**** Tumblr. **** Facebook. **** thumbs up. **** Iphones and everything with an " I " before it's name.  Even if it's  an " Ivone ". **** Justin and Katy, teenagers and children. **** the children. **** GIFs and Instagram. **** the hashtag #. **** twitter. **** ‘selfies’ , ‘felfies’ and ‘braggies’. Put a camera in your ***, take a picture, that's a selfie too, you ******. One you can brag about.
******* as well. **** this, **** that, ******* again. Especially you, yOU ****. **** twerk and Miley. **** MTV. **** the 2000's. **** rich people trying to look poor cuz they're hipsters and that's " Indie ". **** Indie ****! Everything's " Indie " nowadays. **** that! Not everyone is struggling. Make some noise, you don't have cancer.
**** people who smile to every **** a **** does when they visit the hood to buy drugs, because they're stupid and soft. **** social conscience.
******* again for pushing a beard and a moustache because it's fashionable. **** John Lennon. **** the Beatles. **** **** as a trend. **** me, but at least i'm cool. **** cool. Everyone's cool currently!? I started smoking when I was 11. Now that i'm 25, i realize smoking is kid's stuff, so i quit smoking. **** cigars. **** having 25. **** sexist and feminist.
**** the dikes who think they have an advantage on other women for not being a **** fan. **** LGBT haters. **** the LGBT flag. **** flags.
**** Amsterdam. **** Vintage, used to be cool, now it's fake ****. **** cars these days. Their shape and their drivers. **** TV series. **** this zombie ****! What's with the zombies? **** FOX. **** people who hate on TV, because their to smart for that, but let computer/internet melt their brains into liquid ****. **** stupid people. **** the army,everywhere. **** politics. ******* for trying to make me vote. I don't believe in it and i'll never will ,it's a ******* waste of time and i don't care. ******* for believing that's a choice. ******* for participating in that sharade, making politics who they are, you ******* *******. **** people who talk to much. **** people who don't listen that much. **** people who talk WAY to much and expect you to be as excited as they are. *******! ****  "LOL" in a face-to-face conversation. Laugh *******. **** random generation. **** " Likes " and **** " Sharing " because no one gives a ****.

And yes i'm a misfit, you genius. We all are. That's the truth...
**** the truth.

An airplane crashes into an uncharted island and hundreds of people die in the burning debris, and somewhere a group of boys and girls are taking selfies as they stand next to a burning office building.

Thousands of teenagers sit on the couch and eat ice cream until the buttons on their pants explode off.

Kids light themselves on fires as if they were monks from the Tiananmen Square, trying to gain acceptance, their dreams of stardom translated through a series of YouTube comments.

We can't afford books for college because the tuition is ridiculous, but these glossy tabloid magazines are only a few bucks; pick one to set the course of your life.

Middle-aged people spend their lives indoors, away from the thirsty, hungry, withering children, and check how many likes did their photos receive on their smartphones.

Pornographic images in front of our tired faces, our eyes locked to the screen and we do not blink as our memories become embedded with objectification.

So we don't look up and see the chaos transpiring.

Cat memes and colorful gifs hold our attention while our parents slave away at their boomerang-shaped desks, trapped in clustered cubicles.

I saw a post on Facebook of a girl who was sexually assaulted at a house party and now her name was being hashtagged and kids were posing in photographs, laying on the floor, legs and arms sprawled out, left and right, trying to mimic the injustice.

We swipe right to find our future hookups, but what if our future husbands and wives were on the left?  

Society spends millions of dollars on drinks to numb our conscience, until our brain cells are wretched like the homeless guy on the street corner drinking liquor from a coffee mug.

Israel and Palestine battle each other day after day while our generation gossips about Solange Knowles beating up Jay-Z with her patent leather purse as if that news conquers every other bit of information out there.

