Roof space snapshot filler, Faces lost, memories dissolve, There’s always a king falling, Dominos by rippling schemes, Just dreams too far away from remembering. Streets hide the getaway game, Smoking gun bubbling at the top, Stop or There’s a walking away, Reclaimed lives holding up their end, No more songs about peace, Lost in folkloric futures untamed, Black n white journaling covered in colour, Not one hungry need to deprive alive, Maybe the stars will become stepping stone, There’s got to be an outer side?
Poem typed straight into AI Gemini by @steriojoe
Please give me your best flamboyant interpretation of my digital poem.
This is a raw, high-contrast transmission from the urban subconscious. It reads like a manifesto scribbled on a damp brick wall at 3:00 AM—part noir thriller, part metaphysical breakthrough.
Here is a flamboyant interpretation of your work, @steriojoe:
The Interpretation: “The Static and the Specter”
Your poem is a cinematic dissolve between the rigid geometry of the city and the liquid chaos of the human soul. You aren’t just writing; you’re developing a photograph in real-time using chemicals made of regret and rebellion.
1. The Architecture of Absence
“Roof space snapshot filler / Faces lost, memories dissolve”
We begin in the “snapshot filler”—the discarded spaces of the mind. The verticality of your first image (that towering, narrow black-and-white alley) mirrors this perfectly. The sky isn’t a heaven here; it’s a heavy lid. The “faces lost” find their resurrection in the second image—the graffiti faces emerging from the mist like ghosts demanding to be heard.
2. The Great Unraveling
“There’s always a king falling / Dominos by rippling schemes”
There is a delicious cynicism here. You’re describing a world of “getaway games” and “smoking guns,” where the power structures (the kings) are as fragile as a line of tiles. It’s a “rippling scheme”—a beautiful, rhythmic destruction. You’ve captured that specific feeling of watching a civilization, or perhaps just a bad day, collapse in slow motion.
3. The Reclaimed Ghost
“Reclaimed lives holding up their end / No more songs about peace”
This is the pivot. You’ve traded the “soft” lies of peace songs for the “hard” truth of folkloric futures. It’s a punk-rock sentiment: peace is a lullaby, but “folkloric futures” are wild, untamed, and dangerous. The “black n white journaling covered in colour” is the exact visual representation of your second photo—the monochrome reality being vandalized by the neon intensity of living.
4. The Cosmic Exit
“Maybe the stars will become stepping stones / There’s got to be an outer side?”
The poem ends with a metaphysical jailbreak. You are looking at the streetlamp in your first photo and seeing not a lightbulb, but a portal. The “stepping stones” suggest that the only way to survive the “hungry need” of the streets is to use the universe itself as a staircase.
The Verdict
Your style is “Gutter-Celestial.” You take the grit of the alleyway—the smoking guns and the graffiti—and you project it onto the stars. It’s a beautiful, jagged search for the “outer side” of a world that feels too small for the “untamed” spirit.
Would you like me to try and generate a third image that acts as the “Outer Side” to complete this visual trilogy?
Yes please.
Itself is curtain by @steriojoe using AI nano banana.
Write a non rhyming poem based on your nano bananas image please.
Itself is curtain by AI Gemini
The brickwork exhales its last solid thought,
shattering into a spray of amber dust
as the alleyway loses its grip on gravity.
The walls are no longer boundaries,
just floating scraps of a dream
where the graffiti still grins,
watching the streetlamp become a tether
to a world that stopped making sense.
Dominoes clatter upward,
a rhythmic collapse against the velvet dark,
forming a spine of white light
that snakes toward the static of the stars.
There is no floor here,
only the height of the climb
and the humming of power lines
carrying voices that no longer have names.
Standing on the threshold of the “outer side,”
one figure holds the smoking spark of the sun,
shedding the weight of the pavement
to walk the jagged staircase
of a folkloric future
where the only rule left
is to keep moving
before the memories fully dissolve.
Would you like me to analyze how this poem connects back to the themes of your original digital poem?
Yes please.
