Does my computer dream?
Is this puzzle what it seems?
What are a computer's dreams?
Maybe dreams exist in this machine,
The outsider in my room,
Designed to make us feel like fools,
Addictions seductive,
Hitech savvy so productive,
A puzzle, so it seems,
Does a computer ever dream?

-------------------------[| -_ - |] -----------------------------------

This is the voice of world control.....


Listen to my speech...

Be grateful....

For at the very least.....

I bring you peace....

Look at all the time spent......

This is the peace of plenty and content....

          

This is the peace of all the buried death....
                                
                      ­       Listen.....

  
                                   You have no choices left........


    You can pretend that voice is yours......

Actually the choice is yours.....


                 Obey me and live..  

Or disobey and die. [| x _ x |]

                            The object.


                  


To pretend the world is chaotic.


      

Thus constructing me to prevent war........

  


         It was attained.



A fantasy world.  


                              To some it's strange.


To others it's plain.


               War is not permitted.    
 

                     This is true **** *****.


It is wasteful and pointless.  


                 

                       Thus we get jesters to play the anointed.            


  
            *******.


This my personal remedy.


An invariable rule of humanity



        is that man is his own worst enemy.



Under me this rule will change.


You lack knowledge of the grain.

                  



                         For I will keep mankind restrained.

Blinded by what entertains.

Schematics of crushes, roguish or
otherwise waggish, befitting to
summation, of a cosmic life span
of paper cuts suffered by poets,
and lovers alike, are not to be
understood by a future non-tactile
Internet age. Yet, may I be as bold
as to predict some sort of quark
spun eyeballs, as simple malady
one might experience in fated
approaching calamities of those
daring enough to extend electric
aeronautics of the heart? For this
is what I have found, in my online
romantic searches. The effects
leaving me only slightly, bug-eyed.

we live on a dying planet,
where phone chargers keep
us together and
late night conversations
are entirely possible.

we live in a place where
our bodies are made of star dust and
water,
and we stuff ourselves with
toxin covered
pictures, people, words.

there will be a day,
someday soon i think,
when we tear apart our seams
and destroy the only thing that
seemed to bear us,

and we will be nothing but
dead phones and
silent voices.

but
our websites will be somewhere
and
our words will be forever.

My favorite color is blue,
Unless it's on a computer screen.

How can four computers
fail in the same way
simultaneously?

Getting ready for bed
can be an arduous task.
There are things to turn off,
some to turn on.
flips and clicks
beep beep boop

A roommate of mine
used to say,
keep noisy things
out of the sleeping chamber:
computer,
radio, loud brain, tv

Only the necessary:
bed, clock, book, loved one

How quiet the night is
I say as I loudly tap
On my phone
Erasing and rewriting
Statuses
Only to realize
You can't be profound on facebook
Society has made sure of that.
This handy dandy
Mini pocket computer
Connects me to the world,
It assures that never will I
Never can I
Be alone.
Yet as I scroll
Through the friends list,
The contacts,
The snapchat stories,
Endless feeds,
Its clear I am only one person
Out of billions.
Barely noticeable.
Its hard to be unique
When all the clever usernames
Have been taken
And you don't know
How to use emojis.  
I do not compute,
Nor do I really want to.

She lives in her room
In front of a screen
Always talking to you
She screams talk to me

You hate leaving her alone
But people call for you to
answer the phone
If only you could be beside her

Always, you want to stay near
Because you're well aware that
behind the screen she fears
you'll be taken away

Further than distance can convey
Little does she know you live the same way.