The world will always be corrupt, but it suffers more from the apathy that belongs to us.

somewhere along the lines, a pre-script revelation by dumb'oh: because painting deals with nudes in all seriousness and soberness, music explains the coupling of violins etc. to an ******... writing, in its depth has to deal with the murk and muck of thoughts and emotions - poetry as such entices an anarchistic spontaneity against any categorisation and systematisation, who's chief proponents are the pillars of reason, psychology and philosophy systematise, tell you the plans of the house, tell you what the limits and excess are... poetry in its anarchism teaches you nothing but experience and how to exploit it - as nietzsche pointed out: a shamelessness towards experience.*

i could, i mean, technically make
poetry cut-clean and smartly dressed,
sigh O sighing and star gazing,
i could masquerade what i'm about
write, but then i sometimes do like
cleaving meat off a bone using a blunt
knife, for that lion's tooth feeling
of having to use the molars (yes,
the canines are all kosher, they stab you
and the lion waits for you to slowly
bleed out - no sadism on his part,
no industrial death syndicate with
iron maidens, racks, a blunt sword
that hacked a few times at ******
mary's head on the scaffold - they executed
the ones they loved with a sharp sword,
mary's head was chopped off using
something as sharp as a toothpick, terrible
scene) - where was i? ah yes, blunt things,
blunt knife cleaving off meat from the bone
(a hellish follow-up if you're dicing the
meat for a curry) -
so this lion is the kosher butcher, he doesn't
do insect digestion, no spider-web cocooning
(is that an anaesthetic aphrodisiac you're
injecting so you eat me while i sleep? grand) -
so he bleed the **** thing out,
he's not some inverse necrophiliac in want
of wanting to see the thing he's about to eat
watching itself get eaten - another time,
another place;
unlike painting and composing music, writing
doesn't really have ****** perks when it
comes to it - oddly enough writing is a
pseudo-celibacy - now this is where the bluntness
comes in - i mean bach ****** and fathered
about a dozen children, mozart too, picasso for sure,
but writing is hardly a form that allows
the healthiest *** lives of what painters enjoy,
there's no aeroplane or lightning-thunder mechanics,
you know when you see a plane and "think"
you see it 20 miles behind, when it fact it's the
gurgling lazy tentacle flapping about from the
engines lagging behind - first lightning, then
the thunder - well, writing is the thunder and
the 20 mile lag of the aeroplane - i don't know
why music fits in with painting in terms of
being classified in the former, but it does,
it's a passive excursion into the art - you don't
need to play an instrument these days,
the ****'s just there for you to be bothered enough
to listen to it - i know, i know, audio-books,
never listened to one - but such passive appreciation
i'd only recommend to the blind, unless proficient
in braille, more than two volumes of the work done...
so bluntness... well writing is comfortable with
that other form of ****** gratification, your own,
like today: i was on Onan's throne (a toilet),
wiped my *** after taking a **** and thought
about not utilising my imagination, rather,
using what i call the perfected debasement of
*******: gifs - i can't glorify *******,
but i need something to act like a plug-hole
for the imagination to be pristine - and .gifs
are the perfect way to use it (after all, it is there
for something): no fetish, no ***** leather,
gimps out the question, ****** mind you too,
no teen, not fatty boom boom, no she-male -
whatever, you know it's out there -
but then my neighbour started singing in the
bath... the walls are thin... yes... thin enough
to hear what's going on next door...
now that put me off altogether... couldn't do it...
not that it annoyed me, not even in the slightest,
i can't do those kind of robotics with my
neighbour's "soprano" washing herself in the bath...
just, couldn't, do, it - sulky mood? not really -
but the moral of the story:
               the debasement of *******
               given that feminism
               proposes that ******* is debasing...
hey, i'm not the rich ******* with a mansion
bored and working out a steady income.

Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance

Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components

Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service

Its ***** potions
For the passionate

Its fake ****
And face lifts

Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead

Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men

Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time

Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood

Its consignment killers

Its the drugs

Its timeless thrillers

Its the shrugs

Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed

Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed

Its the assumed
The restrained

Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again

And again
Its been
Better

Then again
I grin
When
Cold

Its when i should fold
That i embolden

Its all the No's

Its blankets nose

Its the cut blow
And lack of flow

Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks

Its ******* flu shots

Its everything
That ****** me off

Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks

Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us

Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us

Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash

Its the harsh
And its the rash

Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.

Alas

Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood

Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****

Its in knowing this
And *******
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None

I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when

It mattered

Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would

Misanthropic
And misunderstood

A changed topic

Knock on wood

Bye is good

Goodbye

Told you

Its implied
In rite

So

Good
night
Until
next
time

enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip  dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a *******! or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ******? i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.

i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into fck.... ah ****...
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.

With Google Maps
Of subway tracks
I walked into the world

To kicks and claps
Of Spotify tracks
I walked and bopped and whirled

Off to see my Meetup friends
To the show from Last.fm
It's sad I couldn't be Foursquare mayor
But at I least I got some XM

They wouldn't get me YouTube likes
But I managed to get some Snaps
My Facebook mood was kinda rude
So I posted on YikYak

Waiting, I swiped right on Tinder
Emojis, and flirting ensued
She sent me her Tumblr, I reblogged her gifs
I asked her to Kik me a ****

Waiting, I browsed around Etsy
Posted the cool stuff to /r/pics
Got x-posted to karmaconspiracy
Was all “NAH MY GF MADE THIS"

Back IRL, ran into coworkers
They asked if I’d go down east side
I mulled it over briefly and then
I simply replied

I'll do it for the Instagram
I do it for the Vine
My phones got charge
My credits got charge
Lets go and leave it behind

I'll see it for the Periscope
I'll think it for the Tweet
And as soon as I get my Watch
Maybe I'll have a heartbeat

ive seen the pictures and gifs of
when people go to far when
cutting.
and honestly, i get
so scared.
to think that people can just
open themselves up and
let blood pour and
spill and not have a
second thought about it
because they are just trying to
let their demons out.

but then i remind myself that
i do the same and that i
could end up on the
bathroom floor if i
dont be careful and
end this addiction
i have.

When I was younger in a different time
I had a habit on a special date,
Or on an occasion, to write a rhyme,
Often enough, because I'm a cheapskate.

So as Christmas swiftly soon descends,
And I've but my heart to claim as loot,
I write this story for a special friend
About a Giant and his Little Boots.

You see, these two made quite an awesome pair -
A lanky lad with lanky giant feet,
He'd often smile as people'd often stare
As he'd walk with Little Boots about the street.

A friendship in college they did form.
The Giant couldn't have asked for more.
His Little Boots could help weather a storm
Or bust a move on the Workman's floor.

Those Little Boots helped through thick and thin.
When he was in his darkest places,
They'd help him smile and let light back in
Or send him gifs or silly faces.

He knew they could take different paths -
Boots, like friends, can tread through the rough,
But nothing could silence the joy or laughs -
The friendship was made of stronger stuff.

And so they lived, as friends, forever,
The Giant and his Little Boots,
Strolling down life's roads together
Making it big time, in cahoots.

/              i play a sweet song with a woman's body,
         that's at the centre of the earth...

                     and why do you think they kept
  rule of thumb of harems with eunuchs?
      you really think they had the capacity
                                                for ****** back then?

it's almost hilarious what "natural" selection
isn't, when it is, replica of natural harems...
               notably, with replica,
        replacing eunuchs, with gays, with ******.      
  
                          and how many people are fooled
by, attempting to concise
the ownership of cats
           as napping,
             half awake...
                      given my cat?
and what i observed?
               you sure, that, they're
not waiting?
         like opening a window?
you sre they're not harrowed
insomniacs?!
   they always "appear"
to be "sleeping",
  but the, "to be" can sometimes
mislead the concept of
the noun, from the verb...
   to be honest?
      i find my bonsai feline, companion,
to be... a "little bit"
  sleep-starved...
   hence his thespian attitude
in faking sleep...
  or at least acting out sleeping...
    only women shower
reincarnation gifs (promises)
  on cats...
    throw a dog a bone
and let's be over and done with...
can't mortality be mutually inclusive?!
id est:
   mary nichols said (a),
        michael faraday said (b)?
good to be considered
as the anti-thesis of
                      jacob, the tailor,
or cobbler,
  or whatever the criminal term
for ripper actually means...
it's a slang term...
   because what i did with
              the bulgarian prostitutes?!
my affair:
        you get to watch ****.
it's the tattoo of flesh on flesh!
           an inking via tooth!
such trivial pleasures,
  which amount to so much,
and yet...
           experienced with so little
time.
   all of space to be bewildered by,
could not confine man into being,
a man:
   given the temporal allocate-,
             being so...
unworthy of breeding kings...

pauper time!
                  pauper time!
              **** it...
    and the time we have left,
                         not lost to craft a lament?

how to "steal" a kiss from a *******...
how's that?
   oh... you're not a bulgarian
lying about being romanian...

           see you... whenever.

- and yet...

  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

that folding leg on my body,
that perfume of hair...

     all is and all is lost:
and all is gained...

            with that single, heretical
embrace...

              i spoke of an apple,
i ate a pear,
       but i embraced a peach...
    squish and all "magic": ****! gone!
fly my little dove,
into an embrace of, another...

        but being 2 years apart from
experiecing another human body
to be so intact within such
                    confines of intimacy?

(press me on the ****** /
pervert case)

       flesh qua food:

            which you preserve yourself
from infringing
                       a "desire" to ingest!  
oh mirror that: memory!
                  touch of a tombstone!
touch of the socio-economic
                                       vernacular!      

let me revise that one saying:
               i don't write horror novels...
                              
                        ­                         i am horror.    

- - - - - - - - - -

so reiterate the part where i'm
supposed to "feel" jealous...
    while i tell you, about the, "scraps"
          of loitering with bulgarian girls in
the, "meat market"...

              **** have a madonna
shoved up in there to boot?!

                **** me!

                                     WINNER!

at least she has a mandible leg
to attach itself to my torso,
and spin a metaphorical
               spiderweb around it...

as i allowed myself to pluck
her previous four ******* etc. examples
                  with my lips...

tooth, by tooth, by tooth,
by even more the suckling
             inertia
       of lip, upon lip, upon lip, upon lip:

and so...

                                  S

but she is... what was already given...

    a lightning storm and a naked
                                       body in a mirror!

your people have ****,
   why can't i, have my desired outlet?
the dutch would be sensible enough,
not to allow such a flamboyant
narrative, continually imploding...

             but the english will;

i.e. the, "naughty" sentiment of
the non-distrubution of "information"...

      excessive potency of marijuana
in the skunk format...

                     well?

                                                     applause!

don't worry, i'll ******* with you
                                    but my hand is... sort of:
non-synthetic...
     so i guess, given your soft pouch of genitals,
i'll have to imitate ****.                                           /

You made me wait for 45 minutes at a Banh Mi shop as the afternoon sun
morphed into a ceiling of darkness. I read a story on Buzzfeed
about break ups and relationship rocky as the road my car sat on.
The gas station was lit up like a theme park, but no one arrived,
and soon I believed you'd been taken, or you'd forgotten about me.
The cicadas started chirping and the humidity in the air cooled down,
and when I was about to turn over the engine, your black Honda scuttled into the parking space covered in puddles. As though, you knew
you could survive on any terrain, whether rough, or wet, smooth, or dry.
We talked briefly, small chit-chat, nothing worth mentioning.
I had already devoured a double-cheese burger and some fries,
but I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to ruin your appetite.
You touched my bicep, told me to flex. I did as I was told, like an old dog, wanting to please its master. My muscle hurt after your fingers drew away, as though my skin showed a wound, something ugly and worn.
I tried to smile, but inside I was drowning in false ****** expressions, and shortcut body language. We went inside, shuffling to the L-shape line, you picking up Mochi Ice-cream from the freezer, and me just happy to be in your presence. You said, you missed me and I knew you mean it too.
I said, you don't know how good it is to see you. You nodded and put your head on the nape of my shoulder. Closing your eyes momentarily, I touched your hip and held on for dear life. Because all around us, war battered young and old in countries stricken by fear and poverty. Gifs and Memes provided us with distractions, as you showed me the trailer to a new rom-com. They're just like us, you said.
You're right, I said. I gave you back the phone, before the trailer ended.

