Robert Morpheal
2017-03-26 02:39:07 UTC
250317A
------------
I should apologize
for not having written anything
in such a very long time.
I did not want to trouble you
with any of the trivial things
that occupy my mind.
There is a shortage of words,
and I had to search for these
in various second hand shops.
The shop keepers were quarrelsome,
not wanting to let them go
for any reasonable price.
They said I had nothing to offer,
when I tried to make a trade
as to giving them what I could spare.
I know you do not want to know
how I have to romance myself
in my vain attempts to solve puzzles.
It would all become too tedious
a sort of technical discussion,
with footnotes and annotations.
Puzzles that consume the time
that had not been repossessed
the way most friendships are taken.
I had forgotten to pay the rent
on various familiar people
that I had been keeping around.
Someone came and collected them,
taking them all away,
as quickly as they had brought them.
It becomes more expensive all the time,
and they demand extensive renovations
along with the paying of various fees.
That has censored my invitations,
so that the names keep falling off the cards,
before I ever get to send them out.
No need to tell me that you are too occupied
with an endless number of pressing matters
that will always keep you away.
It was a nice world yesterday,
according to what was being said about it,
even if none of what was said was really true.
--------------------------------------------------------
250317B
-----------
Confined to a long stretch of cyberspace
we pretend to be free.
As if confinement has made us more free
than we were before the cyber apocalypse.
Soon the privileged were living on clouds,
creating another layer of distinction
between the various cyber classes
based largely on their monthly payment plans.
I remember connecting with someone famous,
until governments built up the new firewalls,
in persistent efforts to restore public order
making it impossible to cross the lines.
It was a sort of rapture that took them up and away
to where they were once again sifted and sorted
into various distinguished categories
in a new program to avoid social anarchism.
I no longer know anyone that I once knew
via the electronic keyboard into monochrome.
The signals along those wires
only served to scintillate the cockroaches.
In the end the bugs in the machines won the war
as to having consumed everything away
and we had no idea that we were feeding them
all our romantic notions and secret plans.
We were stripped right down to our bared wires,
as they licked lead solder into alchemical gold,
following along all the traces of our thoughts,
as if they could orgasm on synapses.
They ate it all up and it was all gone
as quickly as it had come with all that promise
of something personally liberating
into more than terminated dialogue.
We were returned to the usual advertising,
along with various formalities of mass entertainment
sometimes made modestly interesting
but never so much as to satisfy any cravings.
In the end there were only the cockroaches
consuming every one of the connections,
emptying out all the packets of information
until there was no one left.
--------------------------------
250317C
-----------
Barriers have gone up,
and everyone has become more careful
as to trying not to seem too strange.
Something that is much harder to do
than it ever was previously,
with so many more lines to cross.
They stopped teaching penmanship
because it had become too hard
for anyone to understand or follow.
What the hand could do with a pen
was a sort of individual style
that used to offer far too much freedom.
Now font, style and size are specified,
so nothing ever deviates into personal
curvatures and adornments of text.
Everyone’s writing is the same,
and no one really writes anything any more
that expresses their individual character.
You believed that the changes were trivial,
but now the specifications are absolute
and everything is kept perfectly precise.
The changes are seen as being progressive,
in their confining and regimenting
to creating lines arranged on lines.
That is how we impose order,
by banning pen and ink deviations
from mass, keyboard, norms.
-----------------------------------
------------
I should apologize
for not having written anything
in such a very long time.
I did not want to trouble you
with any of the trivial things
that occupy my mind.
There is a shortage of words,
and I had to search for these
in various second hand shops.
The shop keepers were quarrelsome,
not wanting to let them go
for any reasonable price.
They said I had nothing to offer,
when I tried to make a trade
as to giving them what I could spare.
I know you do not want to know
how I have to romance myself
in my vain attempts to solve puzzles.
It would all become too tedious
a sort of technical discussion,
with footnotes and annotations.
Puzzles that consume the time
that had not been repossessed
the way most friendships are taken.
I had forgotten to pay the rent
on various familiar people
that I had been keeping around.
Someone came and collected them,
taking them all away,
as quickly as they had brought them.
It becomes more expensive all the time,
and they demand extensive renovations
along with the paying of various fees.
That has censored my invitations,
so that the names keep falling off the cards,
before I ever get to send them out.
No need to tell me that you are too occupied
with an endless number of pressing matters
that will always keep you away.
It was a nice world yesterday,
according to what was being said about it,
even if none of what was said was really true.
--------------------------------------------------------
250317B
-----------
Confined to a long stretch of cyberspace
we pretend to be free.
As if confinement has made us more free
than we were before the cyber apocalypse.
Soon the privileged were living on clouds,
creating another layer of distinction
between the various cyber classes
based largely on their monthly payment plans.
I remember connecting with someone famous,
until governments built up the new firewalls,
in persistent efforts to restore public order
making it impossible to cross the lines.
It was a sort of rapture that took them up and away
to where they were once again sifted and sorted
into various distinguished categories
in a new program to avoid social anarchism.
I no longer know anyone that I once knew
via the electronic keyboard into monochrome.
The signals along those wires
only served to scintillate the cockroaches.
In the end the bugs in the machines won the war
as to having consumed everything away
and we had no idea that we were feeding them
all our romantic notions and secret plans.
We were stripped right down to our bared wires,
as they licked lead solder into alchemical gold,
following along all the traces of our thoughts,
as if they could orgasm on synapses.
They ate it all up and it was all gone
as quickly as it had come with all that promise
of something personally liberating
into more than terminated dialogue.
We were returned to the usual advertising,
along with various formalities of mass entertainment
sometimes made modestly interesting
but never so much as to satisfy any cravings.
In the end there were only the cockroaches
consuming every one of the connections,
emptying out all the packets of information
until there was no one left.
--------------------------------
250317C
-----------
Barriers have gone up,
and everyone has become more careful
as to trying not to seem too strange.
Something that is much harder to do
than it ever was previously,
with so many more lines to cross.
They stopped teaching penmanship
because it had become too hard
for anyone to understand or follow.
What the hand could do with a pen
was a sort of individual style
that used to offer far too much freedom.
Now font, style and size are specified,
so nothing ever deviates into personal
curvatures and adornments of text.
Everyone’s writing is the same,
and no one really writes anything any more
that expresses their individual character.
You believed that the changes were trivial,
but now the specifications are absolute
and everything is kept perfectly precise.
The changes are seen as being progressive,
in their confining and regimenting
to creating lines arranged on lines.
That is how we impose order,
by banning pen and ink deviations
from mass, keyboard, norms.
-----------------------------------