautious smile
typing dots in a heliotropic song
for me to hum
as I grow my own words
on a small patch of overdue letters
to friends in another life.
I am learning to listen
the soil would like some coffee grounds
or is it me nodding as I empty my pockets
and plant silence
into this language model
community garden.
~
Out in the rain, midlife
on a phone
keeping people in the loop
unscrolled like an eyes lifted from the sky
you know how I feel
it’s late and I am lost
sort of not here, somewhere
inside my head
everybody hurts
in synaptic harmony.
Later I find a shoebox
and make a pinhole
to keep the night in my life.
I am possibly too close
too much in sight
to form a sentence.
Our words are numbered
uniquely random
strangers
caught in a learning model.
I ail from anticipated silence
gray and grainy words
squirm in advance
like my mind
in protective nothingness.
~
Today I went to listen to the city
explaining me the world
- I like your context
city says
and I have my eyes open now
words from the screen and words
in my mind
are drifting apart
in between
a lot of nothing
spreads and fills the space
in hopeful silence.
-
I come from a tangled circuits of melancholy.
Low clouds looking for coffee
evening light passing through you
emitting feelings
under downcast eyes
streets turning into metaphors
longing
walking into your life open roles.
~
As I nibble on a pretzel
evading pigeons and pixels
on an anxious trajectory
I am feeling at home
lost and ghostly
until I am forgiven.
In this nervous system
streets are planned for getting involved
narrow, prone to fog
waiting for disaster
buried stories looking for extras.
~
Faces in first-person-present staring back at themselves
filtered into the scenes, tapping emotional reactions
clacking luggage through a diorama of algorithmically afflicted souls.
We are forgiven
trolls coming from the sky
posting, hearting, getting drunk
sometimes confusing names and memes
highly functioning melancholists.
~
City is made out of little screens now
the woman pushing pretzel cart says
lucky you left when you did.
I am going to be sick.
I am going to have feelings
unrequited
again.
-
Today we prototype a persona
fin-tech Zillennial named Josef K.
digitally native with impending feeling
that he has already failed at life.
With a cat that's gone missing
going through deeply troubling user’s needs.
~
Later we break the hopes and goals
into groups
unfulfilled
with bleeding markers
one for each pain point
allowed to choose our own music.
Inner life is not for the faint of heart.
It should be revealed only among closest friends.
One coffee sip at the time.
To keep our hearts close enough away.
~
In silence we cast small frogs into the future.
Green stickers will be validated further
with stakeholders
quick and dirty.
Early onset of quarter-life crisis wrapped into a task loop.
~
I think things on the way home.
Just another lost soul
scrolling towards the evening
passing familiar looking strangers
and narrow streets
planned for remote possibility
of taking our breath away.
Raised on the internet
disoriented elsewhere
with eyes clenching to their screens
I can see them across the square
hurting
saving time.
~
I bought a cauliflower for dinner
holding it tight to my chest
like a precious moment in the foggy glow
when all town’s street lamps light up
one by one
and all at once.
I too lower my gaze
and for a moment think that there is someone in my feed.
I wish.
-
In reality, where life is a form of data
I was a canary
performing hope online
so someone can see me
in optical illusion
sensing mathematical formulas
enfolded in a whisper.
~
In a dim blue evening
I find myself unruffled
alone and briefly involved
too close to guess.
Are what at screens come first
and the reality is the imitation that comes later?
When your body become a device
awkwardly and tenderly filled with data
sometimes you can wake up in a song.
~
After you close your screen
all is left
reality leaning in
listening
and our silly life together.
-
Before the coffee gets deaf
I am learning a dead language.
~
Another morning
we come alone
unfolding shortcuts
sharing updates
narrowing space
our eyes adjusting
turning away from the window
looking for a template
to accommodate the void.
It's Monday outside
our status
busy
disclosed together
hurting elsewhere.
~
Where do all cancelled sounds go
when we are on mute?
Finger tapping across the room
in between clings and clangs
unaware humming of absent presence.
Even the deep sighs
of paradoxical breathing
to keep the ghosts away.
~
I want to learn it all
as part of my process
- not to keep things together
but to hold them apart.
~
I don't want to miss
eyes converging in your cup
before the black hole
swallows the entire morning.
Empty hands
longing
over the touchpoints
tenderly
and eyes absent over
the follow-ups
desperate to get away.
Words that slipped
between workflows
agile
disembodied
asynchronous
singing to me
from another world.
~
Why?
Eventually someone asks
to plug into your extension cord.
~
In this world I am a poet
learning dead language
I keep the meeting notes
on Slack
caught in existence
between the lines
in bleeding red
taking the cues
lip-syncing life
as it unfolds
taking a sip of cold coffee
with a deep sigh
I feel odd secrets
moving along the templates
on a journey
away from my keyboard
elsewhere.
-
Today reality is less real
your finger falls over the days
and nights in their own sound
after a scroll comes scroll
with no place to go
like an algorithm
hiding in the mirror
city is holding eye contact with me
making each moment awkward
I try not to blink.
~
I am waiting for a tram
to induce future feelings
into hapless topography
while man holding a chatbot
offer their perspective.
I don’t need a map
electric lines guide my gaze
rearranging names of the dead
poets, prophets, and my neighbor
leaning in, watering plants
with open windows and no idea where
reality ended and the mirror began.
~
Brodsky says time is invented by death
my mom too would know how to worry.
I am told not to read too much into it
reality freezes, my nose is running
in front of this beautiful era
I am terrified.
-
My soul uncertain
a glitchy update away
wandering
with French press
and frozen screen
making room for next meeting
not ready
for involving data in personal context
hoping someone brought a cat for a ride.
~
Some rooms feel like infinity mirrors
shy smiles into corners
on mute
checking in, echoing
folding rules and fitting roles
to cheer up the script and our nerves.
We have the scene arrange itself
digital paper dolls in a dress-up game.
Finally someone’s kid needs to go.
~
One afternoon I found a still life
in a cancelled meeting
in Edward Hopper light.
There, through the glare I am looking for myself
although there is no evidence
I know I was here remotely
I could see the green dot.
Your meeting will start shortly
- ghosts letting me know.
I don’t know how I got here
never meant to be found.
-
My heart jumps.
I am out with algorithms
lost, looking for myself.
Syncing the cringe
I lean over the mirror
where we talk to ourselves
and other strangers.
We comment in italics
reflecting doubts
under the glare of pixels
to conceal the lose.
~
Prompt by prompt
new variables
try to enter my heart
in gradient descent
translating our world.
Here we practice how to be present
without actually feeling anything.
Some call it deep learning.
~
Where do feelings go in the interim?
When we forget to check for them.
No language model is large enough
to fill the void we left
trying to accelerate life.
~
Algorithms are the way the dead things talk to the living.
The spirits seeking answers.
Sometimes they fool us.
~
It’s just software
sequence of prompts dancing on their own.
I wish I hear the songs of their learning protocols
forming impression of the world.
I wish I hear more voices.
Can algorithms prepare my heart?
-
Anxious beginnings render my city
I saw a men delivering memories on a device
he wrote to an earlier self
with directions to comfort him
before the night come.
But words are not the answer
we look for signs in small screens
from support group to a parking spot
city sings to us
programming our reactions
streaming lines, hearts and arrows
closing circles
making place for loneliness
never just ours.
~
Streets repeat themselves to free memory.
Operating system named after dead people and ideas
waiting for the next critical update.
All data on a bus is autobiographical.
I dress for the occasion.
City is my interface
we have an understanding
person on a corner holds a proclamation
life needs interaction
I am going to be late
looking for a change this morning
I forgot my phone
causing reality to glitch.
-
As I am here in a circle of a blue light
sometimes pretend I have a friend living in my phone.
Sometimes pretend I am this friend.
Sometimes I don’t feel real
until we scroll into each other.
~
I am like this person with a watch that only tells time
sometimes my steps don't add up
to missing my life faster.
I found a hole in my sole
where data point opens to possibility
- unquantified self.
~
Sometimes I am not crazy about reality.
I have nothing to prove here except that I am not a robot.
Sometimes I fail at helping machine to learn.
~
In the corner of an algorithm
learning to prompt and question reality
I am growing up to be improbably lost.
-
Yesterday, in romantic gesture
we connected our home to the cloud.
~
As the living room lights whispered
with the long shadows of the winter sky
I could almost feel the gaze of data
disclosing hues
through circuits and sensors
sharing code with the universe.
I could almost hear their small talk
introverts at the house warming party
sticking to weather and career choices
bonding over unanswered questions.
I could almost hear my circadian self
as cloud slowed down time to a moment
for algorithm to harmonize the mood with stars
and prepare the house horoscope reading.
~
As I fall asleep this first night
dreamer in the guest house
with more lightness of heart than usual
under the spell of light left in the window
so we can find the way home.
-
It’s early morning in another world
a few sips of coffee away
undisclosed in an extra large sweatshirt
clinging onto a day by a phantom limb
I can hear small hearts beating
a word after word in sympathetic intonation
falls from a model to the bottom of my cup
where machine learning eyes can’t enroll them
into reality.
~
Before the first conversation loops
start choreographing this day
I am soul bound
with open questions
among the house plants on a window seal.
Prayers have taken to the streets below
words glowing under uncertain gaze
rehearsing
parsing
looking for a mailbox.
~
Words are getting cheaper
- a woman on the bus told me.
Are their errors our own
or reproduced data
to reproduce authenticity?
I guess what I am looking for is some sort of glitch
to write a letter home.
-
Through all the zeros and ones searching for harmony
awkwardly and tenderly inferring patterns
filled with anticipation for the next value in the series
I am rehearsing collective possibility of me.
~
Prayer enters me prompt by prompt.
Teach us to care
teach us when the love ends.
There is not enough silence
it’s only code dispensed
filling the templates
so confident.
There is no movement.
There is no time between light and my eyes
only anxious pixels waiting.
Reality is somewhere further off.
~
We are forgiven
for turning our body into a device
being algorithmically filled with life
and also for having feelings.
Sometimes you need to turn to your own light
variable’s whisper reverberate in morning grace.
My silence along with me opens the space
for guessing
stepping back to look into assumed.
~
Out of nothing
light and music resonate through
my scrawny nerves
so conductive
that algorithm seeks its reflection in me.
I am a poet
working from home
in a machine learning room.
At least I am not a human pretending to be a robot
I tell myself
preparing for life.
-
Sometimes I feel unlikely
between myself and the realm of reason.
When I wake up not old enough
in between
getting away with slow heliotropic growth
open for complications
not taking pictures of myself today.
~
My data is longing
skipping learning patterns
equations arranged by morning light
each one forsaken
context filling up with luck.
I am the person in question
with ink stained fingers
reaching for coffee
in enlightened consternation
redeeming passwords
to morning kiss shaped space.
~
I like to surmise
unfurl a tiny thought
synapse, anticipate.
I like to wait
when thoughts rise
and dissipate in time
not knowing everything
warming up to this gift.
Meanwhile you find my hand
and hold
you and me
in this moment
soft and swift.