"sony" poems
I live in the birth of Nintendo vs Sony vs Sega
Trying to beat that high score in the Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat
Combat with a K
That innovative ****
I survived the destruction of Sega Dreamcast
As they became third party
And Microsoft took their place with Xbox and Ninja Gaiden
Alive from that old arcade
I live in the awing of the interactive Wii
And internet friendly Playstation 3
I also live in the original Mario Bros and Pac Man and...
Terminator vs. Robo-Cop
Yea
I bet you don't remember that one
Or Galaga or Excitebike
Or even that good old
Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting
Spacce Invaders!
Yea, I'm from Nintendoland
No... Segaworld
Nah... Sony City
Nu uhn... Microsoft...
Can't even think of a place for that
I am from that video gamer nation
That fight, hack, slash, race, create, explore, role-play
Even play those insane sports
See I'm from that...
See, I am from that...
I am from that
Video gamer heaven descended
That has that powerful curiosity and love for that
Space Invaders!
No
That love for all video games
And that memory of the ****** game graveyard
Where E.T. now resides...
See, I'm part of the new gen
Trying to play Street Fighter 4, Final Fantasy XIII, Star Ocean
Saying "I go harder than you young bloods cause I played
Space Invaders!"
So, what era am I from?
I'm from the era of all gamers
Playing Space Invaders
Space Invaders!
I'm from the
"Game of the Year goes to..."
Mario, Tekken, Metal Slug
Namco, Sega, Bandai, Konami
All those companies that started as something else
But realized their calling was for our nation
Cause you see
I'm from that
Old school Nintendo
New School Wii
Old school Playstation
New school PS3
Old school Sega
New school Microsoft 360
I'm from a legacy that always succeeds in giving us dreams
That always seem to revert back to that
Old school
Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting
Space Invaders!!!!!
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
I want to love you like the 90´s,
back when making a playlist
meant dubbing you a mixtape
I want love you like cassette,
the kind of love that even when it gets tangled
we just have to stick a pencil into the spool
and reel it back to normal
I want to love you like portable Sony CD players,
the kind of love that even when it gets scratched
we just have to blow wipe it on our sleeves
because, love,
love just needs a little touch to make it move
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
What a relief to set aside
my mechanical pencil
and write with you,
O Ballpoint Pen
found at the bottom of my pen box.
On your side is engraved
“Samy’s Camera.”
Did I walk out with you by accident?
or was it on purpose,
beguiled by your sleek, cool body
as you nestled into my hand
and I clasped you tight
likw my boyfriend in a steamy nightclub
dancing slow to Moon River.
Was I writing a check for
a roll of Kodak film,
ASA 400?
Or was it more recent?
Purchasing a digital mini-camera
to carry in my purse?
Before cellphones took selfies so flawlessly
that I tucked my Sony
into the dresser drawer
behind my underwear.
It lies abandoned
soon to be joined by all my
mechanical pencils.
You, my Pen, are my reliable companion
who will record lists for me:
To Do lists
Shopping lists
Birthday lists
Laundry lists.
You will record why my lover
doesn't want me anymore, but
I will tear up that scrap of paper
as soon as the ink has dried like blood,
that heartless man,
unworthy of the ink I waste on him.
O beautiful Pen,
sleek as the fur on a cat,
smooth as a gin and tonic,
solid as his hand on my breast.
for merely.
I hereby relinquish my mechanical pencil,
whose lead keeps shattering.
But you, dear Ballpoint Pen, I can press hard.
And how much more beautiful
with you
are the curves of my words.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
A Tribute
A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind….
The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush.
The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins.
The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor.
With that, Steve Jobs is dead.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
Panasonic and Sony beeping
in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets.
A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of
once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets.
Adrenaline pumping before
high stakes meetings and brunches.
Calculating the dose of his choice of drug,
penthouse suites and timeline crunches.
Dizzy with ambition, painting
******* bleached canvasses.
Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others,
he, for whom his relaxants are stresses.
Dealing with the Devil himself,
power tainted and ill-gotten,
the realization that humans are not beyond sale;
in markets, mergers and acquisitions.
Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses
of risk, of danger unspoken.
And when he surfaces again to consciousness,
profits, losses both taken and broken.
