"unplugging" poems
Pressing charge,
unplugging the worth you have in my heart,
_Wicked, and deceitful,_—would I seem saying,
"I love you with all my heart"
What haven't I loved long before you,
I've loved another; or rather a better
taste of you. Cloying; to a degree of natural ecstasy.
Scented ravenousness, so sweet by the first brim of
open lips connected.
I've had an affair with her, over the plain;
that seemed to be what we once had.
But still I could never start my day firstly without a
hint of you; yearning yourself down throat.
Enkindled by you both; though as the latter
proved herself, only in the first few times.
My bladder full to breaking point of a glutted
water balloon; hanging on a thin string.
_The effect she had on me..._
The effect of when I picked a latte coffee
over my traditional black brew.
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 3:28 PM UTC
THE OTHER DAY IN THE PARK I SPIED A WHITE SQUIRREL!
LATER:
We remember a past life,
later she opens her heart completely;
gratitude beats out!
I Cry.
She Cries.
*THIS SCENE PLAYS OUT IN THE KITCHEN
OF THE TOUR GUIDE THROUGH THE
MATRIX, WHERE SHIPIBO PATTERNS
ALIGN THE INSIDE OF HIS LOFTY DEN.*
The Tour Guide introduced us
to the timeless Oracle Pixie Swan
who paints 10 years into the future.
FOR DINNER:
we weave golden sunset light
in good convo's about the human
experience unplugging the people.
IN THE MORNING:
we watch the gray clouds burn away
as they slowly unzip the sun unto a quiet Toronto cityscape.
We run into old friends
serendipitously pin-balling from all over the world
yet conversations continue,
with some new jokes & banter
about mistaking white squirrels & seagulls
but overall, talking the same magical words
as we are with our old soul timer families.
-----
THROUGHOUT THE DAY:
How grateful we are
to be blessed with a life of travel
& living creatively
while a few live vicariously through our
mostly unplannet planned adventures
spanning warm shores of Bali
to cold pole warm toes in Toronto.
How grateful our beings
made whole holy feel.
-----
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Browsing, surfing, clicking
From inane, to insane, to profane
Running down a rabbit hole
That rewires every brain
Stumbling, bumbling, tripping
Into troll caves and lucid irrelevance
“Welcome to the interwebz, I’ll be your guide!”
Cries the three toed unicorn elephant
Museum of human ignorance
Vortex of time and creativity
At least Pre-NSA
We had some anonymity
Wellspring of inspiration
But don’t trade watching for doing
The internet gives and takes from us
And there’s a high price for using
Such worthless brilliance
Human biology isn’t ready
To start slurping up
This endless virtual piece of spaghetti
Grant virtual power to the people
So we virtually feel free
While you track and categorize every click
And quantify our humanity
I’m not asking to cut down the tree
But dead branches need trimming
I’m not asking to drain the reservoir
But stop sinking, start swimming
I’m not asking to cut the cord
Just intermittent unplugging
Don’t unload the gun
Just don’t aim at your forehead
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
Slowly unplugging dreams
Holding my breath
Uncomforted contentment beams
Calmed by screams
Cords of love and lust
I light the past to déjà vu
Cords of hatred and trust
I light the future for you
My fingertips burn with jealousy
Living celestial reverie
Success enveloped by a fallacy
I was suffocated at birth.
Dragged by the liberation
I was suffocated at birth.
Decorated with colorful lacerations
I was suffocated at birth.
With hard cored freedom and insulation
I was suffocated at birth.
Killed by supersonic maturation…
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
i’m unplugging the month old box fan for the first time since i moved in
september 22nd the first day of fall and im excited i was made for the slight breeze of the morning and the warmth right before the setting sun
but like i said i’m unplugging the month old box fan since i took it out of its box when i moved into mine
august 29th a midwestern summers peak when i truck back into the alley of a save a lot and the empty room i moved into
it doesn’t really matter though cause it’s two in the morning of the morning after i shoved the first box fan i ever bought myself under the last bed my mother would ever force upon me and i’m getting upset about the rate at which the world keeps turning
so maybe i’m sad because i haven’t seen my friends since i saw my broken box fan i had for four high school summers and didn’t have to purchase with my own barista money and i miss the way we’d understand the nonsense and sit too close together
but it doesn’t matter cause yesterday way september 22nd. the first day of fall and i was excited and i am excited because i’m unplugging that month old box fan that drowns the quiet in an empty room alone at 2 in the morning
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC
It is sharpening crimson steel in a knife as of that, with it fingers softly bleed like care and rise as a shuttered peach in
a sturdy piece of scarlet, paid in heed.
