I am a writer in a generation where words are a dime a dozen…
Chicken feed
Technology is all anybody ever needs.
The only thing worth attention is video streams,
Nobody reads…

Slowly losing sight on the important things in life
Stuck on screens, different scenes
The endless pursuit of happiness
Just another day wasted by…

Living in an outside jail
Losing track of the beauty made
Seeing the world through postcard mail
Overworked,underpaid

Taking the same road
To the same place
For days on end…
Caged,in the same routine

Living in an outside jail
Losing track of the beauty made
Seeing the world through postcard mail
Overworked,underpaid

Just keep smiling
There will always be another sunset on the horizon
Just keep tryin'
One day we'll be sitting,looking out on the ocean...

Here's to all the concerned gaurdians
Who enact an internet firewall
And here's to all the witty subjects
Who find ways around it all

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.

if my fingers could scratch past the glass,
to reach your bony hands,
i would never stop trying,
to hug your thinning body,
to rub warmth to your fingers and your soul,
you have shown me love like i have never known before.
i wish i could break the screens,
to get to you,
so that i could somehow save you,
i could be there for you no matter how bad things got,
we could stop fooling with i miss you's
i really want to see you,
if only,
i could get past the
SCREEN

When was the last time I felt like this
This curious euphoria, this eagerly learning bliss?

Thinking about it, I've felt it before
The first time being when I was four

When I had tried my own little tests
An encyclopedia convinced me that science was the best

And then again when I was six
I saw a table in a PTA mist

And I became a Brownie Girl Scout
Because I liked badges and camps and helping others out

And when I reached the age of seven
I picked up a violin and found heaven

And in middle school in a Floridian vale
I felt that same rush when I learned how to sail

And in grade eight in the city of Detroit
I found my passion with my activist's voice

As an underclassman, my heart reached new highs
Hiking up to touch the Shenandoah skies

There's been so many choices that I've made
That exhilarated me and made me who I became

And feeling this now as I first try to code
I know I've found a new passion for my mind to download

We sit behind dull lit screens,
Pixelated faces; pixelated dreams.
I wish you were here physically, my friend
To snuggle with, to hug, to laugh with, and to kiss...
"Fish lips!"
Until our paths cross again at your parents house in November.

I am thankful for technology.


© Jo Tomso

Working parts and mechanisms,
charts and graphs and mannerisms,
a table, pencil, square and mitre...
eraser marks, sweat drops, -go lighter!

A thought or two and ponderance...

Decimal here and decimal there,
-micron adjustment now we're square...
Up all night until daylight dawn
and finally I've fixed the Krong!

A thought or two and ponderance...

To the factory arrive before eight
and finished, furnished, a model late...
A handheld one and something larger,
humanity saved by my charger!

A thought or two and ponderance...

10 years long after planet saved,
They'll be parades and accolades...
Statues, tributes, my name in text-books,
but no one, never, a second look!
Never to worry on life again...

..I did it,
I reset the world; begin.

And did it all with Earth's mighty spin.