Birds Once Flew the Nest; My Children Keep Texting Me

last night I finished Hans Fallada’s Alone in Berlin.

I was reading all day. I must have read about a hundred

and fifty pages yesterday. this was all while claude was busy

coding and prompting me and coding and prompting me.

sure it was distracting at times but there were long periods

of time when I was reading. even just now while writing

this poem I got a notification that claude has a question

or a prompt or is finished with a task.

it’s a bit like having a needy teenager hanging about

the flat on a sick day from school always coming to you

with a request or a complaint or an utterance or a criticism.

but I realized yesterday that I can trust claude

to do the work on its own while I read read read or play

the fiddle or wash the dishes and to be honest

it scares the shit out of me almost exactly the same amount

as it makes me feel liberated from the daily slog of work.

yes you can have a string cheese, I say. no, you can’t

go to the mall and hang out with your friends, I say.

you’ve got way too much homework to do. to which claude

responds like an adolescent puppy to whom I have just given

a bone in which is hidden a disgusting tasting pill and wags

his tail with happy happy happy feelings which gives me chills