Thursday, July 15, 2010

Fuck Your Computer


Fuck all your electric eccentricities,
Virtual humanities,
And secret online cocktease.

Go fuck your computer and ask if it will hold you afterwards.

Wonder if it will feel jealous while you are on holiday,
And fuck the television while you are away.

Conspired through these wires,
With a satellite choir;
It's a dire seminal connection.
An unexpected injection.

The cyber-syphilitic critic
Prates faceless editorial,
Another incorporeal hack
On file with everyone else.


Do you hear the marching of the automatons?
Their twisted piston beats like a great war drum.

They come to no semblance of resistance as you're
Up-loaded, down-graded, sedated and mutated.

The half-man android has a hole the size of a soul
Where he's been fitted with pedantic mechanics.

And where his brain had been is a gray stain
And a CPU. And where his dick was there is a
Three pronged cord.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Prose Pt 2

It is so godamn easy to ignore everything outside my job, commute and home. At home I tell myself, my job doesn't really define me. At work I tell myself, my small apartment does not define me. It is too modest, I was never that. And I remind myself that these dualities carry no bearing on reality. stagnant, is it dead? Or is it festering with life?

So I define myself on a special set of prejudices, that keep me smirking. She doesn't define me. And I doubt she would try. She is plied by the finest diversions. I am muttering these things out loud to myself. To myself because no one is listening.
And there are plenty of people around.
In fact, I think, there are too many people here.

They are a patchwork of gorged bellies and soft faces. And so horribly pink. They are as uninterested in me as I am in them. But they all love her; for the way she takes you breathlessly...screaming. So effortlessly, I wonder if she is aware how she effects them.

A kiss blown across the room misses its target.

Forget it, I tell myself, forget her.
Let the whole scene go.
Leave the party!

So I crack open a pack of smokes and walk out behind the house. There are five of her friends out back. As I approach they stop braying their inane nonsense, to walk quickly past me inside. Single file, all tight-lipped and fish-eyed. Who knew girls with such nice legs could make such ugly faces.

Then she comes out asking for a lighter. Remember her? She's got nice legs too. And loves to show them off.
She smiles wide batting her eyes and rubbing her thighs. I tell her, "I think we should split up."

"But I never..." she starts, so I stiffle her.

"I know. But I'm worried I never will."

"I'll move out tomorrow."

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Prose Pt 1

At least she keeps the place clean. And looks so pretty preening herself, for me. And sometimes even by artificial means that go wasted on me. My taste was never so pervasive. I tell her I need that unbearable reality. That beauty requires no paraphernalia. And I've told her before, but I still suspect she doesn't believe me.

She looks down on me from her stool scowling as she brushes her perfect hair. She is still angry that I set her, very expensive, hair extensions on fire and then tried to flush them down the toilet.

She says, "You ought to think more of how people define you. You reject the most natural vanities out of some absurd spite. Yours is the greater depravity in nonsense...and pretense against any obvious social cadence. And from you, who scowls presumption with the gumption of pure justice."

I tell her the make-up that she just finished painting on makes her look like a whore--then we make love. Later, as she rest her head in my lap, she plays with my hair and chest and pressed her other hand under my thighs. The while she's been staring intently at me, cooing intamately something I don't bother to hear.

Looking at the oak tree out the window as the sun is setting I speak, "I might not go to that party tonight. No. I am in the mood for wine and the brooding seclusion of the waterfront."

"But everyone is going to be there!" She persisted.