lundi 19 décembre 2016

My moustache has been hacked

I thought I was safe

Protected by my moustache

A pure, rational hair growth with a distaste for authority

My moustache had ethics

It collaborated with my nose and mouth

It flaunted growth cells like an automaton

looking for a lost hypercube of 8 dimensions

Chorus: "How ungracious to be hacked by the sword,
Thy claims are fallaciously audaciously unexplored!"

Some said my moustache was cryptic

Hiding the ultimate design of a pattern or tapestry

But I took those comments as random outbursts

Of an order that was seeking a behaviour that wasn't there

Chorus: "How ungracious to be hacked by the sword,
Thy claims are fallaciously audaciously unexplored!"

My mom called my moustache a modern mathematical forest

That was running in all directions.

"Shave it or brave it" she said.

I had to brave it knowing that there was no

Imbroglio behind,

The 'stash was pure, without breaks in any sequence

As regular as bowtie pasta that follows the rule of life and

Knows to replicate itself under Rule 90. (Wolfram 2002, pp 269-270 and 667 -701)

Still it got hacked.


Chorus: "How ungracious to be hacked by the sword,
Thy claims are fallaciously audaciously unexplored!"


I don't know if it was the KGB or a group of Spelunkers

(a group exploring unauthorised areas and building)

Or even a third party with no links whatsoever!

I no longer exercise control over it

There is no rationale that I can offer for those of you seeking

Rations, comfort, or just a "decent" dose of RDA of riboflavin and calcium.



mardi 13 décembre 2016

A hard hashtag is gonna scrawl*

*This poem is inspired by Bob Dylan's "A hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall"

Oh where have you been my jaded-eyed son?
And where have you been, my Wall Street treasure in a bun?


I've tripped in the swamp over 12 slimy frogs
I've walked and parkoured over 6 torn up newspapers
I've stepped in the middle of 7 Twinkie factories
I've been out in front of a dozen dead hot spot access points
I've been 10,000 terabytes in a memory hole
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard hashtag that's gonna scrawl


Oh where have you been my jaded-eyed son?
And where have you been, my Wall Street treasure in a bun?


I saw a newborn embryo with cells all around it
I saw a Trump highway with nobody on it
I saw Megan Kelly with blood drippin all over
I saw a room full of trans boycotting Corn Flakes
I saw a white ladder covered with Mexicans
I saw 10,000 tweeters whose tweets were all choking
I saw M'15s and suicide jackets worn by young children


And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard hashtag that's gonna scrawl


Oh where have you been my jaded-eyed son?
And where have you been, my Wall Street treasure in a bun?


I heard the sound of of kids playing Angry Birds

Heard the roar of Black Friday shoppers that flooded a K-Mart
Heard 100 swipers swiping on Ipads
Heard 10,000 commuters coughing and choking
Heard one cheeky child in a condo for adults and old people smirking
Heard the song of a rapper who dyed his hair blond
Heard the sound an elephant who had no circus

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard hashtag that's gonna scrawl

Oh where have you been my jaded-eyed son?
And where have you been, my sweet Wall Street treasure in a bun?

I met a young refugee near an invisible border
I met a black man who walked a white dog
I met a young woman whose tattoos  was chillin’
I met a young girl who gave me a bodiless piggy bank
I met a frustrated young man with 10,000 girlfriends
I met another man who was hammering hammers

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard hashtag that's gonna scrawl 

Oh where have you been my jaded-eyed son?
And where have you been, my sweet Wall Street treasure in a bun?

I’m a-goin’ back out before the tweets start coming
I’ll walk to the depths of the most salacious lies
Where the people and the few have their hands ringing of gold
Where fake news is swimming like salmon up rivers
Where the righteous and mighty dance around prisons
Where the executioners face is all over Instagram
Where hunger is an obese notion, where intestines are exalted
Where black lives matter if the matter has money
And I’ll tell it and speak it and feel it and tweet it
And boast it from my tower so all can reflect it
Then I’ll stand on my skateboa watching the world without moving
And I’ll lipsinc my song before I forget it

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard hashtag that's gonna scrawl 












jeudi 8 décembre 2016

Alt Right

If you're an alt right cuckservative, cornservador,
Burning up more twitter fans than 
An atom blast in Fukoshima

Then you may be a shadowy dissident
Breaking conservative walls
built or unbuilt upon 
A quagmire of a swamp
A deep echo bounces like a flat rock over the water resounding,

WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION

Hoping to give society the mediocrity 
That stands of non-conservative
And smells of
Non-aligned
A fingerless keyboard punches:
"Pragmatic neo-liberals
without a care for religion
Or Yiddish bagels..."

WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION

It is time to promote the edges of the internet
4 Chan 8 Chan
Upstream neo-apologetic 
Accusatory misinformation generation

A media where culture is halting 
Stumbling elephants approving of nationalists
That today are coalescing 
And moving into the public spotlight

Chanting unchecked the Homeland is 
Now a beacon, a fireball an incendiary device
Beckoning broken masses to turn and veer and rattle
Where no snake hath slithered

A bodiless bear servers as my son's piggy bank
Where has the body gone, where are the gold chips?
Why are people boycotting fruitloops?
Kellogs is accused of dividing the country
Muslims and Christians won't eat Corn Flakes

My son walks out of a swamp in the moonlight
The croaking of a bullfrog flushes out the sound of his approaching steps
It is a dream
I wake up wishing

Wishing I knew what to give him for Christmas
Wishing I I knew what to give anyone for Tomorrow.



WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION


Nasty Women



Yesterday I tied my nasty wife to a chair and left her there.
You may think that cruel but if you listen up, you'll understand.

Bernice and I have been fighting for years. Been trying to get divorced but she won't let me.
(Turns out she has a lot of money that she's been hiding.)
We go to a judge every month. She tries to shoot me down for little things.
I forget to take out the trash, "that's a man's role" she says.
I don't read books to our baby daughter. Well who reads these days?

It's all in the tone. Mean. A nasal rasping voice that will cut through any fog.
A few years ago she disappears for 3 weeks. Blackout from her friends, relatives.
One day I come home I get wacked with the butt of my deer rifle. 
I fall onto the floor, spit out a tooth and say,
"Honey, not in front of Baby Bess!"

She smiles, snickers or skittles and says it the bear trap next time.

Bess is now 7. She's getting nasty too. Rough like her mom.
When she smiles her eyes come together. Like a devil.
She'll throw rocks at me and her friends. She throws food
and she jumps on my stomach for fun. Only she weighs like a 10 year old
and she flattens my intestines like a tape worm.

Bernice is an Instagram addict. I went christmas shopping with her last year.
A guy in the mall falls on top of the escalator and has a cardiac arrest. I got
to help him and she pushes me away. "gotta film this! she barks. 
And so she goes ahead filming and for her defence she wasn't the only one,
a crowd starts filming cause they all want a maximum number of hits on their
Instagram. I finally push her aside to do CPR but it's too late: he's dead.

She does the same thing to our neighbour. The guy takes a shower and you 
can see his butt on the opaque glass. Bernice does her filming then sends it
to his wife with some lewd comment. "See that?" she says to me, beaming,
"that'll teach him!"

To the judge she holds herself nice and upright and says that I can't even shoot
deer with my deer riffle. Says I spend the day basket weaving and she brings
her mother in as a witness to prove that I'm the one who is hiding the money.
"My husband is a filthy rich basket case" she says, her
eyes full of compassion and tearing in front of the judge. 

I look down at my feet, my stomach, full of acid, cramps another notch.