Ah vastness of cameras, bringer of breaking news,
super-high play of highlights, solitary hell,
Pocket rockets broadcasted, plastic meat dolls alive and puking,
clean-sparkled toilet from whom the miserable eats!
In you the actors can talk and sing and my soul flees from them:
The system has failed, the show must go down.
There’s a path designed for pedestrians
I see your role heading that way.
On every wall I see the smoke screen
and your noise will strike down upon me with great vengeance and furious close-ups.
It’s you, with your 60” plasma waist
where I end and reality starts getting hyper.
Ah the things I have to see to waste my days away
and the blue pill to swallow my evenings!
Thus I see dead couples texting in the park
ignoring each other, dating their own cellphones.
TRANSfiGURATion from salquebre emilie on Vimeo.
The darkness wraps you in its critical error.
Abstracted blue mourner, frozen that way
kidnapped by the same old windmill trojan worms
that sneaked into my privacy chambers.
Internetless, my friend
alone in the loneliness of this lonely hour of the dead
but filled with basically crap,
idle witness of my ruined life.
Your last words just came up so fast.
The songs I always skip, the selfies in the bathroom mirror
and all the files I didn’t back up
will be lost in time like tears in rain,
so that a blue and pale screen of death
will remind me how big is my emptiness.
Oh magnificent and sterile and confusing master
everything lives in you and what is not is to be created
all the answers, all the questions, the advertisements in between
and me with no device to update how I feel.
Soul of a demon, orange pop on sale, white X-mas propaganda,
you stink like the world you think you own.
My rough slave’s anger is rising because of you
and makes the blood leap from the depth of my keyboard.
I was never alone. Every time I went there
I found at least one new friend request. To keep that pace
I used your filter on my profile picture, I made public my concern.
But the hour of forgiveness falls, and I hate you.
Soul of a demon, rotten apple, black and awful diet coke.
Oh your meaningless crap! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the undesired pop-ups in your face! Oh your voice chopped and robotic!
Soul of a demon, I will no longer speak about you.
The machines, the boundless absurd, my shifting rage!
An inspiring kick in the ribs, the waking hour
and the drowsiness follows, and the infinite don’t – give- a- damn.