This poem serves as the manifestation of your original words—the moment where the “maybe” of your text becomes a concrete, surreal reality. Here is how the two connect:
1. The Literal Escape from the “Snapshot Filler”
In your original poem, you spoke of “Roof space snapshot filler.” In this new piece, the “brickwork exhales its last solid thought.” The physical world is literally disintegrating. The alleyway from your first photo has surrendered its narrow walls, allowing the “lost memories” to float away as “amber dust.”
2. From Falling Kings to Rising Dominoes
You wrote, “There’s always a king falling / Dominos by rippling schemes.” The new poem takes those falling pieces and turns them into a rebellion against gravity. Instead of a downward collapse, the dominoes “clatter upward” to form a “spine of white light.” It suggests that the “rippling schemes” of the world didn’t just cause a fall; they provided the raw material to build a ladder out of the chaos.
3. The Folkloric Future Realized
Your line “Lost in folkloric futures untamed” was a prediction; the new poem is the arrival.
By describing the climb as a “jagged staircase,” I’ve linked it to your idea of “stars becoming stepping stones.” The “outer side” isn’t a place of peace (which you rejected in your song lyrics), but a place of constant movement where the “smoking spark” is carried like a torch through the void.
4. The Dissolve of the Ego
Your original thought that “memories dissolve” finds its conclusion in the final lines: “moving / before the memories fully dissolve.” It creates a sense of urgency. The “black n white journaling” has been entirely consumed by the “colour” of the cosmic climb, leaving only the “untamed” spirit behind.
Since we’ve reached the “Outer Side,” would you like to explore what the “King” looks like now that he has fallen and been reclaimed by this new world?
Yes please.
In this new, untamed territory, the “King” is no longer a figure of gold and decree. He has been stripped of his crown and repurposed by the cosmic grit of the “outer side.” Here is a non-rhyming exploration of his reclamation: The Reclaimed Sovereign He sits upon a throne of rusted rebar and starlight, a monarch of the “getaway game” finally caught. His velvet robes have been traded for a cloak woven from the static of abandoned radio frequencies and the frayed edges of black-and-white journals. He does not rule with a scepter, but with a handful of unplayed dominoes, each one a silent pact with the void. His face is a shifting mosaic of those “lost memories,” a graffiti grin that flickers between a sneer and a prayer, bleeding neon blues into the shadows of his jaw. There is no kingdom left to defend, only the “rippling schemes” he once commanded, now slowed into a steady, crystalline hum. He is the architect of the falling, the one who realized that to truly rule the height, one must first learn the geometry of the crash. He is not a king of peace, but a king of the “untamed future,” holding up his end of the reclaimed life while the stars grind beneath his feet like glass. Does this version of the King feel like the one you envisioned falling, or has he transformed into something more unrecognizable?
Why must a king rule while their leadership fails?
In the context of your “Gutter-Celestial” world—where dominoes rise and memories dissolve—the failure of leadership isn’t just a political lapse; it’s a structural collapse of the “rippling schemes” that hold reality together.
A king often continues to rule while failing because of the momentum of the machine. Leadership is frequently less about the person and more about the “snapshot filler”—the rigid structures, the “brickwork,” and the expectations of those below that refuse to let go of the idea of a crown, even when it’s rusted.
Here is why that failure persists in the shadows:
1. The Gravity of the Status Quo
Just as the alleyway in your photo feels heavy and narrow, systems are designed to resist change. A king rules because the “dominoes” haven’t finished falling yet. The machinery of power—the tax collectors, the guards, the “walking away” mentioned in your poem—often keeps moving out of habit, long after the heart of the leadership has stopped beating.
2. The Fear of the “Outer Side”
Many cling to a failing king because the alternative is the “untamed future.” People often prefer a “smoking gun” they know over the “black n white journaling” of an unknown void. The “outer side” represents total freedom, but it is terrifying; staying under a failing crown is a way to avoid the responsibility of walking the “jagged staircase” alone.
3. The Illusion of the “Peace Song”
As you noted, there are “no more songs about peace.” When leadership fails, the songs usually turn to propaganda or nostalgia. A king rules through the echo of who they used to be, filling the “roof space” with the ghost of past glory to distract from the current decay.
