Verse 1 They built the charts in straight lines, Put the answers in a row, Made a box for every question, Left out half of what we know. If your thinking bends in circles, If your instincts leap ahead, They just call it “too subjective” And hand the form back instead. Verse 2 Then along came artificial Intelligence, shiny and bright, Promised nuance, context, meaning, Promised it could get it right. So I gave it names and details, Told it clearly what to do, It ignored the whole damn paragraph And gave me Default Version Two. Chorus Prompt it better, prompt it better, That’s the answer every time. Write a novel for the software So it understands one line. Add the context, add exceptions, Spell out everything you know, Then the straight-line little engine Takes the straight-line way to go. Verse 3 I said, “Short hair, no face showing, T-shirt, flannel, muddy boots.” It came back draped in linen Standing barefoot among shoots. I said, “No, that’s not the picture.” It replied, “I understand.” Then produced the same damn stereotype With a coffee cup in hand. Chorus Prompt it better, prompt it better, Maybe commas are the key. Maybe twelve more specifications Will unlock diversity. Add the age and add the haircut, Add the posture, shoes, and clothes— Then the straight-line little engine Takes the straight-line way it knows. Verse 4 Here’s the funny part nobody Seems especially inclined To discuss while selling systems As the future of the mind: Half the world was never living In that tidy little frame, And a whole lot more have left it, Yet the blueprint stays the same. Some think pictures, some think rhythms, Some connect what others miss, Some know twenty things together Without making numbered lists. Some can feel the whole damn pattern Before one data point appears— Then the system asks politely, “Could you organize that, dear?” Big Chorus Prompt it better, prompt it better, Make yourself machine-compliant. Translate everything you’re thinking Till the system feels reliant. Take your circles, webs, and spirals, Turn them into one-two-three— Then congratulate the software For understanding me. Verse 5 Nobody here wrote the handbook, Nobody signed the ancient plan, Nobody I know requested Life be trimmed to what fits a scan. Old assumptions became process, Process hardened into law, Then we called the whole thing “neutral” ’Cause we forgot who built the draw. Verse 6 Research, medicine, and systems, Forms and models, codes and screens, All inherited old habits Long after people changed their means. Now the world is broad and braided, Messy, layered, fast, and strange, Yet the software keeps suggesting We’re the ones who need to change. Bridge — spoken, banjo getting progressively more ridiculous “For best results, please provide a clear and detailed prompt.” Okay. Context? Included. Examples? Included. Exceptions? Included. Tone? Included. What NOT to do? IN CAPITAL LETTERS. Result? Exactly the thing I said not to do. Helpful advice? “Try refining your prompt.” Well, hell. I paid for intelligence and somehow got their clerical job. (Banjo absolutely loses its mind.) Verse 7 Now I’m secretary, trainer, Proofreader, tester, quality crew, Paying monthly for the privilege Of explaining what the tool should do. If the answer comes out sideways, Somehow I’m the one at fault— Guess the miracle of progress Needs an unpaid human adult. Final Chorus Prompt it better, prompt it better, Sing the gospel of the age: “If the system missed the meaning, Write another freaking page.” Maybe someday we’ll build something Wide enough for how minds flow— Not a straight-line little engine Telling everyone where to go. Build it wider, build it deeper, Leave some room for what we know— Thought is music, thought is pattern, Thought can wander, leap, and grow. If intelligence means anything, Let it meet us where we are— Not make eight billion people Learn to think like one damn chart. Final Tag — spoken “Would you like help improving your prompt?” NO. (Harmonica blast.) I’d like you to improve the machine.