Lost in the sewers filled with;
stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors,
a haughty expression with green bills,
to score his ecstasy, capital owners.
Another dollar, another hit
never enough to sleep remembering the day.
A Corporate ****** scouring for riches,
a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
Alarm clock dead, power's out
What've I got to shout about?
Running late, we're behind
It's things like this make me lose my mind
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Notes written, Kids set to go
Open the fridge, and boom...power goes
It's never ending, all frustrating
The problems are just resonating
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Kids dropped off, on the road
When suddenly another load
Of troubles makes my day
It makes me want to say
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Tire's flat, that's not new
What's a guy supposed to do?
I smile and call for towing
My temper now is showing
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Get in late, that's a given
Boss says "Turner, you're not driven"
"Success comes hard, it isn't easy"
That's when I get really queasy
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Not worth fighting, got a meeting
Meanwhile I am overheating
All I know is that I try
And days like this just make me cry
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Work the day out, heading home
Knowing I am not alone
Millions more go through this too
What's a guy supposed to do?
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Ads are fake, and it's all phony
As I sit watching on my Sony
But one day it'd be really nice
To have that life, and glacier ice
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Really, Why can't life be a beer ad?
Just one little, stinking ****** beer ad...For Me?
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
This one time...I was real happy.
All expectation had the correct tact,
had the correct sharpness,
the saturation levels were just so.
but then stuff happens
the stuffs what I'm afraid of.
not the movie reel anymore
I am no longer afraid to dance in light of passing frames on a movie screen,
or look at the actors straight in the eyes,
what happens is, the content, un-contents.
We urinate, we spew, we spackle, we *** we ****
we live all of life in two fiking seconds.
Thats alright,
Know one what whats right,
and thats why its right :)
So turn up the music to 50 volume on the sony.
crack a beer,
grind a little,
***** the amalgam of emotion, that is.
Emotion.
Waltz.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Its morning
and I ride the bus to school with you.
We stare through the graffiti scratched grooves in the window
the sun hums hymns over everything
but we notice the shadows
what is invisible to them
Most days we don't listen
teachers preaching system
but we don't find that interesting.
We nod to their speech
but really its the beat we tap with our pencil and rubber
swinging on chairs as we try to find balance
There is no need to talk **** in the playground
we're schools ahead of them;
girls not eating in front of boys
frontin' like they don't like girls
just irritates us.
We could hide in the toilets
but we want them to see
us cuss them with our book and pen
how we be marking paper
Some days we don't go school
we call Kevin, he takes us to P's
and we watch them.
At first they make words make love
then they make words hate us
they cuss destroy trust
punch chest they get vex
Then I will lean forward,
skip along the vinyl,
jump onto the needle,
fly over the speaker
riding the bass onto your shoulder.
You will strain to hear
as l whisper
put your headphones back on
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Someday we will have DJs at funerals.
I should know. I DJ'd a wedding once.
Well I shan't say I DJ'd the wedding.
I merely pressed play on the tiny boom box (SONY) and here comes the bride.
Twas a beautiful wedding.
A black wedding.
The bride was my first cousin Tamara.
Yes the whole thing was beautiful.
Stop it already.
A scant 4 years later I attended her death.
A rainy morning.
A call.
Awoken early
the morning sun not up.
I have a photograph taken July 27, 2003 maybe!
My brother her sister and I on a Carribean cruise. I'm sticking a tongue out. I was mad at the fine Bahamian wearing fake dreads making money by posing for photos for the non-natives. But if you bypass my tongue in the photograph you can see her. You can see the foursome of us smiling with some random Bahamian fake dread.
If you look slightly left in the photograph you can see her smile.
Her smile.
Her joie de vivre.
A moment if you will allow me. Away from the boat the Bahamian boys would not leave her alone. They would whistle, catcall, stare and menace. But she was my family. She was my cousin. Her protector and her friend. Those boys' eyes would follow us. But when I held her hand down the boardwalk they did not dare come within punching distance.
I will refrain from her beauty.
Her elegance.
Her ability to tell me to 'shut the **** up' with only a glance.
Somewhere buried I have the video of her wedding.
I can't watch it anymore but perhaps I should.