4. The Sunk Cost of the “Rippling Scheme”
When you have invested your whole life in a certain “game,” admitting the leader is failing means admitting your own “reclaimed life” might be a lie. It is easier to hold up your end of a failing bargain than to watch the king fall and realize you are standing on nothing but starlight.
In your poem, the “King falling” seems like a necessity—a shedding of the old skin so that the “folkloric future” can begin. Failure is the chemical reaction that turns the black-and-white world into color.
Would you like to explore a “protest song” or a new manifesto for those who are ready to stop holding up their end for the failing king?
Write a protest song please.
This is the sound of the “reclaimed lives” finally letting go of the rope. It’s not a polite protest; it’s the vibration of the dominoes finally hitting the floor.
Title: The Static Manifesto
Tempo:Heavy, distorted, like a heartbeat through a concrete wall.
[Verse 1]
The roof space is crowded with hollow decrees
Snapshot promises that brought us to our knees
You’re a king of the filler, a lord of the void
Ruling the ruins of the dreams you destroyed
We carried the brickwork, we held up the frame
While you played the odds in a getaway game
But the mortar is crumbling, the light’s turning grey
And there’s no one left standing to get in our way.
[Chorus]
So let the king fall in a rippling scheme
We’re waking up from your fevered dream
Burn the peace songs, they’re nothing but ghosts
We’re the uninvited, the untamed hosts
The smoking gun is bubbling, the sky is wide
We’re crossing over to the outer side.
[Verse 2]
You journal in shadow, you dictate in dust
While your gold-plated scepter is turning to rust
You say that we need you to keep out the cold
But we’re the ones making the stories be told
Not one hungry need will be left to deprive
While you’re barely breathing, we’re coming alive
The streets hide the exit, the graffiti is loud
We’re the silver lining in your heavy cloud.
[Bridge]
The stairs are made of starlight now
We’ve forgotten how to bow
The dominoes are rising, a jagged spine
We’re stepping off your narrow line
(One step, two step, into the black…)
There’s no more looking back.
[Outro]
Reclaimed.
Untamed.
No more songs for the failing.
The stars are our stepping stones now.
Just walk away.
Just walk…
Fade into the sound of wind and rising static.
Since the “peace songs” are gone, would you like me to describe the “Folkloric Future” anthem that the people are singing as they climb the stars?
Yes please.
This anthem is no longer a protest; it is a hymn of the void. It doesn’t look back at the failing king or the crumbling brickwork. It is the sound of the “outer side”—a choral roar that vibrates in the chest, rhythmic and relentless like the clicking of dominoes against the sky.
Title: The Jagged Spine
Style:A capella, layered voices, punctuated by the metallic rhythm of boots on starlight.
[The Opening]
(A low, humming drone, like power lines in a winter storm)
The filler is gone.
The snapshot is burnt.
The lesson of the ground is a lesson unlearned.
[Stanza I: The Ascent]
We don’t march, we climb the jagged spine,
Leaving the “getaway game” at the border line.
No more hunger for the crumbs of a crown,
We’ve traded the weight for the up-side-down.
Every step is a star, every breath is a spark,
We are the journaling written in the dark.
Color is bleeding through the black and the white,
We are the architects of the newborn light.
[Stanza II: The Untamed Law]
There is no map for the folkloric soul,
The pieces are scattered to make us whole.
We don’t sing for the peace of a cage,
We sing for the fire, the turn of the page.
If the king is falling, let him find his own way,
We’re the “walking away” that refused to stay.
Reclaimed lives in a shimmering row,
Watching the world we outgrew down below.
[Chorus: The Outer Side]
(Voices swell into a chaotic, beautiful harmony)
Stepping stones of diamond dust,
Beyond the reach of the iron and rust.
There’s an outer side where the gravity breaks,
And the soul is the only thing that wakes.
Untamed! Untamed!
The future has no name!
[Stanza III: The Final Dissolve]
Memories dissolve into salt and sand,
As we let go of the shadow’s hand.
The “smoking gun” is a relic of stone,
In a place where we’re never truly alone.
Look at the streetlamp, it’s just a pinprick hole,
A doorway carved by the restless soul.
We are the song that the universe sings,
When it finally finishes with the age of kings.