Your foreboding onthou my skin is no more truly nor less rigid unplugging of violin strings out of a guttural chords into a straight morbid fire, and a pain structure
hardens, straightens,
embeds them forever into every light’s riddance, this trial mended.
Welcomed fireflies in a
solstice. bonfire. forest. [stygian].
Love, my dearest Love, if your ever evanescent body or voice even exists:
if I ever dare to greet in my tears music it only may be to bleed with you in one common fluid, to have my ribs torn gently by
each your promise barely for my hand’s taking,
endure time to have my truer form by you,
a sensation, clad in lilac velvet that goes
under the name of “Paper Airplane” by
my thoughts.
To keep.
Us.
Intact.
More than as rain we always are.
A child picked up a solitary chalk and sketching protruded some things by that hand & sight, some sun with injustice drawn, that elders’ words and acts
have not put up.
Some of the chalk simply lays everyday crushed.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 7:09 PM UTC
The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!
The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N
Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients
the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
augmented
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche
by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.
meta reason, reasoning about reason
Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity
pre Elon's musky exuberance
explore the tree of possibility without ever
learning---
when can one imagine that after now?
no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
we
grow
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.
Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.
Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt
there
was another kind
of intelligence..."
If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
Have you seen, with gifted sight
The bottom line of pits
Made stand and smiled
On platforms stage
Have you danced a tango with a cactus
And bowed down in appreciation
While still unplugging,
What was left behind
In piercing thorns on skins
Do not speak bad of the dragon
I have come to appreciate it's breath
In dens he owned, I sat in; a lodger
Trick or treat, is from what side
Side of the coin the toss, gravitates
So the lucky coin still has a side
Unseen until show of hands
Like everything else, in matter
Do not speak bad,
Of the dragon's breath
It is rude to do so.
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
Lightly sifting through this mess
Rearranging all of the tANGlEd
wires beneath this flesh
Unplugging all the
burnt out
chords
collecting
dust
between
v e i n s
-
Like the one that deals with missing you
And the one that deals with hating you
Knocking down the
walls that kept them
safe behind my
eyes
Opening the flood gates
Soaking through your t-shirt
Leaving
a
t r a i l
of salt in
every room of this house
Claw marks at the door
----
Stay behind the threshold
I'm not letting you in this time around
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
I am here and I am gone.
Sometimes I come in strongly,
sometimes I am nothing more than a whisper.
You see, my life is like a little red radio.
Shifting, yes. Evolving, no.
Stating my momentary pleasures in a hot seat,
moving with a quiet current of low mumbles.
There are numbered stations for my feelings,
controlled by that little red-silver tune dial
that chooses a separate mood for every moment.
Moreover, the volume dial,
telling me when to keep my mouth shut,
to be static in the air that the atmosphere rejects.
and sometimes, making me feel the stations
through a door slam or a **** you."
See, my life is like a little red radio,
always caught in between two stations.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
a broken raccoon
in the black hair
of a toppled
trash can. god
saying
the tie
goes
to the eardrum.
father and the stick he swears by.
mother
braless
unplugging
an iron. the washer of the foot
that will touch
one bag
of an erased
home run. and. the soft
anorexic
the washer
of the anxious
gay.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
I’ve always been working harder every single day but recently I felt odd.
August, the Ghost Month, my birth month, as always seemed to be long, difficult and heavy.
It’s definitely not my life and my current job as a kindergarten teacher in a Japanese school or all the things that are happening with me and around me. There’s really something dark that I really couldn’t explain.
In Chinese folk legend, on the first day of the seventh lunar month, the gate of hell will be wide open and the ghosts will come out until the gate is closed on the 30th day.
I was like battling with the evil forces for a number of days and about to succumb to darkness when I decided to unplug. I was offline for about two weeks not only because I needed a break but more because I needed time for some self reflection.
But unplugging sometimes from the online world means being more present in the real world. I was able to have quality time with some close friends and had the chance to explore beautiful and serene places here in Japan.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 4:58 AM UTC
she said to ****** your darling
she said to push a knife through my chest
and let the blood spill
so she could have my heart
on a plate
the night was silent
coiling around my skin
like a dead lover
and I could feel your hand
sliding into my ribcage
unplugging the wires from within
leaving me
cold
snow-white cold
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Dear Time,
I have lived lonely enough so far,
Among these indifferent people,
I stand out as lonely not on par.
You've given me demos of love,
And you've given me some too,
Yet I am tortured by demons of loneliness.
They all fail to understand me,
And probably they all hate me,
They all abandon after unplugging some holes in the boat of me.