I need to see her happy again.
Beautiful again and
looking forward.
United States
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
**** isn't okay & no government or any authority figure should ever be the one to decide if someone was sexually assaulted, or not. In addition, a human's rights, safety, & mental health, should not be taken away or reduced simply because another human or a group of humans have decided so. Kesha Rose Sebert, better known as Ke$ha, is a celebrity who called attention to a situation where she was drugged & ***** & isn't finding justice even after speaking up about it.
Though she was denied release of her contract with Sony Music, meaning she now must continue to work with the man who drugged & ***** her, she has the support & help of millions. This is because she's a celebrity & attention was called to it. But what about those who aren't known? What about those too afraid to speak up because it's a hopeless attempt for justice. What about those who did speak up but the case died in a court room or even before it ever made it to a court room, simply because the abuser has higher authority, more power, or is in some way guaranteed to be found excused by the law?
What about them?
Thank **** she spoke up. But what about everyone else? Justice needs to be served to Ke$ha & also to the many other victims in this world.
We shall not fall under those above us from fear or from the indignity of others.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
I hold in my hand a paper
It is blank, and dark
And shaped like a Sony voice recorder.
I tell it “I always wondered
when entering leaves
and leaving comes in—
where we go when we
begin,
and who says it’s over”
The little black box catches all of my thoughts
and stares blankly ahead
waiting for more.
“Why do we think it matters
that we suffer alone?
Beaches
cliffs
and valleys,
erode time and Other
forces.
Unread letters
dissent
to their homology
of patted matter
and solitary discomfort under
gravity.
Solace in solitude is wonderful.
Only I feel the weight of Earth’s atmosphere
in the sound of a dialtone—remember that?
Yes, the other side of the conversation
waits for connection—but you must choose
the coordinates.”
Hawaii is volcano islands,
but
Rock and sand
Air and breeze
Prairie and trees—
this is the Midwest.
I’m going to sit down
and envelop myself.
When I am done
The poem will have delivered me
to a place in the grass of a prairie
a cave on the side of a cliff
a beach it pebbles for sand
and a steep descent from the
volcano.
When this poem
is read with gathering perspiration
it will cool the still-flowing
lava of Hawaiian islands,
soften the edge
of each pebble;
this poem will hang a cloth in the opening
of mouths
caving in
to protect the traveler
from his shadow.
If you do not hear this poem
of the Earth escaping itself,
trees fighting their way into
its soil,
rocks being worn away to grains
of sand sifting through our fingers
and clouds taking moisture
to a more deserving place,
let the consolation be
a life
full of prosperity
and feigned kindness--
ready-mades,
hollow handshakes,
doors beaten
by little hands
asking about breakfast
on a Saturday
and
selling thin mints
to your neighbors.
I love you, sisters and brothers,
just weather our sod
and air
and water
and fire
--it will find you
when it is ready.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
My Koodo
Made a booboo;
The Sony
Made you angry;
My I-Phone
Pulled a *****
My LG
Didn't help me;
My Nokia
Sent diarrhea;
My Smart Phone
Made me a smart ***
When it pocket-dialed.
It didn't sent
Emoticon smiles.
And now,
You know
The rest of the story.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
Dealing with OCD
is like losing your mind,
You can be in a room
full of people, yet all alone,
Noone can ever know
when the horrible thoughts
will come and what they will be
you just feel a buzz, a hum, a drone
in your head and you try to block it out
but like Sony Xperia apps
running in the background,
they are there, infernal
consuming the bandwidth of your soul
there is a fine line between delusion and sanity
a clutching at straws, a search for help
pleas and pleas fall not on deaf ears
but endure it you must
until it runs its course
tunnelling on, pushing you to the edge
straddling the fine line buoying
bobbing, dancing, fleeting-
drowning you in its wake as you gasp and gasp
OCD is horrible and misunderstood
why it hit me, I know not-
when it came part of me, I never agreed
I just woke up arrested, paralysed
by the most unutterable thoughts...
