"xeroxed" poems
I am not in the business of being you
or him or her or they
we doesn't even really interest me.
you hated me within the first 20 minutes
like a shallow predator
experiencing virginal danger
you have the limbic system of a prey
obvious to anyone in touch with their senses.
you were threatened-
you cracked a joke and among
the robotic laughter and among
the generic thoughts
I stood back, blank-faced
a novel piece of art you haven't the ability
to muster up the courage to understand.
aloud, I said it wasn't funny
which I'm sure your emptiness already betrayed
in a booming, and terrifying fashion
*(I'm an intellectual sadist-
I get off watching you squirm)*
you know enough, that you have no basis
that the status quo is the stale stream you do nothing but soak in.
you're superficiality is so pervasive
that your thoughts are unfilled, plastic
discarded long ago by anyone with stamina
(you're a carbon-copy of a Xeroxed person)
looking the same as the others of your degenerate breed
with much less vibrancy than the original
and far less worth.
your boundaries have been in place for so long
passed down by
generations
of
generations
of
generations
great-great-granddaddy's barbed wire is the only thing protecting your prejudice.
you're not funny- you're scared
ashamed and lonesome.
ashamed of the person you wish you could be
but don't have the strength-or the guts
to morph into
lonesome because even yourself is someone you don't feel close to
you are so basically human.
I have no pity.
for you are no Muse.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:
overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.
[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything
[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.
[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
Xeroxed vitals on paperplanes
Crashing into window panes
Broken-heart blisters and voyeuristic veins
Appear and create transparent glass stains
Blue-Green grass on the other side
Laying there, our fathers died
Dreams and streams of alcohol
Run from their mouths with no control.
Shaking, breaking, no where to decompose
Skin peeling off of worn down toes.
Tell me where their love goes
Tell me where their love goes
Everything turned into gun-shy eyes
Blue-lipped Sunday surprise
Bodies breaking into waiting
This is nothing but carbon dating
Bottles breaking of ***** that's so clear
That I won't see until they're near
God and Jesus in picture frames
Suburban families with jungle brains
Broken homes and replacement Brad's
401 k's and missing ads
Finding our homes that aren't so black and white
Let us sleep in our dreams tonight
Validation through our existence
Is dead but still our resistance
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:
overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.
[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything
[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.
[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
He kinetically arrived
with 1973.
Night is the longest day,
here come the warm jets,
served on a cold plate.
Play it back at half-speed
and you've got auditory wallpaper,
it must be as ignorable
as it is interesting.
His own world spins within a device:
cacophony of sound
mixed in a blender
and xeroxed;
a little snake guitar,
a little Leslie piano
— music to resign you
to the possibility of death.
Then came 1983
and beyond just him.
Tamper tantrum hotline,
amplifiers on the balcony,
secretly taping Edge
and Adam Clayton
on a 4th of July.
The numbered streets
and desert rain
add soul to this heartland,
it's the gospel truth
he wiped the deck clean.
(sort of and maybe).
His device spins within its own world:
manageable hums,
danceable drones,
welded into night;
daytime variations
held together
no better (and no worse)
than a cloud.
Then there's sfumato:
music without lines or borders,
in the manner of smoke
— theatrical fog
— a different kind of blue.
Densely layered,
so impossible to track,
this being lost in
the magnetic hush
of airports and
other strange kiosks,
it all falls into a creative lull.
Guess it's time for
Oblique Strategies...
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 1:43 PM UTC
This amazing architecture of allure; awe-some
to behold , from beneath bed upon beautiful bed
of clouds, cotton-white, concrete-gray and crow-black,
this dangerous density diligently damning my dainty
existence; ever eliciting earnest
and fevered fallacies of false pride to be fatally felled by
this gigantic gale-mother, these gods of galactic proportions.
Hold me, as I help myself hallucinate about heaven in hell,
Innately inundating my lost innocence with it.
Joyously joining in jovially joking about our jubilation in,
Killing our Kudis and our Khaleesis in keeping with,
Our love of labeling lust as love and losing ourselves to,
Mankind's madness for maleficence. We manipulate
our naive needs into necessities, neutralizing all notions
Of obscenity, Obese in our omissions.
Petulantly, we punish any probability of penance or pity.
We will soon quiver and quake, while quail will fly in this beautiful quag,
Resting reluctantly and resisting the requiem of the realm,
That holds a sad semblance of the sky's seas.
Traveler, your traveling is less than trash if you haven't traced
This ubiquitous umbrella; untouched and untainted
By the viscous vice that voraciously vitiates the viscera.
Wait, weary world look up to the place that no words can describe,
To the heavenly xystus that acts as a xylophonic xylem to our xerical and xeroxed dreams.
Yearn traveler yearn, for your eyes to look yonder forever,
To feel the zigzagging zephyrs that witnessed every zenith of history, from Zoas to Zebras.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
A soft snow fell today
burying the Fall,
causing the deer mice to scurry.
Darting, and dashing,
eluding Yoji,
Feline King.
Gone are the dizzy days of Summer,
here are the days of reflection.
