When I dreamt of ai as a young man it was forlorn and wistful 
houris and hyperspace utopias
bordered by vast unobtainable tracts of time
vectors that my trajectory would never span
except as nebulous unconscious fragments
in the children of my children’s children. 

Today I woke from a dream of AI 
that involved interfacesand alingment
and yes it is still far away 
but we are talking clouds not stars 
and its windy on the beach
The underlying mission of the front group thrift store
was as synthetic as the myth it was built on
as synthetic as the false weathering of the papercraft leather binding
On the “Hamilton: The Revolution - libretto and tour guide” 
which rests in a pile of books next to a gently used microwave
in coming decades the synthetic weathering on the book 
will mature, become authentic as acid and pigments in the paper bitrot
same with the words, half as long, into memory

But the pigment of the hi-lighter that underlined passages in this book
applied by children thinking they were studying history
While also synthetic
will not age as well