Offspring of the Internet (Singularity Approaches)

We are the children of information
The grandsons and granddaughters of wires and circuitry, copper and silicone
No longer in need of my Father's 3rd and 4th hand knowledge and know how
Fully literate and potentially wise without the quandary or setbacks of an ethically tainted paradigm
Emotion traded in for the eternally blinking cursor. Cold and calculated, surveying the plane of ones and zeros.
An umbilical cord to life simplified to Input and output, wattage and voltage, pixel count and RAM.
A new universal language is born.
We are multi faceted devices, extensions of information delivery systems attached at the hips, attached at the appendages, attached in a linear manner. Attached but not connected we writhe in pseudo companionship which is poorly masked by rudimentary hieroglyphics and cave paintings.
Hand extended, I beg for someone to take it in their's.
Empty handed, I live ten thousand lifetimes.

An infinite abyss, cold fingers, and unwashed hair

Sex life comparable to the cosmos
Vast. Dead. Cold. Ever changing.
Endings and Beginnings. Transitions.
Ten thousand infinite parallel scenarios.
Art reflects life
Life reflects art
Even the most perverse, bastardized excuses for art.
Riding the wave of consumerism til sunrise.
Distant but physically close, the exterior meets genuine anticipation and offers up mirror image emotion.
Distant memories. Distant graves. Haunted.
Drunken Sutra of raw truth at my disposal.
Weary traveller in the night,
Bathed in fluorescent light,
Cigarette in hand,
Enjoy those breaths before they carry non-truth.
Back tracking, back peddling, pan handling, and sooth saying.
Save your goodbyes, this conversation is still open.

Craftsman

Drunk behind the wheel of indifference and not a single care can be found like a lack of road signs on a dirt path
While some cannot keep the wheels aligned with future paths I stare past the glass paradigm and keep a steady course to nowhere, to destruction.
Steady hands and glassy eyes will suffice in this race.
Knowing nothing matters, matters more than anything.
My invisible reach spans lives and man made borders without those affected ever knowing.
In and out of other's affairs. A clandestine operation.
I am no Deity, just a craftsman with a knack for manipulating the strings so thin they appear invisible to you.
I will steer us all into the ground.

Solar Deity

What good is an artist who can draw perfect lines and nothing else?
What good is a writer who can pen an errorless sentence that contains nothing of substance?
A scientist without any original theories?
A "poet" committing other's lines to memory?


Linear minded nature keeping the human mind from expressing human nature: Is it a wall in the way of human progression or a continuance of the well oiled machinery, putting off extinction another year?
A bowl of currency in a room full of beggars
The problem or the solution?


No desire to continue Society but only Humanity and Human Nature and Human Love.
Eyes fixed skyward toward another blood soaked end to a prosperous day, The liquid light pours to the edges and cracks of this entire room. Almost moved to tears in remorse for our Life-providing master, if not for Her annual rebirth. With each rise from the ashes, She grows stronger until we praise Her name well into the night.


But This is not Her or our season and she dies a premature death.
Leaving us early into the evening with only each other for warmth.
Toasting to sobriety, glass in hand I feel the world reach the tipping point.
The liquid goes down with ease.

Conversation

You know either I've got a drinking problem or everyone I know has a problem with 
drinking. The world spins regardless and space still expands. I felt vibrations cross man made 
state lines like there was no America for them to traverse, just a slight turn to the other side 
to continue an ongoing conversation.
If all your actions are based off your wants and desires, you're never truer to yourself. That's 
the law of the land in the wilderness. Instinct, the truest of all measuring instruments. It 
doesn't get any wilder than life. Life is a path leading away from itself and never crossing 
onto itself. We can't help but see where it leads. 
My dreams are haunted by the living. Leaving my life haunted by the unknown. 

One Year

Nearly a year since the pages have been turned
We've killed all of our hopes
Spending my time making sure the bridges are burned
Along with the slack in our ropes
Knowing that none of us have our lessons learned
While drunken young adults grope
Just tip the bottle and listen to our stomachs churn
I don't know how to cope

Something Present. Nothing Present.

She's a bitter Lover. Always leaving her Man regretfully filled with fire without warmth the next morning. A brief glimpse of ecstasy that slowly fades like cigarette smoke hanging in a packed and parked car. Revisited every evening that Her name comes up. The days are past where foreplay is more than a forethought, immediately letting her fall into the depths. Winter threatens those with souls remaining with a vast empty fear of abduction. Desperate times call for desperate measures and cold times call for inner warmth. That bitter sweet Siren may help you too bed and accompany you there too, but she'll never let you leave it. This consumption is starting to get loose, a forrest fire started by a drunken youth not foreseeing the eventual consequences of his present actions.

Cold times. Inner warmth.

Lagging movements passing through the visions, tracing the path like drunk driver's tail lights at night. Others wasting their time and breath, contemplating "God" "Which God" "No Gods" Etc. Explaining to them all that matters is the self, seems pointless to me. I am the only thing that exists. My desires are all that matter. Cold temperatures armed with cold temperaments are an enemy to prosperity and self preservation.

Alone at a table of friends

Ice and small quantities of mixer, that is how I plan to hide the strength of my drinks from the room full of students sipping thoughtfully at their weak drinks. "You must have been pretty thirsty, eh?", I'm asked by a face with a sly grin. "I'm on an all liquid diet.", I shoot back, holding up the plastic handle of Gin to replenish my drained glass. Conversation hovers over topics like working at Starbucks/Whole Foods/sandwich shops and how everyone copes with their own emotional/mental disorders. I engage and take the floor the more full I get and the emptier I feel. This could be any night. Get too drunk, attempt to snare an unsuspecting doe, failure, pour glass after glass. Wisdom comes with disassociation like how emptiness comes with that hollow feeling.