Enough of these games, time,
Let's play again our parts usually,
Hey time, don't be so hostile!!!
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
It must have been hard
To have waited by the phone for so long that
You forgot what its ring sounded like
You forgot whom you were awaiting
You forgot what it was to have a conversation
You just watched the plastic
And slowly grew older
Unplugging yourself from the wall
And dying with the phone.
Your call of pain and being alone
Nothing like the one you anticipated,
But how would you have known?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
I started puking birds-
I watched them fly south for the winter,
toward warmer pavement and fuller trees.
I started stuttering butterflies-
I watched them take giant sips from birdbaths,
We both know my mouth is so, so dry.
The thing about wings
the thing about things
the thing about trying to focus
and listen and nod while
My mouth is sticky and
my brain feels clogged, like a real
mess worth of paper towels
bunched and flushed in a panic
all the way down my throat
The electricity in this room is so loud
You keep talking, I look for outlets
You get annoyed, I turn off the lamp
You say stand still, I say I’m still listening
You say this is what I mean
I say I’m listening
I repeat what you said before you got annoyed
You say that’s not the point
I switch off the surge protector
I say it’s still there
you say that’s not the point
I say I hate this sound
You say it doesn’t bother me
You say if it ever does I put on the lofi-hip-hop-headphone-girl channel
You say think about it
I think about birds in trees instead
and if power lines are so so loud
or if it’s okay because they can drink from birdbaths
and fly south when they want to,
not just in winter. not just when the pavement is warm.
I say sometimes listening to you is like
watching a show with subtitles;
sometimes you are the audio and the electricity
is the subtitles, sometimes the
electricity is the audio and you are the subtitles,
and other times you are the electricity as well as
the subtitles and maybe there’s no audio at all,
and maybe the video is a few frames behind the audio
and maybe the subtitles are projected in reverse
like when you take a picture of a mirror
and maybe another electric note harmonizes with the first
and also maybe you’re having a stroke or at least
you’re really thirsty and you can’t unclench your knuckles.
You say now what, I say nothing
I’m on my knees, crawling the carpet,
feeling for outlets, scratching my rug burn,
unplugging sockets.
You say nothing for a moment
I listen for any quiet electricity still playing
you sit down next to me, I lift my legs up and over yours
I look at you, you look at my knees
you say I’m not annoyed, I say that’s not the point
you say listen
you say have you thought about microdosing
I should hear a punchline cymbal
I hear nothing, I don’t feel warm
I start to laugh then stop
I start to stutter then stop
I puke.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 9:57 AM UTC
****** Earphones
The black earphones were made in Red China by CCP turtles
They worked for a year giving reasonably good sound
Then the right side stopped working it was totally dead
It was out of guarantee just over one year old
The left side still worked fine with clear sound
That was fine if you were ok with it that way
He wasn’t ok with that not at all he cursed their crap
Nowt but mass produced junk made by slave labour
He listened to three songs tried messing with it
Unplugging them bending the wire increasing the volume
He looked at the wire it appeared fine so what was it?
What exactly was the motherf*cking problem!
His white earphones would do the job he swapped them
Tried a song full volume the sound was at both ears
These had something wrong the frequency range was off!
No vocals came thru just a mass of static with bass
Back to his other black pair he’d listen with his left ear
It was better than garbled sound of no music at all
Both pairs made in Red China by CCP turtles
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 9:44 AM UTC
Where have you been?
I lie on the concrete
with my telephone beside
my stretched right arm
waiting for a ring.
I wait and wait
I later kneel and pray
that God will be forgiving
of this decision that isn't
really mine.
Walk into a wildfire and
let it burn me to
ashes.
Stand in the middle of
the rotary and jump in
at the perfect second.
Walk to the top of the
biggest skyscraper and
jump.
Where have you been?
What if I actually did that?
Even if you don't want me
anymore wouldn't you
want to know if I
were really
Gone?
How am I supposed to know
if not one of you gives me a call?
I look at the phone on the mini table.
It's not
plugged
in.
Thanks for
unplugging me from
the crew.
Don't worry,
I have many outlets.
This poem being
one.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:06 PM UTC
Digital love got us disconnected
Less affectionate
More constructive
Chasing fantasy, while unplugging from reality
Clicking twice on screens is the closest we get to being liked
Facing peer pressure to look better
Instead of being better
Living under the weather
Hoping it rains dollars
While praying that our perception saves us from our insecurities
Splurging to get respected, applying debt to our broken bank accounts
It’s showing it online that counts
Investing in likes instead of stocks
Computer love
sacrificing human affection for attention
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 1:01 AM UTC