I suspect it happened when I met
the thin woman with the one eye-
I have known no peace since then
Paranormal paranoia rules my brain
and I am mooted, glued in the vile filth
of guilt, shame, anger, helplessness-
like a generator running on fuel,
incessant the tyres do not stop burning
alone, sometimes, I ask myself
why? why me Lord?
the cup is too heavy for me to bear
and ghouls have made my mind
an open playing field and I cant break free
at times I wake up and its gone
I smile and dress up-
try to think normally, eat and sleep
but itchy insomnia rages on my skin
beads of sweat and shaking, my mouth is dry
I am afraid, frightened and I cower
OCD is crunching my life, slowly
and sadly noone knows...they just dont know
why I say 'off' things sometimes
they suppose its the preoccupation
of a busy mind, and busy I am
wallowing, silently, stewing in the prison
it seems there is no escaping this
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
so many places
I have never been
and never seen
yet they are all here
the world visits me
in my ineptitude
screened
a movie
a moving mirage
expanding like the universe
further and further
away from me
making spaces
leaving traces
my mind fills in
the world becomes picture
framed
Hitachi, Sharp, Sony
so many meetings
greetings
but none of them mine
I am alone
as a polar bear
on an ice cap
a Native American
in his own land
populations explode
and interact
to become lonely souls
the last of their kind
waiting on a final chapter
an end to the movie
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 1:59 PM UTC
Shoot the sky and release the diamonds from the rain.
Stardust sprinkled onto the cement.
No more thoughts than that.
I see things, though.
Wet snowcap, yet not by snow.
Orange ginger mint tea,
Slightly warm, slightly filled.
A Bible laid on top of a notebook,
Noticeably used Japanese-style.
The tapping from a Sony PSP,
Almost as if a cool rage is
emanating from the fingertips.
Apartment requests listed,
Most are scratched out, a few are true options.
The tea is full again.
It's still so quiet.
Oh, but a revelation is made.
No game was being played.
A message to send to another
More than likely.
One gulp and one sip.
Fatigue is still hitting me
like a person who didn't stop walking,
even when he dreamed when he could.
Hope I did the right thing to write.
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 11:39 PM UTC
You were born in a first class hospital, I was delivered at home, we both survived.
You went to a private primary school and I went to a public school, we both ended in the same high school.
You woke up from the bed and I woke from the floor, we both had a peaceful night rest.
Your outfits are all expensive, mine are all simple and cheap, we both still cover our nakedness.
You ate fried rice and roasted chicken, I ate local made food but we both still ate to our satisfaction.
You ride on Lexus jeep, Range Rover, G Wagon, Hummer Jeep and I use public transport but we still got to our various destination.
You may be reading this post from your Sony xperia, BB Z10, Q10, Samsung Galaxy 6edge, IPhone6+ and I typed it with my Touch one broken screen, we still see the message.
Lifestyle is not a competition and there are different ways to get a lot of things done, different lanes all leading to the same destination. Just because your neighbour is doing things faster does not mean you are failing.
Happiness doesn't come from having everything, but making the best out of what you have, it's all about how you see yourself.
Happiness is not having what you like. Happiness is liking what you have and being content
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
Still 2000 miles to go and the men are dressed in rags
But the horses are still fit and strong, still eager yet to run
Sony Jim you'll ride the drag for you are the youngest here
And before this day is out you'll be crying for your mum
Eight hours in the saddle with but one change of horse
Your body thick with dust and cowshit
A voice now harsh and coarse
Charlie, *** you'll ride the flanks for I need them held in tight
And when we hit the camping ground you'll be my riders in the night
The cows are getting thirsty but waters still ten miles away
But still we must stop and rest them at the dying of the day
*** Charlie ride softly found the herd
Sing or whistle a gentle song
The rest of you now sleep close by, reins tied to your hand
Keep your horses saddled, keep your boots on tight
For you all might be required to ride like madmen in the night
UP, Up for they are up and running free
You've got to reach the head and turn them
Before they crash down on the scree
Close in, close in and get the head to turn
Force them to the centre force the head to wheel
But a man and horse are down and trampled in the dust
But before he died he turned the herd and very few were lost
First light and we ride out to find our fallen friend
Alas it was poor Sony Jim, just sixteen years of age
Yes Sony gave his life doing what he loved
Nobody ever forced him to ride the drivers road
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
when i was young, all i wanted
was to work in record shop,
i involved the nick hornby *high
fidelity* bug / virus and i was all set,
but them the music game changed,
it wasn't tagged as -sony, ******
or some other record company...
