'we are witnessing
the death of a paradigm.'
Hertz
This poem has Intel Inside.
This poem streamlines through the white valley
of the paper, aims to bring together the last figments
of what's not augmented reality.
The poemsphere is full of narcissism: dayturnal videogamers
who turn into dandy webtrovers under the Facebook moon.
They share their post-consumer love over a virtual martini,
divide their fears by the zero of feelings.
And here I am, in the time
longing for the time
in which there was analog trees and
classical birds on the poem,
before the digital Son of Man
was unleashed upon the Earth:
This poem has now Intel Inside.
They say the future
would come x times faster, these days,
than it used to in the past,
that climate change is also affecting
poetry.
Civilization has just come to the point of highest entropy
ever before seen.
They were of course as right as a venture capitalist
is used to be,
as a simpler world was never going to.
This poem is a would-be victim
of the dotcom jungle and it's whole new set
of perpetuated myths.
I hope it becomes irresponsive before it gets hacked
by too much future,
all at once.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
perpetuated myths. good write, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.