Bella 1d

I really like the idea of a week without technology
it sounds great
it sounds like practicing what I preach
like actually spending time in the real world
the thing is, if I put down my phone…

you see I'm a very loving person
so I surround myself with people who need loving
I open myself up to anyone and everyone so they see me
as an Open Door
one they don't have to knock on upon  entering
I open myself up as a pick-me-up,
as a first or last resort
as a…

people these days, they act fast.
if they ask you a question and you don't respond within a few minutes,
they make up their mind.
people are no longer patient
they make life-altering decisions in a matter of minutes
so if I don't pick up my phone…

if I don't pick up my phone,
someone cut Herself
someone could kill Himself
I could be the person they call before they do it.
maybe I could have taken their hand off the trigger,
convince them to throw out there razor,
in this day and age, it isn't safe... to put my phone down!

Our mouths are clogged with lazy abbreviations and shortened versions of intelligence.

Hands bound with all the cords needed to charge and sync and transfer data to our brains, empty of original thought.

Our storage is at max capacity with the lies we're fed and the senseless information we're expected to regurgitate to earn our badge of Respected Member of Society.

But you have an opportunity to do things with purpose. Don't jam your pockets with phone numbers and calendars and one hundred versions of the same picture.

If your pockets are heavy, may they be weighted with the rocks you find while you walk beside the river that calms you.

And if your eyes grow tired, may it be from staring into the distance at the mountains you were born to climb.

Flesh on flesh to fingers on glass.
No longer do I say the words.
Instead the text I type tells you that “I love you.”
The evolution of emotion.
The technologicalization of the hearts fuel,
Makes the organic feel no longer relevant.
No longer do my lips show my expression.
Instead all I give is a kiss from my thumb.
    *
So far away, but my presence lingers in an invisible stream.
Like a ghost I am with you.
Travelling through the waves.
A tower, our connector.  
We love in the age of the screen,
The age of the machine.
   *
Love now feels so solitary.
My heart no longer beats against your own.
Instead the buzzing of vibration beckons my digitized feelings.
I now find myself romancing alone,
Romancing the phone.

<First line in hook all sections sung by three people in unison>
Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

It only matters what you sa-a-ay,
how you treat others...
are you com-peting?

<First line in lyric sections sung by three people in unison>
Lyrical body

Walk out your do-or,
walk down, your drive-way
Down the street and...
...see what's happening.

Thousands of people every-where,
but no one's talking
no one see's them!

Step back from the stre-e-et
hear what I say, imagine, imagine...
...do you believe me?

Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

It only matters what you sa-a-ay,
how you treat others...
...do they see it?
Do you feel com-pleted?

Lyrical body

Sho-ow-me-something, ever-lasting,
better even...
...than your m-i-i-nd.
Imagination is the power,
nothing you hold makes you a king.

What is -the-e- future?
How, do-you-see-it?
Is no one talking?
Do you believe me?

Tell us your-or future,
can you see it?
Do you feel it?
Come on believe me.

Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

It only matters what you sa-a-ay,
how you treat others...
are you com-peting?


Lyrical body

Sho-ow-me-something, ever-lasting,
better even...
...than your m-i-i-nd.
Imagination is the power.
Nothing-your-holding,
makes you a king...
...gives you glory...
...marks The Hour!

Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

Fade Out Hook

It doesn't matter what you ar-r-re,
or what you do...
or what you're eating.

God is the Vagabond.
Timothy Daly Oct 4

if you want to make the most of now,
this short poem will show you how,
unplug the devices
you know to be vices,
and say to distraction, “bella, ciao!”

She is attached to the couch
  like a swollen tomatoe;
glued to the TV, supine and subservient.
  Texting while while writing a generic fantasy novel, with the
  televison serving as an audio fireplace,
  she believes she'll be famous despite
lacking concentration, respect, and will.

  O, call to the daycares; a baby is loose --
neck fastened by an electronic noose.
  America come and receive thy child;
harbor a body sheltered from the wild;
  And how could you expect such
sofa fungus to survive? Well,
  first, to save someone else, they
must be alive.

Ira Desmond Sep 27

The the only real differences
between this reality

and dystopia

that I can discern now

are set design and lighting.

shannon Sep 26

Kill yourself and be born again
to a time you may fit
Where buttons and signals did not exist.
If I were to kill myself and be born again
I would go to a time where love was far from modern
Where signals were only through telephone wires, cable connectors
and hearts.
My hazy head has been disconnected from your heart in this new aged world
and my own.
The love has been deactivated
Your presence has been blocked
My emotional state is offline
And your signal is no longer connected

All because of buttons and signals.

zero Sep 23

My friend has a secret blog, that I cannot track.
These bricks in my back, the hearts in my attack,
cannot seem to trace these misunderstood words,
the words I want to find to make sure she is still alive.

She turns her phone away when she types,
not daring me to hold the hunk of metal in mine own hands
in case I happen to swipe left on an image and find out her secret,
of night time confessions to innocent people,
the phrases I need to know if she's okay.
The words I cannot seem to find,
because my friend request has been denied.

She talks to me about this blog, going on and on
about the people she 'helps',
by asking them if they've had a good day or not,
when in fact
She is neither qualified or in the right state of mind to tell people right from wrong, because she is so far from right she has gotten lost.
She took a turn at the interstate and found herself at the bottom of a river, in which she is trapped.
But she can still manage to pull out her phone and ask everyone if they're okay,
denying the fact that she is
drowning herself.

She gets to the point where she thinks the world feels better if she feels worse,
talking herself into believing the lies she feeds herself rather than looking at the bigger picture, much bigger than she is.
and seeing she is hopeless.
The world can't change because of a few words, or a question or a blog, but for the world to reboot and start over.

She has to see that she isn't in the wrong.
But at the same time, she isn't in the right, either.

Dilon is an idiot if they think they can change this war with a few words.
-Hollow.xo
george v Sep 20

Slave ships launched
Travailing into space
In shuddered submission
Gravity’s hug disembraced


Tho diminished to zero
Dark bards travel afar
Toting sacks of familia soil
Planting seeds from star to star

/)  /)  /)  /)  /)  Postlude  /)  /)  /)  /)  /)

Dark matter sings   sad plaintive songs
To prayerful groans    children listen

Black lights shimmer    to rhythms within
Choirs in furrows    toilsomely glisten


gv 17c (Sound track: “Star Whipped”)


This metaphorical piece was conceived by several thoughts,  spinning off of the fourth verse, “Gravities hug disembraced”.  

1) As a spaceship must reach a certain velocity to escape the bond of physical gravity, “zero gravity”;
2) mankind's accelerating “spaceship” of technological advances and  nihilistic outcomes will reach a point that diminishes all human bonds to “zero morality”.  
3) The “slave ships” launched Africans from their homelands soil/familia bonds, diminishing  their humanity/freedom to zero.
4) The indomitable spirit and sinewed character of slaves sucked into a hostile alien universe.


NOTE: A griot, jali or jeli is a West African historian, storyteller, praise singer, poet and/or musician. The griot is a repository of oral tradition and is often seen as a societal leader due to his or her traditional position as an advisor to royal personages. As a result of the former of these two functions, he or she is sometimes also called a bard.   Although they are popularly known as "praise singers", griots may use their vocal expertise for gossip, satire, or political comment.

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