underneath the floor
there is silence
except for my art
as I drag the sofa
back and forth
to make room
for the play area
or to eat while watching a movie
above the ceiling
its a mediocre play
no rhythm, no beats
tolerable beyond its rarity
sometimes voices
mostly from the TV
given the timing on the daily
behind the walls, more of the same
no passionate banging
no cries of ecstasy
except whatever resonates from my own
about once year
the one party now quiet
as families and routines
settled in
there is less and less room
for us all
including the sound
that once must have roared
in this building ten
when the young could afford
the future on a credit hold

we all think we had
the wrong starter pack
to explain this mess
this eleven year old
explaining me how her mom was ***** young
and her mom's husband, her dad,
is abusive and narcissistic
and she spends her time in vrchat
getting rejected by strangers
for being too young and therefore
dangerous
but witnessing also all the weirdos
hunting this jungle
while her parents argue
instead of warning her
this seventeen year old
adopted
moving from state to state
by her mom's job
stuck in eighth grade
adopting dad in jail
lifetime punishment for driving
and killing one poor soul
but at least she is six months older
than her boyfriend
and can meet him virtually
and not feel so alone
even if she could be better alone
than with unwanting biological parents
or a hateful adopting father
or more weirdos on the internet
there are many more
wrong starter packs
perhaps all starter packs
are wrong be definition
because nothing could ever be
perfect
and if it was
what would be the
reason?

Another game, Squad
as I press the map
colors everywhere
as a colorblind, I sigh
the complexity is reaching unprecedented levels
and this is still a simulation
perhaps this will be the ultimate situation
it's not world war two
so there are no bolt actions
but there are drones and helicopters
and we started sprinting across the desert
as if we were in Iraq twenty years ago
and suddenly I am alone after everyone died
I was the medic, and I failed them
I try to go back
my character moves slow
I don't know who's friend or foe
shots nearby make everything blurry
explosions in the ground and the sky
and the more I played it, the more I really felt it
I don't want war
I don't ever want to be in a war
and if there is anything I could to stop war
I would have done it many times over

another glorious day
in room twelve oh six
managed to only get up at seventeen thirty
a new record I believe
I should, of course, rise early
and be productive
work on my business, maybe write
before this sickcation ends
it could be worse, worse, worse
I n e e e e e e e e e e d to be
g R a t E f U l
k I n D
g O  e A s Y
but time is running out
the time of tastes
the timing of markets
the time of culture
the interwar peacetime
the timing of my mood, energy
before degeneration kicks in
the ageing and patience
the slow decay of details
before it is all replaced
before the bottom line erases
me

brace brace
but this is not a plane
but my mind
and this place can be quite
unforgiving
as the doctor explains
if it's gonna be surgery or chemo
but even he's not sure
so there will be a conference
and more doctors will look at my case
and I feel a sort of race against time
and I wonder what my face is looking like
but I brace, I brace
two more weeks
on top of the other three
following the months from surgery
it's a chase for certainty
and I can't keep the pace
so I brace, brace
distract myself in cyberspace
as a catgirl, playing horror games
with friends, looking for just a little
grace.

its not easy to start a diet
when your life depends on it
and when the world might end
in just a few weeks
and what a waste that would be
all that extra fitness
covered in a blanket of jealousy
slowly eaten by the bugs
(which hate the lean meat)
with no one to see

I am from the generation
that first grew up with the digital
while our brains were soft
enough to believe religion
like those before
but I am old enough
to remember the analog
and to contrast the two
unlike those after
that were spared the promises
that seemed so real
and I miss those early days
before discovering
all the ways
I could be wrong
I miss the feel of the hot leather
from the black cars under the sun
and the keys to open them
and the round silvery future
just around the y2k advert
that would consume us
I miss the sunburnt beige plastic
on the CRTs, and the mechanical sounds
of information traveling
and each isolated technology
independent, sovereign
before being infected
by the wireless connection
of convenience
my gameboys, my discman, my mp3s
my brick of a phone, antenna-free
and the early days of mIRC,
hi5, live messenger, xfire, myspace,
connection, friendship, expression
each year a promise of christmas
each invention innocent
before we had to worry of all the ways
it could be used against us
and I believe those of us then
now hold some strange key
interlopers, maybe wise
no longer free
hard earned scars
beyond this current reality
we may have the best of both worlds
as the worst
dinosaurs glued to cartoon TV
as we are desperate
and left behind
don't forget us
please.