Remove my hands from my throat
Let me escape the white inevitable screen
Red upon blue wires strangles me
Everyone else is already dead
The white light ate them
Split and obsessed with confirmation
Impatient to get recognized
Indistinguishable personalities judged by each other
Because a heart per day keeps the Reaper away
And hungry they wander the masses
Brainless and forever starving
Dissolving in their own expectations
Layer upon layer they change, though, never evolve
Eternally forgotten in themselves

Who are they?
Everyone alike
Who am I?
I fear; everyone alike

We’re the generation that
Validates its existence through memes Everyone can relate with,
Gratifies itself through likes,
Swiping a nod of 'count me in'.

What happened to the times
When two strangers would connect
Over nothing but a smile?

We live close to the people far
We are far away from the people close by
The network of people within net
Has its web links across the globe
We follow thousands people around
Giving them likes , emoticons
And sometimes comments!
Thousand pictures of others life ,
The stories , they have
All there to be viewed by people
Who care , who don't care
But people , do share

I have you in my sight
Time to take that picture
Saving it with your name
So you can look yourself up

Tell me where you are now
I need to know for your safety
Forget about privacy
Everyone's life is becoming an open book

Film all of your surroundings
to give memories more meaning
You look so much more happier
with that shining bright filter on

Slave of the new media
Need to confirm my existence
So please give me your opinion
to make my wasted days count

Conversations made
through meaningless stares at the screen
Real emotions never shown
Only delivered

Have you heard the news?
Why are you ignoring me?
Because everybody else has heard
about the truth of my lies

(link to my video that creates self perpetuating irony)
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1789798171237203&id;=100006211128508

What is 1 to 1.5

currency to relativity

urgency brings negativity

It's not about new tools

it withers your tools bring productivity

The way you slap that old guitar, the way you drive that beat up car

How fast does it run? How long does it last? How fast does it charge?

New can only take you so far

Let that distance your reach be derived from a skill, not from how rich or famous your are.

I often walk, even though I own a car...I prefer feeling the wind, the open-air, it makes me feel like I'm apart of something

The emotions I feel are driven from an organic substance, the dirt that I see the wind that I feel..these constant conflicts between what is man-made and what was here.

The stare of a deer, the tree was its friend, it's now been destroyed to make a path of cement.

That path of cement created a state of solidarity, urban prosperity, violence numbified by media regularities.

Civilizations become the norm, even though we all barely speak to each other physically

Digital formats become our literal floor mats, every result you leave results in a digital footprint, cataloged for the marketing lab rats

Too complex to understand like a physical labyrinth, Let me elaborate

So let me ask you ?! What is 1 to 1.5

Can you live without your social media vices, multimedia devices, tell me the definition of what "like" is

Currency, urgency, thumbs up if you feel like every part of your life is an emergency, if so then share it,
so the world can see

Then watch your conversations about fashion turn into a targeted ad about a jacket that is burgundy

Invasion of privacy? Not if your privacy is for the world to see.

Coincidently that jacket is on sale, so if you buy it this theory will not fail, and if you don't the media will still prevail, it's presence is an entire quarter, meaning it's heads or tails.

That's urgency hiding behind a veil.

Nostalgia
is a poor excuse
for ignorance

yet it pervades
with a tenacity
stemming from fabricated desire
for the smell of ****
we're told
is roses

and it's blasphemous
to question potential "isms"
lurking behind the veil
of Saturday morning cartoons
and black and white family sitcoms.

Yet by the time the sonic *** organs
have lain into us with repressed emotion,
the holy spirit has spilled its ***** in the dirt
to traverse onward floating apparition
out of the room and down the hall
closer towards progress.

and we are left reeling
stumbling into the hallway
buttoning our blouses
and yanking at our zippers

wondering what could cause
such great haste
and we follow blindly
in the wake of the first high

or we turn backwards
and plunge into fading bricolage
as a means to cope
with the rapid and fleeting *******
of the electric eye
in its shape-shifting pylons and appendages
getting smaller in the naked eye
and gargantuan in the mind.

Clutching our *******
in great amorous heaves
of lust
or donning our father's clothes
in a mask of artifice
and enlightened cultural pretension.

Moaning for the days of youth a week ago,
the epoch squeezed in the space between thumbs,
looking for treasures in the trash
craving something tangible
in an increasingly intangible world.

The semblance of touch lost on a generation
who knows only of emotion through hieroglyphics
and never through direct sensation.

So we dig through the toy boxes
and leave Generation X puzzled
as we dig into their records
in Guns n Roses T-shirts
and high waisted jeans.

We're just looking for an immaculate conception of something palpable.