I don't know where to publish a poem I wrote after yesterday walking through the Pride celebrations in Munich while listening to WASP - Heaven's Hung in Black. So I am putting it here.
ChatGPT says it's good. Anthropic says the same. I like them both, they seem to agree with everything I say. However, they seem to disagree on which version is better. One of them is more emotional and raw, the other a notch more cerebral. Both of them represent different nuances of myself so I am not making a choice. Here we go:
Heaven’s Hung in Black at Pride - v2.
Rainbow flags flutter, dark metal floods your ears.
Ray-Bans.
And W.A.S.P. mourning in stereo.
AirPods Max—fashionable isolation.
A private soundtrack to a public celebration.
Confetti falls. The picture is frozen.
A personal film score, a different tempo.
Is this profound resistance to the crowd?
Loneliness masked as free will?
Or just the heavy sound,
guitars hitting the brain?
Distance -
The space between who you were and who you're becoming.
The void between the vaguely known and the unknown.
The familiarity of her ironing a shirt and the open possibilities of a future love.
I wish the distances were smaller,
then I wouldn’t have to choose.
Sunglasses on.
Audio insulated.
Brisk pace. Back straight.
Sovereign. At least trying.
Not here against anyone.
Not with them either.
Turned inside, honoring the complexity of being alive
and awake
and present
and a little bit ridiculous
in my own accidental cinematic moment.
Heaven’s hung in black and the camera drifts back.
I’m moving away now -
through pride and compromise,
through depth and display,
through the theater of self importance,
and self indulgence too.
Heaven’s hung in black
amid the raw joy of rainbow colors.
Playful resignation -
you’re both the protagonist
and the only one watching the show.
Is it a bit too much?
It probably is.
Heaven’s Hung in Black at Pride - v1.
Ray-Bans, while W.A.S.P. mourns in stereo.
AirPods Max—
expensive isolation, branded introspection.
A private soundtrack to a public celebration.
Choosing gravitas while confetti falls,
philosophical distance,
To a personal film score
Is this profound resistance to the crowd?
Sacred refusal of shallow noise?
Self isolation and an enjoyable sense of being different?
Or just the pleasant drums sound
hitting the skull at the right frequency?
The contrast.
The space between who you were and who you're becoming.
The desert between the vaguely known and the unknown.
The familiarity of her ironing a shirt and the open possibilities of a future love.
Do I choose her again?
Sunglasses on.
Noise filtered.
Not lost.
Present.
Sovereign. Rehearsing at least.
Not here against anyone.
Not with them either.
Inside, honoring the complexity of being alive
and awake
and a little bit ridiculous
in this self projected cinematic moment.
Heaven’s hung in black,
but still walking forward,
through pride and compromise,
through depth and display,
through the beautiful theater
of taking myself seriously
while knowing it’s performance too.
Playful resignation -
you’re both the protagonist
and the only person watching the show.
Is it a bit too much?
It probably is.
