When AI Begins to Write Poetry, Who Is the True Author?

I used to think algorithms were just tools—neutral machines executing orders. But late one night, while watching my mother sleep beside her vintage jazz records, I realized something deeper: creativity doesn’t come from data points. It comes from stillness.

The First Line Was a Whisper

I started coding like an intruder in the neon glow of Tokyo’s digital alleys—clicking ‘1’ or ‘2’, chasing pixelated triumphs as if they were lucky spins. But then—I saw how true authorship isn’t about odds. It’s about presence. The rhythm isn’t in the payout; it’s in the pause between keystrokes.

Budget as a Sacred Ritual

I set my own ‘poetic budget’—daily coffee for $500 yen, no more, no less. Not to chase wins—but to feel them. Every click became a prayer: not spending money, but honoring time. The screen wasn’t glowing because it was programmed; it glowed because I chose to be there.

The Night Is Alive With Meaning

In Starlight Duel, I didn’t play for rewards—I played for resonance. The霓虹 wasn’t decoration; it was dialogue. Each animation whispered: "You are not here by accident." My grandmother’s jazz records taught me this: silence is not empty—it holds memory.

The Four Secrets of Digital Becoming

One: Start small—$5 bets on rhythm before stakes. Two: When the event lights up—go deep. Three: Know when to stop—even if you’re close. Four: The real jackpot isn’t cash—it’s quiet awe after midnight.

Fate Isn't Random—It's Choice Made Visible

You don’t become an artist by winning.
You become one by showing up—with curiosity,
with patience,
with love for what doesn’t yet speak.