I think I'm turning paranoid,
Or at least a little mean;
I question all the motives
Of those who liked my meme.
The second I get Followed,
I ****-- turn around around to see
If he just wants a "Follow-back"
Or truly likes my feed.
Don't even get me started
On social reciprocation.
IRL I don't do so well;
In virtual, I'm an island nation.
Do I just Like what I like?
Or only what really hits home?
What if it's a horrible post
By someone who loves my poem?
...do you like me? Do you really
For the record: I'm not referring to anyone specific.
I used to think that I was Social
And then Media came to play.
I've only ever consumed the stuff;
At creating, I'm middling - just okay.
I can't Mediate people;
Will never be a journalist;
I like talking sometimes,
But the internet? Not the greatest.
So it's time to divorce these words:
The Social from the Media.
For all the info I could want,
There's always wikipedia.
Vestigial limbs of a memory forgotten
itch like bicycle shoestrings tapping every spoke.
One day my brother asked me to visit someone with him
he said the guy was my age and feeling down
because his cat ran away
I said sure, that sounds like a nice thing to do.
After 20 minutes I realized why the cat ran
I was planning my escape route as well
this guy was miserable
—it was annoying
and then he said it:
"System of a Down sold out with Toxicity,
which was a garbage album."
the layers of stupidity sent me into a k-hole.
Millions of fans would **** Serj Tankien's ****
if only SOAD would make one more album
but yeah, their sellouts, and your cool.
Clearly, screaming, "banana, banana, terracotta pie" repeatedly
is just telling people what they want to hear.
I tried to change the subject to politics
but he made it clear he had absolutely no interest,
well no **** he doesn't understand SOAD, it's pretty political,
but because art is subjective he thinks his opinion has value
and it does—it lets me know to stay away from his negative idiocy.
Kind of like a car ride I shared
with an older right wing friend of my father.
He scanned the radio like a crackhead
searching for a song in the shallow pool he enjoyed
his lexicon limited, our selection scarce
like a lost cat trapped in a garage
unaware of what is and isn't food.
We came across I Got A Name by Jim Croce
and he said, "Nope. No Jim Croce in this car."
Really? ******* Jim Croce?
I guess I wouldn't like his music either if I voted for Leroy Brown.
It'd be naive of me to think these people
don't work for The New Yorker
calling Ford V Ferrari "empty and hollow".
**** dude, I hate to break it to you
but if you can't find emotion in that movie
that's a flaw in you
and the hordes of imbeciles
approaching art with a "this better ******* impress me" attitude
tearing apart any movie that aims for anything elevated
to be just generally miserable or to show how "smart" they are.
Meanwhile, sniping at an actually empty and hollow movie
is seen as punching down and a waste of time
so a subculture of cynics is developed
infecting others with toxicity
to see art as a challenge to one's intelligence
rather than honest emotional expression
then people miss out on the full capability of art
and consume it improperly
and regurgitate it in front of me like a feeble feral cat.
I hate how it consumes me
It's not enough to feed the addiction
I can't deny my love for attention
How can you deny this feeling
I think as I’m creeping
Outside your window watching you sleeping
I hope you willfully dreaming
Of us steaming, our love sharing
Now my tempers flaring
Thinking you ignoring
All this love I’m giving
So stop stringing
Me along this road, I’m hurting
My life slowly and I’m sliding
Losing all part of me I’m deteriorating
So please stop faking
I love you with all my heart but you making
This anger uncontrollable it’s damning
My soul constantly tearfully craving
Your touch so stop playing
My hand reaching out to you suddenly stopping
My thoughts disturbing
My mesmerized eyes, now I’m running
Thoughts racing, heart pumping,
legs darting., I’m shaking
thinking, I’m losing me to you willingly
My lungs bleeds for me to stop shouting......
When you love someone that it consumes you, you become a passenger within yourself...
O, shapeshifter reveal your truths which have no shape.
O, beast of all beasts: soaring swimming running hopping,
feathered furred scaled shrouded,
Claws reach for a submerged feast. Tail wriggling, caught by the sky.
Smooth skin hidden by design gracefully opens. Extending,
snatches a meal of bug mid-flight.
Muscle meeting by chance, tooth taking sustenance. Ragged breathe torn
from one body to be worn by the next.
Highly sophisticated eyes become a snack.
O, peace in chaos!
O, pleasant reminder of romp!
O, devourer of the devoid,
shaping reality by way of playful lovers!
Life dies for life,
It keeps us alive.
Keeps the circle rotating.
We reach we fall, we reach we fall,
When all is said then all will all,
But all will never be said at all-
Not even close from spring to fall;
Fall from here, this place I raced to,
And looked back and wished for nature,
Simpler times and simpler natures -
I race through now and so unmake them;
Because I need to make the greatest!
Tallest, boldest, noblest, all-est
So I can boast and toast or roast it
Consume it now. And now. And now!
We reach we fall,