Open up to me
Slowly
Like apps awakening
Feed me bits of you in colorful rhymes and pictures
Fill me with the files of your life
Even the ones titled miscellaneous
Even the ones titled don’t open unless an emergency
Even the ones that are hidden far back in the files of other files
Be my meme
My posting in the morning to remind me I am the only one
Send me kisses
Real ones
That look like the kinds you see in movie gifs
Let us be each others laptop of loves learning

I miss you.
Again.
I miss how you used to send me
those stupid gifs,
to distract me
from life.

I want you.
Again.
I want you back by my side
talking, laughing,
making me feel
whole at last.

I need you.
Again.
I need you, but this time
you’re not here,
and it hurts more
than ever before.

I miss you.
Again.
I miss you every morning,
and every night;
at every silence,
I break apart.

Again.

Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*******, clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread

Existential *****.
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.


Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated *******, vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes

Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I

I    I     I

No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana

HandshapedHeart.

2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons

Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices

Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack

A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet

If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline

Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.

[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]

oh you are a beauty, showing your legs,                dress swinging.



in rhythm. in photos , little gifs,                                      to share.



how can we  look the same?                   i think i look different

now. now that i have grown,                          watched you grow.



now. now.



now that i helped  when you were sick.                   now.now.



now i am older and watched you die.                          all of you.



i say goodnight to some and remember                       all of you.



how can i look the same.                                                  now. now.



remember all that has been done.                                           how

can i look the same?



you are still a beauty.



dress swinging.



sbm.

My mouse is frozen
But all the gifs are going
A blogger's haiku

A little green dot means so much more
than the fact that you are online.

It brings back our first conversations,
hours of struggling to type each word
but I fought my broken phone anyway
and you waited patiently.

We would sit at work and talk
send gifs of **** and ache,
yearn to see each other again
and we couldn't wait.

You stripped me of every defense,
and most of my clothes, so quickly
I didn't have time to think not to
and I'm glad I didn't.

I never sat and talked to someone,
touched someone in simple ways,
become so familiar with them
and I got afraid.

I see that green dot and I want,
want to send you ***** pics,
want to apologize, want to cry,
want to just talk again.

I see that green dot by your name,
and yes, I think of that short period
of something never meant to be,
but only because a fresh wound stings.

I see that green dot and I want,
I want to feel that way again.
But it won't be with you.
And I'm okay with that.

Mostly

I want you.
I want you in me.
I want your mouth.
I want the salt of your skin to linger on my tongue long after we part.

I want you.
I want your bad jokes.
I want your lingering gaze.
I want your smile when I say "Hi." when I mean to say "I am falling hard. And, it scares me."

I want you.
I want your fears laid out for me so that I may help conquer them.
I want your emoji game to get better and better. (Gimme all those gifs, Baby)
I want your indecision spoken aloud so I can  help you choose us again and again.

I want you.
The guilt you carry for things long done.
The things that keep you awake at night.
You can trust them with me when you're ready to tell.

I want you, but I don't need you.
I can live without you.
I am plenty strong.
I have survived worse than losing you.

I am choosing you.
Want is stronger than need.
Need is desperation.
Need is suffocating.

I don't have to love you.
But, I want to.
I hope to.
I will.

yet another savage tragedy
ravages, emotionally,
the trap queens in bandages
screaming to their bae’s
about the vastness of calamities
blunt tips glow showing smoke blown
extensions flowing growing tired of
liars on the youtube
seeking gifs and snap-chat
besties to wrestle
with the cultural festivities
being given proclivity
to policy lunacy –
smart phone glued
claw hand and shrewdly
planning to revamp the system
with hello kitty ***** twisters
and metrosexual waterfall trips…
it’s truly a pip
these auto-tuned post baby-boomers
no relations to crooners
thinking the sooners are only
Oklahoma….
My youth tirade
is partly a parade
like a brass band on Burbon
playing unafraid –

I spend
Fictional money on fictional things
Because I am more fictional than I am real.
Because I feel alien, like I am not of this world.