Introspection that's Winter's job.
Judging me, preparing me,
"keep up Larry", the Winter says.
"Let us temper ourselves for another year."
My Parents are both 95 now,
95 Winters have they.
Of keeping up, they are Masters.
Planning each hour of the day,
quality time is all they have.
Resistance is futile.
So, like the Seasons, I must change.
Taking off the clothes of one,
understand to die with each breath is to live.
Vowing to accept the suchness,
welcoming the unique events in my life.
Xeroxed, I think not.
Yesteryears' regrets and tomorrow's fears are insane.
Zealous am I about this moment.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
I like to take lonesome strolls through the fog
Pretend it’s a blank canvas
I pretend that I’m not where I am since I can’t see where I'm going and therefore I could be anywhere
So I think up a different life, one where I haven’t failed at the things my heart wanted so
Or feel as though I’ve been plundered barren
Instead, I see colors around me, vibrant
And people around me, unique
Not the washed out Xeroxed copies that bore my vision
Would you call me pompous for thinking that?
Or that it is coarse of me to expect more and to refuse this devoid?
Well I don’t care.
I’ll mislead my mind for a moment, or two, or three…or as long as I can
And pretend I’m impressed by you
That you make me feel like sitting in my dim room with the cold rain outside is like sitting in a meadow with warmth beaming on my skin
And that trusting you and wanting you here is as easy as the smile on my face after waking up from a pleasant dream
Thinking of these things makes it easier to breath for a while
Those are the things I think about when I walk in the fog
But when it clears it’s not as easy to pretend, so I suppose now I’ll try the old fashioned approach, and don’t throw this letter away
*To whom it my concern,
I don’t believe in prayer, so this is not that
I don’t believe in fate, so this is not that either,
Please get me to a place where I don’t fear. Long for. Cry from. Disappoint. Hurt. Want more.
Yours truly,
Jenny*
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC
I xeroxed my Heart
Obtained Only colourfull
photos
Of my childhood
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:51 AM UTC
dubious churning benevolent altruism
this anonymous beastie boy boilerplate endeavors:
(instagramming literary maven) questing user yawps
critically griping knowing personal tidbits xeroxed blithely,
freely jeopardized nuggets (revealed vital), zealously doled
heftily linkedin private treasure trove, (Xfiles breached
flagrant junction mandating righteous validating zero
divulgence heaves lamentable ploy, tellingly xing bald
felonious figurative joyriding, nonchalantly revealing
valuable (Ziegfeld bomb crackling) debacle, heralding
litigious proven, ****** basic foolhardy (Laurel) jack
knifed, networked, rapaciously villainous, zealously dubious,
horrendously lowball practices, thru (Cambridge Analytica)
xy zealots, asininely execrable, intolerantly malignant,
quintessentially ugly, yawningly dastardly, horrendously
lamentable, pathetically treasonous, xtra blameworthy,
fiendishly jawboning, mindlessly paradigm quaking,
unethical yahoo careless gross injustice jangling kow
towing, pleasing the Xmen, banefully Facebook friggin
jerky maliciously narcissistically opprobrious predacious
quisling underhandedly yo-yoing cello glomming kik off
preachiness spar!
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
Xeroxed, is your love,
carved deep within,
Like shadows in distant exiles,
Like hidden mysteries,
found in lost X-files;
In xerox memories,
Your love is like xenoliths
embedded, to perplex me
with your monochrome world.
Sep 10, 2023
Sep 10, 2023 at 9:59 PM UTC
As armed ants advance
Beautifully beyond blasted borders,
Crazed caterpillars create
Demoralizing defenses
Engineered effectively.
Fiery fights form
Gracefully. Gleaming gear
Hints hardily
In ill-prepared insect incisors.
Jowls juice. Just
Keep killing. Keep killing.
Lordly lust leaps, leading
Maniacal maggots mercilessly.
Not nearly neat nature now. Nasty new-horror negates
Original order. Overlords order;
Paternal pressure pokes
Quills quintessential,
Reaching re-riled responders. Rest rowdily royal
Slaves. Soon shrill sounds shout silently. Sun-break signals
Too-terrifying travesty
Under umbrella’d
Vulcanism. Voracious vulgarities
Wrap war wistfully whilst
Xeroxed Xanadus
Yearn yearlong. Yawing
Zephyrus’ zeppelin: zephyrs zoom zilched zealots.
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 6:21 AM UTC
all about another apple
but bite in, bittersweet
crammed cars, can't count
definitely don't die down
effortlessly end eventually
finding fun on the forefront
green goes good to gunk
helping herself hide hundreds
i infer about inside
jokes jump the jump
**** kids, kick kittens
lost lies living large
most moms make mothers
neither, nothing, no, none
others often open outside
people pick poison practice
quite the quiet quack
roaring realness, rather run
stop sinking, stupid sun
time tells touching tales
under universal utters
very varying vanitites
worries will weigh warped wants
xeroxed xenon xanax xylophone
your yellowing youthful yesterdays
zombified zeal zips zillionaires
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC