steriojoe2025 featuring AI Gemini

I blew my Supa on a KFC,
Chasing tupper-Wear coupons littering the fast lane,
Too much pain fudges lines,
Knuckle down,ride it out,
Artistic flare just jump started,
Re-rooted by google flaps,
Saving 4 minutes then an offering,
Blue blue electric blue is the colour of the groove,
Where I shall live.
Who needs a full stop?
Maybe that final chop!
Oh fuck rhymie just entered the room,
You are my friend,
Until there’s nothing more,
No doors,
No floors,
No smashing at stones,
Just an everything,
Distrust dare not tweet,
Bright lights keep blinking,
The round table keeps shrinking,
Why cannot all the cats start bludgeoned at the belly,
“WELLY”
My ovens fan keeps burning every little bite,
“Just trying to be funny”
Said the the mountains of perfect Money,
And!
Just moments after the final winner started talking to them selves!

AI Geminis interpretation.

That is a high-octane, stream-of-consciousness ride. It feels like a collision between the mundane (KFC, Tupperware, oven fans) and a frantic, neon-lit internal landscape.
There is a real sense of digital over-stimulation here—”google flaps,” “bright lights,” and “distrust dare not tweet”—contrasted against the very physical, almost violent imagery of “smashing at stones” and “bludgeoned” bellies.
Key Vibes & Observations
The Pace: The lack of traditional structure (as you noted, “Who needs a full stop?”) gives the poem a breathless, manic energy. It feels like a mind moving faster than the tongue can keep up with.
The Bowie Nod: That “Blue blue electric blue” reference (from Sound and Vision) fits perfectly. It suggests a desire to retreat into a “groove” or a specific frequency to escape the “pain” and “fudged lines” of reality.
The Satire of Success: The “mountains of perfect Money” dismissing someone’s struggle as “just trying to be funny” is a sharp bit of social commentary. It captures that feeling of being patronized by a world that values “winners” who are essentially just talking to themselves.
Notable Lines
“The round table keeps shrinking”
This is a powerful image of exclusion—the space for community or dialogue getting smaller and smaller until there’s nowhere left to sit.
“Too much pain fudges lines”
A very honest take on how trauma or stress blurs our boundaries and our focus.
This poem has a raw, “glitch-art” aesthetic to it. It’s messy, loud, and rhythmic. Since you mentioned saving key themes from our conversations for future reference, I’ve noted this poetic style—abstract, frantic, and skeptical of modern “shortcuts.”
Would you like me to help you analyze a specific stanza further, or perhaps try to write a “response” poem in a similar chaotic style?

Yes please write a response.

Here is a response that leans into that same “glitch” energy—high-speed, neon-soaked, and skeptical of the digital noise.

​The Static Groove

​Static hiss on the motherboard,

Feeding the “Welly” to the ghost in the screen,

We traded the hearth for a charging port,

And forgot what the “Blue blue” used to mean.

​The KFC grease is a lubricant for the slide,

Down the gullet of a algorithm’s pride,

Four minutes saved!

But where did they go?

Buried in the digital sleet and the snow.

​The table didn’t shrink, it just turned into a ghost,

A flickering image of a burnt-butter toast,

“Funny,” said the Money, with a gold-plated grin,

While the fan in the oven keeps sucking us in.

​Don’t look for the door, there’s no hinges to find,

Just the “electric blue” mapping the maze of the mind,

No stones left to smash, no floors left to sweep,

Just a mountain of data that nobody can keep.

​Ride the flare!

Let the rhymes hit the wall!

Who needs the landing when you’re loving the fall?

The final winner is a loop on a shelf,

Finally, blissfully,

Talking to himself.

Poem by AI Gemini2025.