you get twisted up in your lies,
webs weaving back and forth,
they spin around you,
restricting you,
causing you not to function,
i watch them cover you,
till the thing people see isn't even,
remotely you.
till the thing you become,
is something you, yourself
have grown to hate,
but you can't stop yourself,
you don't want to help yourself,

The pixilated light I hold in my hands

I prefer over the rays of the star we orbit.

 

When the sun falls down, to spread its golden shine to a different plane,

Mine glows brighter still, ethereal, clean and white.

I cover my head, my soul, as I **** out my insecurities, like a dog marking its territory, all over the virtual forest of broken lives.

 

Screaming out coyly for attention to rescue my mind from the insolence I perceive my reality to be, behind ironic wording and new age grammar, I wear like plastic garments, leeching toxins into my infected blood stream

 

Sweat stained dream

Ripped seam

Digital gleam

Internet fiend

 

“Why is the world so mean?”

She walked in her world
On a ground of cloth
She felt stable
And was very well off

This girl was curious
And liked to tease out the strings
Not carring that her pulling
Was messing with things

The girl grew older
And pulled out more strings faster
The holes forming in the fabric
Seemed to fly past her

Once she knew what was happening
She felt fear and dread
What once was strong fabric
Was now a spider's web

And though she valued
The knowledge she gained
The new veiw of frail heights
Put her mind under strain

She wondered which was better,
Scratching her head:
To walk on unteased cloth
Or a thoroughly pulled web

When slapped by raving rants
Or flamed with insults.
When slurred by sarcastic sneers.
I know your blood will boil,
And someone will say,
“Are you going to stand for that?”

Ignore that person.
Calm yourself.
Smile (if face to face)
Or take up Poker Mode.
Show annoyance and the enemy has scored.
Do not respond with anger.

If appropriate, try to reason with him, her or them.
Should they not reason, say no more.
Turn it into a joke whenever you can,
Even belittling yourself in an ironic way.

Never retaliate in kind.
Never feed the flamers and trolls,
Either online or in real life.

I see around me arguments go on
And on and on and on…
When will the listen?
Don’t feed the trolls!
How many times must folk be told?
When under attack
That old cliché applies:
Silence is Golden
(And so Powerful).

Paul Butters

Mama, why does the spider spin its web?
Bright and silver above my head, she twirls her thread.

Baby, the spider is a teacher of yours,
She spins her thread when she sees an open door.
A door for her to enter in,
A door to seek a brand new spin.

She is scary, mama, and crawls all night,
How will I sleep if spider leaves me in a fright?
And why my door –
Couldn’t she go looking for more?

Ah, my child, but this spider is home,
Ask not me, but the spider, what you must be shown.
A spider knows where to cast her net,
And because of this, you mustn’t fret.

I see, but how can I ask her so?
I can ask her questions, but she wouldn’t know!
Talking to a wall, and watching her weave her thread,
She will have nothing to offer from her little head.

Baby, sweet baby, you’ve got it wrong,
And why towards this creature do you feel so strong?
A spider is what a spider will be,
A wise spirit and a blessing indeed!

If the spider is a blessing indeed,
Why does she show me her net where she catches her feed?
I do believe she is here to scare,
But I shall ask her why she’s in my hair.



Miss Spider,
Hello! And how do you do?
Could you tell me why you spin here,
Before you are through?

I figured you wouldn’t,
You can’t even talk!
Only sound that is heard
Is the ticking of my grandfather clock!


Mama, you told me to ask Miss Spider in the night,
Why she spins her thread at such a great height.
Yet she did not respond, and continued to stir,
Silent as the moonlight, her thought never even occurred.

My child, you must not ask and expect her to talk,
Especially as she spins her web, preparing to stalk!
For animals use language that is beyond our own word,
If you are patient and still, her message will be heard.

Mama, I trust you,
But Spider is gone!
Her silvery web is all that remains –
There was no trace of her at dawn.

Ah, but the magic lies within her thread,
She uses her silk so her stories are spread.
Watch as the moon takes over the sky,
The glistening in the web’s great eye!

Stories and thread,
Spider’s blackness has spread.
Tonight I will watch,
And listen as you said.

Go now, child,
And remember your deed,
For to question the web
Is a blessing, indeed!

What's your addiction?
Computer or television?
We're in a Gestalt on Google,
Like well trained poodles,
The land of Google glasses,
Is it a blessing to last us?
Is this the Prince of Air,
I read in the Bible somewhere?
Dimly switching on Google glasses,
Edited agenda, the mouse passes,
All like web trained poodles,
We're in a Gestalt on Google.

I'm a
Web Developer
Which is
The politically correct term
For
Professional Stalker.

Oh my lord, these messages
regarding novel technology
But how original is it really?

Aura, heavenly choir
echoes, booming through your living room
and creeping into your bedroom laptop
The religion is now available in a watch
The weight of this phone and the distractions she invites
I feel like a past man, a robber baron
displaced in his longest dream, and it’s terrifying
that there are past lives
I’m not sure how I’ll deal with the flashing images
which describe everything I ever done