With the profound global defrag project underway…polaroids drop and flip over and over and over scattered out over a small piece of arab sky like confetti at a ticker tape parade, photos of women in the sunlight of the new dawn of some new Democracy Operating System. Peel back the material like a girl on her way to wearing different colored socks under different sized flats kicking out desert sand against the aimless hungry avarice of rats.
The future is enveloped in a mist. This much is clear. That much is breathed on fogged over passed by prone to blindness and rage. Turn the page. Hilary is quitting politics next year. You would too if you were her. I we they it would quit, if i they it we could see. A vision. You were worn torn battered just watching her. Admit it. She works so hard she makes it look effortless. You we they wanna believe its effortless, they i me wanna believe its so. Cause the concept of so much work fades us silent. The concept of such just feels violent.
I wonder if she feels fairly credited for her vast impact on the domestic stage? Whatever the case, it is what it was what it is and will be. Still a vision. Still devoted to the cause of a certain freedom. She herself knows. She we they i you? They it you me, too…. are free.
One to another and another between us, any of us,all of us, out and in relationship with ourselves, our bank accounts, our phones synched with our laptops and our kindles lighting up in happy togetherness, in a information cloud, skyped out and G-tricked suspension…where is the time leftover for real sentient human contact? Maybe a hug here and a kiss there, but how many a day where you really stop and mean it? hug large? kiss and kiss again? lie down and look into eyes? Wait, adobe needs an update. Cc cleaner needs to clean. Malware may be near. Keep a lookout.
In this new techno speeding, natural disaster breeding, freedom by facebook (or seeming) type world, has eye to eye human face to face contact been devalued like the dollar? I suppose we might begin to get a little scared about full social schedules. All that work to get dressed, transport, and perform the slightly awkward machinations of truly American USA kind of confused melting pot talk about nothing between meals and talk alot. So many cultures to reckon with, downloading names and faces and deleting the browsing history after every event. Only to reboot a week later. Another weak flyer marketed event, corporate. Yes, its catered.
The wrists are held out in front of you me us them… the bare pale small long wrists facing up with longing. Here we stand in our your their belonging. Yet without a home, us, without anything much more than an entitled titled costly human drone zone? Check your real estate! What do you really come close to, what do I? who am I to know you to know we to know myself and the world?
Whom does intimacy port? How does intimacy travel? is it firewire fast? scanned thoroughly or just one-passed? When intimacy gets all awkward for us and scares us like we are losing the ability to connect man to man, woman to woman, cross, duck under, stretch, stare, flare, and circle in courtship with such fanfare? The movement is fascinating, but what about the other plains? Do we not still need prehistoric umbrellas, every time it rains? Relics of nylon stretched over the wiry long hovering fingers to the tips. Do we even touch the rain? Does it touch us? What does it mean to dodge all this feeling being suffering seeing?
How will our your species keep up unless we me port ourselves soon? We know how to run. To hide. We are intimate with rather than the ever more impractical ancient art of NASA space shuttling away away away. Gasoline is so flammable and smells bad. But its energy, so take it, tangible smelly burning solitude of petrol, never to upload. simply bleed out and soak in, absorption into the earth, dissolving into the air. Breaks your my our collective heart. From about where to where? Away away away So much easier to gravitate away along the shipment channels standard, the paths prepioneered, the snow carved out like ribs like rivers like thanks, giving, turkey… less work, more sedentary tryptophan inspired ennui. And thus you me? you me we? you me we are free. aren’t we? 4th of July is no joke, HBO specials on dead presidents who stare back at us with iron spirits carried on currency, have currency have freedom? have nots have none? I you we get confused mixed feelings that throw off our equilibrium sometimes. — fresh liberation we feel so true! next year enslaved in another addictive groove. Low and weary we they obey the Countenance command: level up from source – level up now…. sad.
stored back with the medicine balls the deflation. In the darkreprioritized, c-cleaned, put on the desktop and in the taskbar so you cannot miss it, humanity, but its like an antiquated major looking uncomfortable as Latin between Chinese and Spanish…uncomfortable horribly so inside the cardboard strung together placed over the shoulders of our teenagers needing currency so bad, so bad they would advertise something other than themselves, direct produce and starring in your next product placement plan you put to action. Doing things like we know nothing. This much about nothing.
This much about something. Something about suffering. Something about not able to get quite warm enough in the cold, cool enough in the heat. Not quite able to get exactly the comfort required to prevent a progression toward madness. The garden grows out and over, the vines are together cut back to the knees for having passed the invisible impenetrable transparent nonextant wall divides you me us. What was to protect us in our idea of safety and personal refuge? what was. what is. what will be. solitary kind of confinement. solitary refinement is how you work that angle of free, solitary introverted workaholic genius. empirical proof for us all to be in relief. relieved.