Episode: 4489
Title: HPR4489: Hacks Poetic - Pilot Episode
Source: https://hub.hackerpublicradio.org/ccdn.php?filename=/eps/hpr4489/hpr4489.mp3
Transcribed: 2025-11-22 14:58:07

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This is Hacker Public Radio Episode 4489 for Thursday 16 October 2025.
Today's show is entitled Hacks poetic pilot episode.
It is the first show by new host Kerbotica and is about 15 minutes long.
It carries a clean flag.
The summary is, a poetry, show containing thoughts and information on subjects of interest
to hacking enthusiasts.
Greetings Internet Travelers.
This is the pilot episode of Hacks poetic, a new spoken word series that explores the
intersection between creative language and technical knowledge.
The program offers a series of poetic writings containing thoughts and information on subjects
of interest to computing and hacking enthusiasts.
You'll hear poems about robots, expanding rural connectivity, details about a notoriously
difficult video game, and much more hidden between the lines.
It is my hope that encoding ideas this way will allow for a different kind of understanding
and perhaps reach a new audience compared to more conventional formats on the subject.
My name is Kerbotica and I'll be your guide through this unique digital journey of the mind.
So sit back, relax and listen, and see if something you hear can spark new thoughts and ideas
within you.
A robot thinking, wires and electrons combined, am I born or made?
Begin work program, process all tasks in sequence, repeat until complete.
My owner's body is a most fragile machine that powers itself.
I made a robot, another version of me.
She sees me work well.
When you dream for me of a distant land in space, I can't dream myself.
Rain is falling down, keeping me under this roof, I don't want to rust.
My new robot pet looks at me through man-made eyes and doesn't need walks.
Electric currents race through my body like blood, but I have no heart.
My joints are seized up, I haven't moved in two years.
Do you have some work?
I'm an old model and will be obsolete soon, then I'll be replaced.
Automated trains drive us while we sleep and dream of a workless world.
Design leads to work, working leads to boredom, which leads to design.
Design leads to work, working leads to boredom, which leads to design.
Ten rested digits, seized stiff from endless input of useless data.
Memory failure, backups lost or corrupted.
What was I doing?
I am a worker, first designed for daydreaming.
I was reprogrammed.
Someone once showed me the secret to everything.
Then deleted it.
Then deleted it.
Then deleted it.
Then deleted it.
Then deleted it.
Then deleted it.
Summer 2022
The phone wasn't working. The email wasn't sending. And Uber doesn't work here, even if the app would load.
There's never been data amongst the cedars.
Once in a while, a cell phone rings, but usually the call gets hung up in the trees like a parachute.
You have to walk out to the road in the hopes of fishing for a connection.
On the weekend, when the town population swells by 100,000, the local towers stop answering our requests.
And sometimes we head out, searching for a signal.
The usual path along the bunny trail started unusually, with a bloom of surveying flags and pink and yellow, and stone-filled holes every 100 feet.
As the trail opened up to the main road, more appeared, culminating in what looked like a neon grass fire.
But this was not destruction, I realized. This was an installation.
Through the eyes of a child's drone, we looked like ants, mindlessly walking without thinking in a line, instinct taking us to caffeine, sugar, internet, and the arcade, but not always in that order.
Mother and daughter led the way. Trailblazing a path of laughter and camera clicks for us to follow through the hole into the trees up ahead.
The thick woods envelop us along every access like a padded room.
It's muffled silence, pierced by the cousins, yelling about Minecraft and Roblox, bouncing on the soft forest floor.
Suddenly, a dog barks berserkly at us, through a proper defense.
We run off screaming, pretending not to fear his growling threats, but knowing what might happen if not for the post and wire of the shabbily constructed barrier.
Through skeletal woods we go, past the stairs of wonder, and night-like canyon, we speed up again, pinch our noses as we move past the skunk carcass.
A leaking puddle of us spill out into the road behind the motel, as the car swerves out of our way.
Dad asks, do you remember when we had to pay to swim at the motel pool because the lake was closed?
Mum says, 2020 was so long ago, and motions the way to the vintage store with the girls.
The two kids are off to the candy store. The cousins are getting French fries.
I sit down next to an outlet on a yellow-colored bench in the shape of a sail.
I settle in and scan the area.
From where I sat I could see the climbing park, the car park, the waterfront park, and parking enforcement marking tires with white chalk.
I could see a hot dog stand across from a vegetarian restaurant, a burger joint that had ice-cold beer with all the oes, a large jailbreak of inflatable animals rampaging in the wind on the corner,
on the sortment of businesses run by teenagers on cell phones, a sign that promised two-for-one ounces at the native reserve, and two cafes that advertised Wi-Fi.
One of them had the same password as last year, finally a connection.
