"electronica" poems
Ultra Violet magnetic field of high voltage adrenaline showers the streets like speeding sports cars.
It's a rare occurrence of unregulated foreign madness.
I felt my inner chambers open and through them I explored my city in a new fashion.
Pulsating skies and electronica vibes.
Golden halos fall all around and the people, all friendly faces, liberated from their steel rooms.
I can hear the cries in the air.
A step closer, a heart willing to beat louder. A flower courageous enough to grow within the industrial tombs of the living dead. A divine light is what is lighting their way out of miserable decay.
- C.Ek
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
Organic Simili Samba
Orchestra Electronica
Writing TV, Watching Music
Reality Distortion Field
It Becomes Like Another World
Giant Gutter from Outer Space
Artificial Intelligence
Intergalactic Existence
-
Open Gates of Ancient Knowledge
Archetypal Architecture
Low Resolution Universe
Dark Pineapples & Chocolate
New Operative Perspective
Unbreakable Circuits of Love
Dance the Spiral Never Ending
And the Colours Made the Earth Sing
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, ******** trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
Honkey-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
As the booming music
from the crowded
student center
attempts to
beat my heart
right out of my chest
I retreat
into my own quietness.
Writing poetry
on a neon yellow
Post-It note
as the college kids
around me
talk about
that awesome house party
last night.
I think about how
I cannot have
the love that I want
but I know someday
I'll have
the love that wants me.
And now
the booming music
does indeed
make my heart race
as my quest for love
pauses
to rave out
to electronica music.
I pump a metaphorical fist
not to party
but to proclaim
that I
am a hopeless dreamer.
Deal with it.
Maybe dub step isn't so bad.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
Neutrons, protons, croutons, electrons. Electronic. Electric. Electricity.
Creativity?
Negativity.
An electronic .
A psychotic electronic.
I don't want my body to become a piece of metal.
It doesn't make me feel settle.
I don't want wires to control my movement.
I don't want a computer as a brain.
If it rains outside, I would completely malfunction.
I am a human, with human thoughts an concerns.
I am a human with human feelings and a human body.
I have human body organs as well.
I guess it is interesting that humans are evolving.
But I also find it to be a mess.
What will happen when my human body parts and organs become replaced with computers and electronics that are controlled by the high class society and the government?
We will become robots;
An army for the government.
We will be forced to do however they please.
What about us?
Should we fuss?
Or should we not worry about the fact that we wont have the right to speak up any more?
We wont have feelings, thoughts and concerns.
We can't even control our own movement.
We can't even control our own choices.
It is all decided by them.
We don't have the right to know when something wrong is in sight.
And we can't say anything about it.
Say goodbye to human rights!
Say goodbye to freedom of speech!
Say goodbye to being human at all!
They don't care,
they don't want to feel powerless.
So they take away everything that is important to us.
And you think that technology developing is cool
I would like to remain human.
I don't want to be part of the Electronica!
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
It's been one hell of a night.
She sat in blue light, artificial,
fingers tangled in dreds, natural,
head bobbing to bare beats
and **** draws upon the well of
electronica, O' jazzia,
O' sense-sinking psychedelia,
O' fleeting fingers ********* false feelings in the dark;
And this is what music is.
This is what music has always been.
The arrangement of sounds to tell a story,
paint a picture,
build mindscapes and landscapes upon which stories and feelings
will meld and melt and freeze to ice,
hot ice,
a paradoxical nocturnal noctuary of dreams and nightmares and candles dripping with wax.
Sing me home, Chet Faker,
bring me back to your apartment.
Sing it long and sing it low,
(This gas station fluorescence sure is hard on the eyes.)
sing me back to Boulder, Colorado;
to Joliet, Montana.
O' jazzia, my jazzia,
my sweet sand dollar saxophony,
will you meet me in Amarillo, Texas?
Will you play me a tune before the water-meter puts me to sleep?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
time gives way to the broken sensation
of loud electronica
its thriving Bass has no consideration
of humanity or emotion
but we can all relate to that
its just a fact
that ours is a generation of apathy
whether it be;
apathy in contentment
or apathy in despair
we just don't care
and i am sick of those words
"i don't care."
its pure but subtle poison fed to us
from some iron tower that will never see rust
and it will never stop transmitting
it's signals to you
though it seems the message is getting through
and I'm not labelling you, lets make that clear
But I'll tell you my biggest fear:
that we're all going down a drain
and its one without love, the one without pain
'cause its the easiest path to travel
fear consumes me at this thought
for we're being turned into something we're not
but in this grey suburbia air
there is no raindrop with a pair
and i can't find somebody to love
of that; this lonely Vancouver rain will always remind me
its eternal forests dripping up from the sea
i need to unwind and find the time.
goodnight suburbia...
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
In her head she kisses Mickey Rourke
to the sounds of jazz lounge
or electronica, imagining the City
sky-lit skyscrapers
hoarding robotic lives
only she & Mickey are alive
only they are worth it
their joy-ride of lust
holds them in it's grip
but only the wind forgives
the stars that hide
the love soon to be torn apart
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
I live my life in defiance.
I defy you with every preference, every decision, every passion.
I refuse to think like you, to dress like you, or to eat like you.
I don't believe in a religion.
I reject modern western values,
I refuse to care for money or for power.
I listen to indie music an electronica.
I read Nietzsche, Walt Whitman, and Diane Ackerman.
I dance to the sitar.
I'm politically liberal.
I ingest psychedelics.
I frolick buck-naked in the woods.