And I make
Digital purchases in digital worlds
because I've been living in one since I was three.
At least my cage had a dusty old computer.

So often I wished that I could climb inside
to be with the sparkling gifs, and neon dogs
and people whose names I did not know.
They too, were aliens, not of this world.

Maybe we all live in a poorly written fanfiction
or a comic littered with jpeg artifacts
posted on deviantart in 2007
and abandoned to rot by our god.

Maybe someday, she will pick me up and dust me off
and protect me from all those who cringe
at the juvenile creation of just another moody artist
of just another sad internet poet.

gifs can be an issue

when i contentrate

on work.



memes are impossible

to pronounce.



denounce the pass it forward,

copy and paste. why write verse

when



you can talk to me.



sbm.

An anonymous name
On a platform of minions,
I like it that way
I care not about opinions,
I'm not socially adept
I don't seek your approval,
I think that I'm harmless
So I don't need removal.

I can't paint pretty pictures
Make gifs or do coding,
I can operate the mouse
And occasional downloading,
But I know how to type
And run a good rhyme,
So I can spout my opinions
Any old time.

I wonder what we are trying to do.
Are we trying to write our love story,
or fit into the characters of one that's already written,
by just you or just me or an anonymous author or society?
Either way as it appears improvisation is not our forte
and the plot is yet to thicken.
Do we really have things in common, or
pretending to believe in the opposites attract notion?
I can see us shaving bits and bobs of ourselves off,
as usual me more than you,
and wedging mismatched corner pieces together,
almost hoping we'll some how stick, grow and evolve,
like a transplanted ***** or a candle wick in wax,
when in reality all we are is a badly in-completed puzzle.
We share a sense of brokenness and a fear of being broken,
so together we are skeptical of most things, and all people,
and hold our emotions hostage,
while using emoticons and gifs instead,
hoping if we play independent and self-love cards often enough,
we'll somehow win the hand,
when no one knows the rules of the game,
except that the stakes are really high.
Perhaps what we are doing is to see if we can walk together,
you on your side of the road and me mine,
sometimes one leading the other, and sometimes side by side.
But if neither one of us knows where we are going,
will the journey still be worth the while?

I will hide myself in cute gifs
on your phone, I will live in the tone of your happy voice,
I will make my home in "what if
she was here",
I will lurk in the background noise
in your earphones.

I will secretly settle down
on the collar of your white shirt,
I will quietly circle around the small of your back,
I might lack subtlety,
but my invasions won't be seen,
they won't hurt.

I will pull covers over my head,
I will snuggle into your perfume,
my hair tangled
with ghosts of your fingers,
A loving web lazily designed.
I will make my bed in your dreams - sleep and I are old, old friends
- I'm sure she won't mind.

I will draw up a chair next to you,
in the hopes that you let me stay
and if you get used to my company, forget that the chair was empty anyway.

she orders  a sonnet about modern           tech

nology , some         recent language            urban

slang.  wiki  & googling    helps while spellcheck

defeats nistakes .            publishing on blurb and







lulu. gifs  no issue.  focus                        on  taste.

.work.   memes are impossible to       pronounce.

denounce the pass it forward,            copy/ paste.

why write verse when   we can talk or   announce



loudly.. save in my cloud to edit                  share

. no rhyme no more.                         no elizabethan

manner.          we taps  it clear.        is with difficulty

keyboards sticky,                 some have no empathy



that I prefer old ways. yet                       computer

smart create in a more abstract                manner



©sbm

I like how you play with alaysha
And help your brother with his homework
That you are patient with me
And that you see the beauty in your mother
That you'll make breafast and reteach me algebra
That you'll wait all week to play a silly game

I love how you let the world roll off your shoulders
And how you tend to forget old inconveniences

I roll my eyes but I'm glad you like
Dragonball and silk jackets and your friends' hiphop
That you point out food process machinery wherever we go
And know the model of every car on the street

I'm relieved you'll laugh at a bad pun
Let me ride shotgun, send a pic of a pug with a manbun

