-

Just basically an accounting of
language as it is conveyed
between media types

namely,

Air, Silicone and Mail ;

in Air,
you have to
basically be ready to
respond within a reasonable
period, say about three or four seconds

upon Silicone, you could "afk" and then
mix a drink- rinse out the mixing
utensils and type a response
with some degree of
forethinking

in Air,
you could breath
in the real-time vibes that
trigger automatic subject sensitivity,
like, (something too disturbing for me to detail here)

upon Silicone, you would be able to digitally
sort and discard these disturbing elements
and then lie to yourself about the
true weight of the
conversation


in Air,
a comedian can
deliver a punchline in
order to impulse a laugh out of you,
even to the point of spitting out your wine

upon Silicone, latency can cause punchlines
to be misinterpreted as an offense, which
will likely sully those carefully
established digital
relationships

—

You
could encode
the Air in the fashion
that Native Americans did
with campfires and blankets,

but i would never suggest that
you try and breath Silicone__ !

nor pattern the "the ins and outs"
of breathing within the basic scope
of a vacuum in order to encode
it upon a microchip that
can only be read by
a machine—

either way, in case you
may not have noticed,

Personal Letters are —at this moment—
asphyxiating into blue screen
oblivion,
deep inside the
Lost Mailbags of Redundancy...




"Comm_Check"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved


.

I want to call you, I do
But I have so little time alone
I have shreds here, an hour there
Never any unbroken by needs
I just want to sit here a little longer

A time of quarantine, a house to hold us
We are lucky, I know this, I feel it, yet
I grow smaller, I feel eaten alive
Am I even my self still?

Do I still have a name of my own?

I might find one if I can summon the energy to
Drive, walk, run away from this house so full
For a day or an afternoon, and don't
Lecture me right now because I've tried

And failed fifty times this month alone
I know how selfish I am, but it's innate
I can't abandon the qualities I don't like

This is my life, a prix fixe menu
You have to take me as I am, and so do I,

It's just life

the moon is your element,
underneath it you alight
with its pure lunar dew

all senses become the air and
the water as your heartbeat
sends ripples into me

i can feel that and more as fingertips
trace my reaction to it gently
upon your bare skin back

but it seems beyond my capacity to
channel the energy and lift from you
the heaviness of your thoughts

so we sit still as i let you
bathe quietly within
your element

if you happen to glance and
catch me gazing upward,
remember—

the stars, they are
                               all mine...


"As stars eclipse the Moon"
© 2008 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

-

Among the constellations
sail upside-down
the vessels of old men who
have risen from their
earth bound material

keeping with them the footwear
they had on in that final moment
when each saw their remains
through The Divine Mirror:

two are embracing the masts
for unrenewable security

one grips the railing, convinced
he may fall back

still another holds tightly to the
chains of his anchor

But one lies face up on the deck,
content that his reflections will
never haunt him

he holds his hand out, extending
fingers into a celestial calm,
causing wakes

a destiny uncertain,
he flings his shoes
downward—

back into the sky...


"finding grace above the seas"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

.