Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*******, clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread

Existential *****.
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.


Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated *******, vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes

Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I

I    I     I

No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana

HandshapedHeart.

2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons

Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices

Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack

A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet

If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline

Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.

[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]

Genius is forged by passion
It is this which never dies:
Transcendental elation.

So long as one creation
is moved to dance mesmerized,
genius is forged by passion.

Though stone hearts lack expression,
postmoderns aching to try
transcendental elation

Keeping "plebes" from their "mansions."
Speak this opaque truth as lies:
Genius is forged by passion.

The hive mind *******,
at shared expense they deny
transcendental elation.

Our yearning adoration
causes heaven's voice to cry,
Genius is forged by passion!
Transcendental elation.

There is no such thing as Center
Perception is a box
A television
In which we see how to live our
lives
In which we see others
More Beautiful Others
live our lives
While we sit
and watch
Simulation of stimulation
Simulacra becomes reality
Reality becomes a game show
I’m losing

Center gives depth
and boundaries
and an easier existence to digest
Yes or No
Pepsi or Coke
Living or Existing
A system of binary choices
acts as a deterrence model
which suppresses radical change

The symbols become the real
The reproduction becomes the real
The simulation becomes the real

There is no such thing as Center
There is no such thing as center
There is no such thing as “center”

Arab scarabs
wielding scabbards
staggered with hilts
laid waste to
idle Cherubs in
garments
embroidered
like quilts.

They're off kilter,
with no filter, and
wear stilts where
leaves wilt, sir
please lilt yr
tactless

anachronisms
through fractured
refractive prisms
to help the mind
unbind from
shop, office, and
factory prisons

Listen:

there's a
penitent androgyne,
speaking
sentence in pantomime
as though rhyme
were no longer
a kind of
berated
creative crime: But

who
the
hell
CARES?!?!?!?!

Let's not make any bones about it,
For I have no bones to pick.
Ah, and I've got you there,
for I am a sack of meat.

O, to live amongst the squids!
and be so jubilant and jiggly,
why, no pleasure's ever met my eye,
as that leathery wriggling beak.

Am I to blame for my misfortune?
Surely so, but of you I must ask,
what misfortune? Am I to assume
that because I have agency, I must fail?

Nonsense! And how fitting.
American manifest. Living
in a land, for himself, most befitting.
Laugh with me, for we live in Clown World.

This is the power of
the untamed duffle bag.
Vicious! O how vicious, his maw,
his all consuming zipper unzipped.

But my zipper, too, is unzipped.
Such a faux pas passes not
in our society, unforgiving,
unforgivable.
Original sin.

What am i doing up at 2:53 am
Thinking about the time you

M

yh e

ar t

"God is so dead"

          -Post-postmodern Nietzsche