Hi to you too, kid.
The normal girl on the front desk's a witch,
Normally. But she called in sick -
So you got me, a guy, no magic chants
On cards, or fortunes, minus tip.
Cash jar's there, not hid.
There's a touch of love
In calling this the 'crap' arcade: Ten bucks
A half hour on a credit card,
Time stamps for both in and out, games on mass,
Stairs or the elevator up.
Just try not to shove.
I do a small dance
For one buck, two gets you our house rules sung.
It's twenty down for witchery,
Since it's my first day warlock certified.
I almost feel bad about that.
Here's a deal on chance.
Just five dollars, flat.
I'll give you knowledge, something you don't know.
I'm a philosopher. Employed.
It's this or across the street, that phone sex
Work tag that's other owned. I'm both
Cool, straight, so game chat.
I don't believe it.
Hey, friend, wow! You just made my day, so hey!
You got the questions, you ask them.
Let me go through the normal thing again,
And then the secret I'll let go.
Shoes are worn that fit.
Floors one through four score.
The newest, tightest game play, graphic heaps,
It's all there, just play gamer's way.
Three's retro, half the room, you like those days.
That's mostly where the people go,
Other needs, no more.
New is power, punk.
Floor five's professional only, hard core:
No watching others. They're anal.
Watch streams on six, the lobby, lounge, or what.
You know all of this. I know too.
The music ain't bunk.
The staff sling out pop
And chips, energy drinks, pizza, for more.
We're on all the levels, even
When we don't seem to be. We are hid, cloaked,
So please don't litter. Be polite.
Garbage cans, one stop.
Friend, may I, you know?
Shake hands. We've all been through it, seen it bad.
There's energy drinks for each mood,
For tone of play, for last place, hundred kinds:
Pronounce each name. We all do. Once.
Who sucks? Do you blow?
Floor seven is locked.
It is our company's project work space.
Do not repeat this. Memorize.
Some ride horses that others just can't grasp.
Fools. There's something else inside us.
Like stars, gold, gems rocked.
We have an AI
That's centered on competitive gaming,
Not on the play level, rather
Its creation, what it presupposes.
More processors, more buildings, net -
Different on fly.
Trick is it's mated
To the semantic in high abstraction,
The root of cause/effect ethics,
What our Japanese owners call karma -
The name that cannot be named, much.
Spits in time, rated.
It's called "Mirror". Yes.
It calculates the very specific,
Knows why over-generalized.
Like a template, abstract, or super type,
You can put bad game fronts through it,
Break even the mess.
Who would know it's there?
Before you go in, friend, think cool like this:
"Mirror" is like an out, in touch.
Outside as girls learn make-up, boys football,
The neutral takes of info reads,
Pyramid of air.
Inside I can't prove
Karma or ethics, but I can say what
Is consistent with their being:
Possible internal code down, reflect,
And/or external truth read in -
Persistence of groove.
Screw the poetics.
Go play your game, kid, and thanks for the dime.
May your horizon effect strange,
And love last as long as you would have it.
May views be from our building's roof.
We all need our kicks.