Dear internet, fuck you.
When I think of all the time
I couldve much better spent
eating my own feces,
or destroying an ant hill,
or bleeding to death under the stars,
it makes me so mad,
I could sky dive without a proper pack,
or devour fire ants through a sive,
or chuckle to death in some wild drug fit.
Dear internet anything is better than
getting a high score,
on a face book game,
and auto-inviting and auto-annoying
a dozen or so friends afterward.
Makes me feel like
spitting blood while casting a shadow,
and humming the Blade Runner theme,
while walking into a plate of glass, into a
vat of beer and dying, drunk,
cursing you in every language, like
Neo with the drunk kick boxing, like
it was downloaded into me,
some sort of Pulse-like demon,
internet- fuck you – I’m going back
to the movies
and a comic book or two.
Dear internet, how about another drink.
I left my keys in your sink the
dinner is on the table, just as well…
let’s spend the night together
There is nobody else
in the streets
The four-hundered and fifty first
Dear internet give me back the
prison of my books
and give me Berlin bricks
from shitty strip malls
if not the garden give me the
hose curled up and eating itself.
Something to see outside in the day,
give me a reason not to click
another four hours
on to the road
a million dimes
for stories could
Give me a hitch-itchy finger
that dissolves in the mousey mess
Let me have the keys I am leaving you.
Let me have the keys I am stealing
away from you.
I want all my empty eyes back
I want my friend to come and pick me up
I want to go home
you’ve got me all Hurly Burly
in my morning pants
you’ve got me scurvy
carpal tunnel and a handful
of other surf related diseases.
I might have gone on to be somebody.
I might have gotten out of this backseat.
I was in many rooms,
and there were teachers and
and even some lovers
and the rain
and the kisses
they were suits
I was good.
I was always good, trying to be better.
Internet, give back Cobain’s diary,
at least the stuff about his divided life,
the one of books and thoughts and the one TV brought.
Internet, get off my back.
I’m going home with Anna Karenina tonight,
and you should be jealous.
Read and weep.
Read, and Weep.