digital stitches

no more flying or driving we
leave it to the machines no
more surfing the oceans gone
plastic no more cash no more
paper we’re all caught by the
web. no silence do not think
for yourself. creation is an
algorithm god is an intranet
dropping digital stitches ina
biodegradable post-colorful
world. amen.

channel surf

i gave up channel surfing for real life. this was not a mistake. i began to have adventures beyond a static location inside four walls. i befriended a cloud who introduced me to a shady place. i followed the cargo trains with my eyes before i decided to jump one. they were transporting televisions to surfers up and down the california coast. i rounded up a possé for a great train robbery. we sold tv’s to survive.

generics -iii

The association in her case was not transparent. If she introduced the darkness to light, they might achieve net neutrality and no one would have to pay. She would funnel all the nonsense down the pipes built expressly for that purpose, and run the drainage of his company into a far corner of the yard where nothing ever grew, she thought. Then reproduce the unkempt sound by some peripheral brilliance, and follow a stream into its relentless river, with side effects of curling back and slowing down. She saw herself surfing a wave and tumbling down, again and again until she got it right. The sharks would circle, yes, but she had chum to feed them. Some day she promised herself an escape from undertow, the gravity above all.