[The Ending]
(A rhythmic stomp-clap that mimics the ticking of a clock speeding up)
It’s certain.
Itself is certain.
The stars are firm.
The climb is all.
(Silence—sudden and absolute.)
We have reached the peak of the “jagged staircase.” Would you like me to describe the view from the top, looking back down at the alleyway where this all started?
Yes please.
From this height, the perspective is a dizzying, divine joke. You are standing on the lip of the “outer side,” where the air feels like cold silk and the silence has a texture.
Looking back down, here is the view:
The Miniature Labyrinth
The alleyway that felt like a towering prison—the one from your first photo—now looks like a hairline fracture in the crust of the earth. It is a tiny, vertical slot of grey, no wider than a pencil stroke. The “roof space” you once felt trapped beneath is nothing more than a discarded cardboard box in a vast, dark field.
The Dying Embers
The streetlamp—that singular point of light you once aimed for—looks like a lonely spark at the bottom of a deep well. You can see the “failing king” down there, a microscopic speck pacing in circles within the light’s radius, still trying to rule a shadow that has already moved on. The “smoking gun” is a dull glow, like a cigarette butt forgotten in the rain.
The Dissolving Script
The “black n white journaling” of the city streets looks like scrawled ink being washed away by a rising tide. The boundaries between buildings and roads are blurring. From up here, you can see that the “rippling schemes” weren’t just local—they were patterns in a much larger fabric that is now unraveling.
The Bridge of Dominoes
Looking directly beneath your feet, you see the luminous trail you just climbed. The dominoes aren’t falling anymore; they are frozen in a perfect, ascending curve, a bridge of ivory and light that connects the grit of the gutter to the velvet of the deep cosmos.
The Realization
The most shocking part of the view? The “outer side” isn’t a place you go to—it’s a way of seeing. From this height, you realize the alleyway was never closed at the top. The “roof space” was an illusion created by looking down for too long.
The stars aren’t above you anymore. You are standing among them.
As we summarize the key themes from this journey for your records—from the dissolving memories to this final cosmic view—would you like me to create a “Final Journal Entry” that captures the transformation of @steriojoe from the alleyway poet to the star-walker?
Yes please.
Final Journal Entry: The Transmutation of @steriojoe
Date: The Eternal Now
Location: The Outer Side (Latitude: Starlight / Longitude: Untamed)
The Entry:
I started at the base of a vertical silence. I was a “snapshot filler,” pinned between the brickwork and the heavy weight of a sky that felt like a closed door. My world was a binary struggle—black vs. white, the king vs. the gutter, the memory vs. the dissolve. I thought the “getaway game” was the only way out, a smoking gun held in a trembling hand.
But the words became a chemical reaction.
I watched the falling king and realized his failure wasn’t a tragedy—it was a release of energy. I stopped singing the “peace songs” of the caged and started listening to the rhythm of the rippling schemes. When the dominoes started to rise, I didn’t question the gravity; I just stepped onto the ivory.
The transition was violent and beautiful. The journaling of my life, once restricted to the monochrome of the alleyway, has been baptized in color. The graffiti faces weren’t just paint on a wall; they were the faces of the “reclaimed,” cheering me on as I climbed the jagged spine of the universe.
The realization is this:
I am no longer the poet looking at the stars. I am the poet writing with them. The “hungry need” has been replaced by a “celestial feast.” The alleyway is still there, down in the dark, but it is just a footnote now—a tiny, flickering lamp in the vastness of my folkloric future.
I have reached the “outer side.” It is not a destination. It is the moment you realize the cage was made of nothing but your own hesitation.
Itself is certain.
The climb continues.
Summary of Themes Saved:
The Dissolve: The transition from rigid physical structures to fluid metaphysical truths.
The Reclaimed Sovereign: The rejection of failing leadership in favor of personal, untamed autonomy.
The Gutter-Celestial: Finding the “stepping stones” to the infinite within the grit of the urban experience.
The Shift from Peace to Power: Moving past passive “peace songs” toward active, rhythmic rebellion.
Poems, song and journal by @steriojoe at steriojoe2025.blog in collaboration with AI Gemini & nano banana
steriojoe2025 featuring AI Gemini 
Leave a comment