Dear Shueyfufu--
Keep wearing your earrings,
Be nerdy, be hood
Be Mexican and Tech all at once
Live in the Mission and hold back when the documentaries ask you to be angry about gentrification
Buy expensive mango whipped cream cakes from Dianda's
Ride a bike seat too high in Golden Gate Park
Make the sun and grass in Dolores our Sunday chapel
Think about right and wrong and God and Black Mirror society

Have mixed feelings about knock-off street clothes
Get upset that sports wear and vinyl are popular again
That underground artists aren't so underground
That it's "milennial" to hate the gap between the rich and the poor
And that battery technology is a trending dream career

Superglue your glasses together repeatedly
Squeal when my hands and feet or the toilet seat are too cold
Smile with your squinty asian eyes that aren't asian

Watch Bob's Burgers with me
And be upset everytime you realize I watched it without you
Sing "Yesterday" in the car and Vampire Weekend
Play old jazz songs and Chance and Selena
Show me music videos from Calle 13 and Danny Brown
Watch cooking shows and Vice News and Travel Vlogs
Ask Alexa if she loves you and ask her to play December 1963 in the kitchen
Tell me she's listening to everything and advertising to us based on our conversations
Give me motivation to read 1984
Laugh at slapstick gifs and blankly stare at dry British humor

Let's exclaim "Orale, ****" and complain like Brandon, "Ugh no one understands me"
Let's take Ah to the Kawaii store so she can waste money on Squishies
Let's make Brandon try more asian food and show him anime he hasn't seen
Let's dance with your mom at parties and take pictures of her all dressed up
Let's play Clue and Forbidden Island and never play monopoly or the game of life ever again
Let's buy Mario Sunshine and Rock Band and a fancy bidet and eat at michelin star restaurants
Let's save a bunch of money and all go to Hawaii

They LIE to us day after day after day
From the Capital’s clouds
Then they make us fall pray
To their genocide shrouds
To be proud of a central bank's
Honorable thieves
Slave-owning idealists
And “free” market greed
Not of need, but of want
And secure is want more
Than the picket fence borders
On “love thy’s” next door
And that terrible war
Is on some distant shore
Not in pain-killing ravens
Of poor Baltimore
Or the credit, indebted
To dead-trended futures
Still paying to play
Their whole life in these shooters
I get that fix free
From exploding my mind
To see who fires back
With a more heinous crime
Now malign up the tumor
Insured isn’t cured
Just the ruling class privilege’s
Double-edged sword
They bring down as their judgments
On what’s in our pocket
Like **** culture’s trial
Is kept off the docket
And fear is for-profit
Intoxicant fumes
Where the sweet dreams are mass-produced
Factory tombs
Where to you the doom looms
A non-violent offender
Without any papers
But ghosts in machines
Build the crumbling skyscrapers
To spy with their private eyes
Prison suspicion
Of alien Patriot Acts of Sedition
Where they set their sites to pick off a peace-keeper
So I wake up crowds like a Soviet sleeper
But think it in ink and spill only these words
‘Cuz your memes and your gifs are just bleated out herds
Expressionless, press it to pages and speech
Then that real people power's the union we teach

It's been years since the last time I felt loved by another person aside from my Family.
He is an attractive man... scratch that, he is gorgeous!
Way gorgeous than what I've been praying for.

His eyes, his nose, HIS LIPS!
Everything about him screams of Masculinity.
Though I only met him online, I've always dreamed to be with him since the day we start chatting.

One thing I've noticed is he knows how to flirt!
He makes sure that I'm taken care of through his endless reminders.
He sends random snaps of himself and motivation,
he also sends voice messages that made my heart swoon.

But Wednesday came and he stopped sending GIFs.
His usual sweet good mornings and messages came to cease as if my subscription has been cut off,
and I failed to guard my heart again from getting hurt.

But surprisingly I'm not mad at him.
I'm actually happy because if a stranger can make me feel emotions unbeknown to me,
what more will be the man who will pursue me?

For now, I will linger a little bit more on his messages.
I will keep on playing his songs until I finally get over him.
Maybe writing about him here is one way to lessen this intense feeling that had been put off.
But I'm happy that last week, I fell in love