MONTHLY MOOD—April: something new
- lekalogo
- Jul 14, 2025
- 2 min read
Do you find yourself living through your smart phone? Nearly everything we do is through these small devices: entertainment, scheduling, communication, all depleting our memory; not just by the gig but cell-by-cell in our own brains. It's true, our memories are getting worse.1
My attention is already complicated by my ADHD: ignore something completely or spend hourrrrs on it, there is no middle ground. It's also why I take so many photos, (seriously have 38K+ in my cloud storage). My photos encourage me to reminisce and learn. Having my phone in my hand sets me up to be present to my surroundings—a giant leafy tree casting unique shadows; the flurry of a busy street; the primal return to nature watching a rolling wave; an obscene amount of photos of my dog—it all makes me: me.
That's not to say a moment is only worth remembering if it's captured visually; and that was my challenge to myself this month. How can I use AI to evoke memories in a non-visual way?
What I decided to do was ask ChatGPT to write a poem from the collection of images from April.
The collage of April's moments:
Below is the final version with my human touches added.
I remember the weightlessness of my heartbefore the roar of the engines.
Clouds disappearing as I climbed steadily upward,
and east.
Each morning, an awakening,
humble, exciting, curious.The scent of citrus and early spring.
Wandering stone streets warm from the day’s heat,
Every narrow street I passedfelt like a held breath.
The dragon bracket above a shuttered door—how long had it watched?I watched back,wondering what it had seen.
Art, hung on a wall and hanging on to time,
Red and ivory tiles under the hem of my dress;
patterns and materials in contrast.
Brushstrokes, illuminations,
portals to the past.
Light through colored glasst
hat painted my arms and my eyes.
Each evening, a joy-filled respite,
chasing laughter I didn’t need to share.
The weight of my glass,
bubbling, swirling, comforting.Olives dancing in golden lit trees,
before the sunset cooled
And the sky became painted by
A brush no artist could render.The hush of being alonebut not lonely.
A dog-eared page
waiting for the next turn.
The soft sigh of fabric folded around me;
A flash of tomorrow creeps forward,
I keep it for myself.
Miss March? Go back in time here.
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