I make love.
I thrive on love,
I rejoice in novelty,
I exalt in sensation in
My defiant existence,
But I eat unorignality.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 10:58 PM UTC
Staring into the nothingness
Ambient music elevating universal oneness
Remarkable distinction of detachment; experiencing stillness within intergalactic travel, curiosity peaking of what will unravel
Culmination of rhythmic and cosmic electronica; tuning in as one breathes through the harmonica
Integrating the wisdom and vital energy of Prajna, while sitting comfortably in a restorative asana.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
“But maybe your real job is shopping…”
Sleepwalk through stock footage. Life as
documentary. Soundtrack of horror movie score:
ambient electronica, bubblegum nostalgia and
**** love songs. Everything becomes
visual metaphor: blackbirds, barcodes and
birthday candles; Big Pharma pick & mix;
lipstick ritual; pigeon superstition; fraying flags
of fading empires; migratory patterns of
shopping trolleys; special offers; fantastic prizes.
Worker bees are vanishing - they all want to
be queens - and our hives overflow
with honey, but are empty and dead. We got
infected with aspiration, with individualism.
Generically unique career consumers: remember
when you were more than your credit rating,
more than your demographic, more than your
market-driven self-diagnosis?
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Spectrums to sound waves.
One infinite pulsing heart.
Synth to love you so...
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
cold string lights
warm street lights
sweater
scrunchie
mask
mittens
fogged over
grey bus ride
it's always
morning
in this world
i've made for myself
tapping keys and
blazing screens and
soft wooden
electronica dreams
coffee cups with
grease on the outside
and swirling flakes
of keep it together girl
don't let your
fingers freeze
and hope that
your toes get warm
and at night pull
the velvety clouds
over your eyes
after you slip down
like hot wax
off a candle
washed down with
soap and daily regrets
washed down with
cold wine and ink
wash
rinse
repeat
tomorrow
but for
right now
*it's all over now
baby blue*
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 8:28 PM UTC
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
*Cloudy days bring me back to who I was.
Thinking about myself, cuz no one does.
Im a lone warrior walking silently in the midst.
Trying my best to live without a balled fist.
Dont take my spiritual innocence..from me.
I am not fascinated by the dream of money.*
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
*Take me to new dimensions.
I fly away without attention.
Theres a new world existing in my mind.
This new world is perfect..because the new world is mine.
No laws, no regulations, no taxes, no classes.
Just a place for good vibes for myself and the masses.*
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
Help me escape the cage.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
A thing to move is a thing to die for
With so many things
A man can get confused
With wars billowing human and black smoke
While everyone else is cheerin', makin' jokes
There once seemed that there was a dream
That I was given so hence thought about
A high note of praise from somewhere else far off
A broke hope revealing itself that we ain't up to *****
Hope touches itself in the night just to continue for the morning
And it will touch itself again
Maybe thats the only way to go on
Or maybe it isn't
Who is the pencil to say?
Who is the pencil at all?
Who is the question maker that begins and ends these things
That we call life and who are we?
Critical fat menus burn in the streets
Once we all realize we are apart of the disease
With crocodile torch rockets that spin from the minds of mad
And the sane play cricket just because it is a fun game
Can it be, O' Lord, that our time has come at last
Where the mercury music of lore is now finally past
For electronica
Is the music of the machine God
And we obsess over this music but some times
I couldn't believe it any less
Moving through this time of destitution and reforms and political
Fervor
I remember, or, I tell myself, myself, myself
That we are men and women underneath stars
That we were once underneath blankets
Crying for our mommies
I tell myself this
I tell myself
I tell myself
May 3, 2011
May 3, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
We are modern Origami sprawl
gritty boxes, evolving
on a blighted sea of sprinkled dusk.
Witching this Epoch hour
where will I find you
jeans throng a poison prescience giant
like a fill-in-the blank Bell
soon to be bird-like & quivering
a Clinging beyond ourselves
electronica loud-mouthed
beep beep
a motorcycle dazzle
some drop in the heat
oh Che Guevara
nothing's changed
nothing's real
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
She's got cool aid in her veins -
neon pouring through the rain
A lighthouse heart with red lips
shooting straight from the hip
I've been craving her since the 80's
like a cowboy gone cocain crazy
A hundred million blue balloons
lift me straight up to the moon
I can see earth and all its pretty
lights when I look inside her eyes
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
unspoken Voice say nothing
as well
as unwritten Words
Deeds done unnoticed,
unheeded, are beheaded in quiet
Solitude
private Executions
in a Smokey courtyard, pulsing
with Electronica
It's a Plain world
and Fancy words don't do it justice
I rap Words ordinarily
Lisping the loop to synch
with a Caller:
Chattel, chatter, and chatting
under azure Seas thru black
Cables
I hear skin and touch tears
I lisp loops like a f*g
being Scratched on an 80's
Turntable
Feb 11, 2024
Feb 11, 2024 at 12:44 PM UTC
She's got cool aid in her veins
Neon pouring through the rain
She's a dream I wish I had
A disease I'd rather spread
I've been craving her since the 80's
Like a cowboy gone cocain crazy
Climb inside my head, Alison
Let me be your wonderland instead
All these flashing lights
Dancing off your skin
Neon pouring through the rain
She's got cool aid in her veins
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
she plays the music loud
when no one is around
she dances like there's no tomorrow
and never a yesterday
she basks in the palpable sound
of her rapid (rabid) heartbeat
bare feet pounding
into unhallowed ground
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 3:07 AM UTC