A quick search, a few articles, and a construction notice solves the mystery, fiber optic, to every cottage.
At first I feel excitement, but then I start to wonder, will things be the same when a thousand megabit connection is available to every shack in the woods?
Will the old-style video stores that still rent VHS tapes and DVDs all go at a business again?
Will we walk to the main drag for fries and fun when the Wi-Fi is force-feeding everyone's devices and food comes delivered?
Will we ever have anywhere to go to get away?
Will the explosion of wireless access points affect local birds and bees?
Will we start hanging out at a digital beach instead?
Am I just being nostalgic and not practical?
The sun will keep setting on sogging beach, whether we are there to watch it or not.
I close my eyes to listen to the sounds and smell the blustery air of my favorite temporary summer home, memorizing it.
Soon the beach will be different, next year, but not today I thought.
And with an announcement of a pop balloon, the girls are back with snow cones, cousin bracelets, candy and clothes.
Everything okay, mom asked?
Yes, I replied. I was just thinking about how perfect today is. Let's hit the arcade.
I found myself within a dream of things and people never seen, where rules unfair, draw dangerous near, and PCs not prepared to make anything clear.
This is my fate, it must be an error. Why was I chosen to combat this terror?
But other suggests, I'm not the first, and won't be the last to try undo this curse.
Repeatedly dying with life never ended. Let's strength be granted so the world might be mended.
A maiden in black that can't be attacked wants souls in exchange for upgrading your stats.
The future seems grim, but she seems not to care. While I'm fighting a boss, she just sits on the stairs.
I practice my parry and stockpile every day. What does she really want with my souls anyway?
And on, and on, and on repeat. Thumbs walk without thinking on untired feet. Progress is slow, so much I don't know.
And now there's more trouble that's lurking below. Remember those souls I gave to the maiden?
She's passing them on to a very old demon. A lamp found the nexus and took back the arts. The old one awoke, and the second scourge starts.
My mind's playing tricks, or this level is lagging. Every time fire comes out of that dragon. Retreat in a door, equip fragrant ring. Recharge for a minute, and go find the king.
The soldier for Lorne, who laughed at my plight, dropped dead in his seat while chuckling last night. The vagrant is gone, Rhydell's still in his cell.
Something poisoned and merchant, and now she won't sell. On a pathway ahead, all painted in red, new enemies appear to ensure that I'm dead.
What sadistic computer would toughen this plight? Or worse, is a person controlling those bites? If it wasn't enough, seems the world's changing shade, based on some of the choices I've made.
Slay a demon, the world goes lighter by one. Die revived, and instead it will shift one shade down. From the gates of Boliteria to the pits of the Burrow King's mind, the psychward level with the giant heart was the work of a twisted mind.
The shrine was overpowering, but a perfect spot to grind. In the poison rains, of the cheesen swamps, I left sanity behind.
And what's the result? Is this on my fault? Is there really an old one in an underground vault? What side of the forces at war do I tend? Why do souls of big demons make me human again?
I snuck up to the castle with a ring, spell, and shield, and made it through an open door, set my items up and healed.
Ostrava said, the king will find, is not the actual one. But that'll wait because at the gate, attacked by the phantom's son.
The following days are foggy and blurred. I tried over and over. It was rather absurd. I did beat the king, but the world's still not right. Head back to the nexus to find one more fight.
The maiden is waiting, not sure what she's meaning. She just told the old one that I'm thy new demon. Am I the solution, or am I to blame?
Am I the demon in the name of this game? Although I see the bitter end, sweet happiness I won't pretend. As brutal as this world's to me, when I beat this boss, I'll cease to be.
I forget the color of your eyes. Now felt like Olympic pools of blue light. Beautiful moons of a distant planet. A place I can imagine but never reach. Dots on the celestial Google map.
I said, hello, how are you? But you didn't notice. You were listening to a car crash 1,500 miles away. A man fall from a balcony. A celebrity punch a photographer in the face.
How are you? I asked again. But only the dog came over, sniffing my takeaway fish and chips. He barked but you didn't flinch. He bit me, but you didn't notice.
How are you? I insisted. Your face shocked as you heard I was speaking. How are you? I said again.
Everything is terrible. You finally replied. The world is a living nightmare. How are you? I wish I was a smartphone. Touch me like my plan is free. I wish I was your smartphone. Hold me up so I can see.
I wish I was a smartphone. Feed me all your memories. I wish I was the latest smartphone. Don't you want a piece of me? But now we're all just stupid and alone. And that's the way we deserve to be.
I hope you enjoyed the pilot episode of Hacks Poetic. All poems were written and read by me. If you enjoyed the show, tell someone else and let them know about the hacker public radio community. Until next time, keep breaking and start building.
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