Posts
...for john shirley
I'm concerned about this widespread proliferation of subscribing online to a succession of descending platforms which, as only a few of us seem to know (or succeed at remembering), at least for now, is really just an unfolding series of folders, blossoming out like petals in an endlessly generated forest of pixilated flora blooming into the black of the deep dark web.
For that is where we've found ourselves all this time wondering while logging away online to ourselves what's this deep web I keep hearing about well stop wondering today kid cuz it's the oceanic tomb we've already adapted ourselves to breathe in quite well the question remains are we prepared to lie down in it and sleep forever I mean this deep down bed we've made.
Trying to keep my free flow thinking contained within the strictures of four line stanzas I hope that breaks it up more or less evenly so that anyone reading this might follow along with me so help us out and sing this song together its a spell bound to break their hold on us after we couldn't stand the weather long enough to revolt outside so try to remember just one thing.
The web they spin a snare a trap of silken digital threads enwrapped about us each and every day a glittery cocoon in which we gladly lay and think that while we're hooked in line and sinker we can spread our message to the world all the while quite blind to the fact the world itself is not online the world still howls and bites and thrives and holds no more memory than you or I.
And all that data cached in the cloud remains a blurred reflection whispered loud inside a cellar locked up tight where sleepless zombies dream overnight in fitful starts and silent ends where no one notices or pretends to even remember you once were friends it's like stumbling inside one of your own bad dreams and getting lost in it entirely and not waking up.
I wrote this just for you my friend [john shirley] you got smart and minnow-slipped out through an eyelet in the netting now I'm left behind temporarily trying to find a footing in the ever shifting multiplex of the online book of visages each and every page the stretched out skin of someone's face you used to know a mummified leaf in the wailing-wall vortex of a shutting tomb.