but entitled self-,
see the hyphen is historical residue
awareness... but there are a few music
outlets open, the h.m.v. on oxford street,
or the one at romford,
the ****** mega-store where classical
music was caged behind soundproof glass
doors is gone... i guess the owner of the h.m.v.
is a benevolent billionaire philanthropist...
we all know richie branson sent all the artists
to hell and actors to the stratosphere
with income from tubular bells by mike oldfield...
i get that... but what you miss with instant access
is the randomness of waling into a vinyl / sly mercury
(c.d. it has to be more than compact disk,
it has to have a status of a vinyl, it can't remain
an acronym... vinyl.... and... mercury, cosine it's
silver, the end, 80's rule, or rulebook,
brick sized mobile phones, it's part of history,
you ******* tartan yuppies),
well, as divergent as a tangent can be,
all i ever wanted was to imitate the high fidelity
case presented in fictional medium by nick hornby,
never got the chance, did work experience at
Burtons (a clothes outlet), even though
i wanted to sell music... the hamster napster beat me
on the treadmill... never got the fairytale godmother
to wish-blink wish-blink magic pogo stick makeover;
but h.m.v. is still open, and went in and played
the lottery genie, i got https://goo.gl/KdB7oY:
why do you why do you why do you voodoo?
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
I guess I wouldn't mind a pony
Or candy, friends, sony's
Spider-Man
On DVD and bluray
I wouldn't mind a brand new camera
Or a way to understand you
And knowing what to say
I guess that'd be okay
But really what I want to do
Is to get to see you
Again
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
Disney and Sony
They are *****
Yelling and screaming mostly at Sony
But yet it is all part of the plan
Got to keep the bedroom demands
Spider-Man ain’t going no where
Disney and Sony’s secret love affair
Sony already signed with Venoms behind
Disney slurping all the ***** and creamin
Tom Holland is drunk with Tom Collins
Exciting you see, frustrating as it seems
Sony and Disney laughing all just because
Everyone is starting all the crazy fuss
Re-releases golden showers final hours
*** is better in front of others we together
Can’t ****** if it’s at the end game
Insane is the main part of the fame
It’s already been signed you see
The most fun is watching in ecstasy
We don’t give a **** what you say
It will all be announced this Labor Day
Because we work hard and stay hard
Didn’t come this far
So start the fire
Because we already **** tony McGuire
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC
in zee olden days of
a ****** megastore
on oxford st.,
just beside
the Tottenham Court Rd.
tube station...
Mecca...
for all those who loved
music...
even the classical
music section, sealed,
behind glass doors...
and those music stations
where you could
listen to an album
before buying it...
i'm pretty sure i bought
*dry **** logic*'s
the darker side of nonsense...
based on?
the song asphalt...
and godhead's
album 2000 years of human
error...
decent times,
there was actually a point
to go to a major high street,
and forage,
while the girls were buying
clothes and shoes and
make-up...
books?
it was always amazon.com,
from the 3rd party sellers,
always on the discount,
thomas mann's
doctor faustus?
had to be
bought second hand...
HMV? it's still there,
on oxford st.,
but ****** had class...
a rare experience...
esp. the listening stations,
you'd forage for an album,
ask the technician to put it on,
listening to it...
and boom!
into your pocket...
i still remember Sony's mini-discs...
i still remember making
cassette compilations...
and that strange form of labor
of having to rewind,
a sound as unique
as the static of pre-digital television...
the noise from the vacuum
of the universe -
apparently considered to
be the sound, a remnant of
the big bang...
so... youtube -
now?
**** they take the music
shops away...
i guess youtube was always
about listening to music
before buying an physical compact
disc copy...
ah... this one
incident bothers me...
at the still (don't ask me how)
existing Romford HMV...
i actually had
a copy of foals
album holy fire in my hand...
but... **** i didn't buy it!
no listening station...
only after having watched
dr. foster (a BBC drama)
did i hear foals' song
my number...
and this is a quasi-nostalgia:
with a drag-along effect -
given that...
certain aspects of the 2000s
had to be, re-improvised.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC