Seeds of Light

One bright star–
A young maiden from the far-northern country,
With the broad neck of a gentle bosom;
A charm,
Flourishing alone amidst the glowing beams,
From the pale gleam of the bright sun.
It shone up like a luminous shield of day; and,
While the beams shone, she had her eyes in them.

She touches her face
Upon her hands and breast,
And the hands fill her mind with radiant flame..
Her head then falls on her breast with rapture,
For the Moon is poured slowly as it is born:
And in the heart and eye of the sacred flame,
Flourish the flowers of earth with the perfume of her scent.

When you pass round the moon and moonlight,
The fire that lights your eyes is as the sacred flame
Which glows in the eye of God:
There may be nothing greater than this luminous flame.

Birds of the cold North now soar over the snowy land,
Mighty clouds roll high round the wintry North;
With blazing swords the great King’s steeds pass,
To ride to the distant war-rallied land.
Whistling and booming are the distant cannons.
Then thunder blasts its long and monstrous gun.

I will go down, so the Gods shall not know me,
And the wicked shall know that I am my own master
Till I shall have put down the stars from the sky.

O Gods, all ye Gods,
I entreat you,
The great work:
Surely Thou hast seen,
This world’s burning destruction;
And why art Thou wroth?

I have delivered Light,
As Thee commanded,
And have sown the seeds of My Progeny
Over this now barren earth
With dutiful glee,
And with perfect soundness of Mind.

A. G. Davis, 2021

Algorithmic approach:
NLG generated lines, prompted with text from
The Botanic Garden (Part I), by Erasmus Darwin

Language model:
GPT-2 with Textsynth


You are sitting on the dead ice of men and passing through the fog as an actor.
Inspiration is born on stage.
I’m tired of these inept senses and of a soulless species. I wrote only of pain and abortion with constant regulation. I am full of seedless delusions. My autocratic suffering is filled with a strong desire to reveal my unnecessary illnesses (from the conflict of mighty and infernal powers), and my eyes are strange, jealous, internalized, giving more life to those who think on the stage before we must fall than to this ghastly voice – and those struggling in sordid
darkness weep at the sight of these – my eyes.

– He is lost in the shadow of a strangled people. In the throat, the length of the nerve-leg is long. It extends exponentially. And my psychic antenna dream of unconventional changes. Thus, the pressure decreases, and absurdity rests on my finger as an unburdened paradise. It must understand, or I will erase forever these pupils staring into molten glass.

AG Davis, 2018

Remixed work:

The Nerve Meter, by Antonin Artaud