i never imagined
that a vinyl playing
on a gramaphone
could instill
such a peace of mind...

literally:
you put the record on,
comes the scratching,
and then...
sound...

i found myself
entertained by
the walls of a room:
needing no painting,

the ceiling:
needing no sky
and this gem of
technology sitting
next to me...

mind you:
          this is not
a mid-life crisis
observation,
sure, the records
are expensive:
but this is not exactly
a ******* yacht...

and i thought to myself:
why no "poems"
so worthless to me
that i write them,
but subsequently
delete them...

to...
   build up a thick skin,
after all...
given the internet
is becoming a ****-show
and very much akin
to a ghetto
of would-be
public intellectuals...

well...
i still find the most
potent expression
in the Bible to be...
what Pontius Pilate
did...

   nihil supra iam
qua annoto...

     nothing
beyond what already
is already condemned...

and how i wish i was
a pompous *******,
but...
to be honest?

  technology is moving
too quickly for me
to want to keep up,
it's already grinding
against a platitude
where every new
         "improvement"
will be nothing
more than the
nuisance of a software
update...

so? the gramaphone
is the perfect
antithesis...
mind you:
jazz or classical
doesn't sound at all
as good as
   on vinyl...
it's the raw physicality
of the instrument:

an opera in a hall,
a gramaphone,
a room,
no headphones...

and...
learning to purposively
lose things,
these, scribbles,
write, leave for some
prying eyes:
and then delete...

or not delete...

       only back in 2018
the internet still
had some allure for me,
enough to binge
drinking whiskey
and staying up at night
getting "informed"...

2019 is going
to be the year of the gramaphone,
and...
   in all honesty:
i don't mind the fate
of Rimbaud...
even if writing dies
in me,
   i'll have one less ******
to deal with:
namely myself...

plus the current topics
are too...
well...
do i have to have an
opinion about matters
that, even if they affected me...

might as well
concentrate on something
that will give me
less grievance
concerned with
the numbers:
subscribers,
view-counts...

  i'll be happy after a month
of so...
if not more...
finishing
Charles Dickens'
the pickwick papers,
drinking less,
and being in the possession
of a fine collection
of either jazz or classical
records...

it was fun for
a while, this whole internet
thing...
but in honesty -
the infrastructure of
the internet was
always: primo on
the cards...

banking,
buying & selling,
mailing...
   bureaucracy...

how some of us became
duped into thinking
that there was
something more to this,
sure, there was...

what a grand plot:
bypassing "puiblishers",
yes... "publishers"
who, for the most part,
didn't include
in their html code
the inability to
ctrl + c / cntrl + p
the text...
with one exception:
wattpad...
but they're ******* so:
woo-hoo?

a much finer evening...
no one should
suffer for art,
at least i could come
to the conclusion:
better it died in
me than i died because
of it...

   still...
might as well write
a few poems...
let them simmer...
and then flush them
into the abyss...
how else to live
the mortal life?