m by memory -xi (fin)

Yes, being WIRED had coalesced cultures all across the earth, simply the most powerful force in the paradigm shift. What normally took the flash of a couple hundred years in the pan, took only a hundred plus, facilitated by the mighty conveyance of internet connection. Many subcultures rebelled against the seated powers once they became aware (almost instantaneously for common citizens, dependent only on the functionality of a modem in an electric grid) of the relative freedoms other cultures and countries had which they had not and wanted. They got restless under the thumbs of a ruling class they had limited stake in appointing. None of these performances on the dramatic stage of sentient theatre had the innocence of virgin material, there would be no immaculate conception by so and so producer, writer, director, star, or egocentric asshole. There would be no trailblazing invention at all. It became clear that you go with what you have, your essential ingredients, and make something more of it. Make a clearing and let it grow. Any farmer could rule the day. Meanwhile the old controllers and their desperate need for control would be stripped to the wire,  primitive and unworthy looking, and frayed. Easily spotted for removal by the arbitrators of theatre in whatever form they chose to express: tv, movie, made for tv movie, short in some indy festival, drawing on some ipad, page in some kid's sketchpad. It didn't matter! Just as the tarnishing of heart and soul, in a rusty mechanical sort of perfectionism, could be caught on an intellectual hook and pulled up and out of the path of vital life,  so could the real, unblemished heart and soul of common decency be ever sparkling for us to see and believe. And so we would have cause to celebrate again. Love was out in the open. Then back to work again.

Journal # 10.18.2016

I had a great idea but got dehydrated and lost it. It wasn't really mine, I just held it for the world for a moment and gave it away without even knowing. You could call that irresponsible or even tragic. Or just super special. The only painful part was my headache, but I cannot blame that on the idea... Now someone, maybe even you, has it and you could hold on to it and commit it to paper or the internet or the ethernet and let people discover it that way (like I had mapped out, myself, when I had it). Or let it come to them the way it came to me, suddenly, superbly, like it was really mine and not something I found online.

illuminated (by a screen)

Anything I do not have and want is not gonna change how I am or how I feel about myself when I am alone, is it true? I would ask the internet but the internet may not be my friend. If the ghost comes to walk me through my past many years from now, when I am an old lady staring at the sun through my stigmatism,  enjoy the walk and be bored to death by the hours upon hours regarding the young lady in her apartment typing away at the computer, i mean, the ghost will drift away (hoping I won't notice) to someone else's brilliant past I am sure. Oh well. I am illuminated by my goddam screen. So what. I don't and won't have kids. So what. I stopped doing half the things I loved to do. So what. I'm a gen X internet baby. So what. Anything you do not have and want is not gonna change how you are or how you feel about yourself when you are alone. So there!  xxxx  - K

society has come to polish off the self

I need complete silence for as many hours of every day and as many minutes of every hour and as many seconds of every minute as I can get. There are big ideas circulating which will otherwise be lost to dark matter, casualties of the smart phone alert system. And if comprehension of these ideas are lost, I will be lost with them. Society has decided communal is the only way, at the expense of any self. Myself, yourself. Society has declared the individual no longer to be trusted, no longer significant. Society has come to the internet to polish off the self. There is a war being waged for control over the web, a war of individuals demanding free expression against the ever matriculating constituents of the giant dark formless blob. Hold on to your hats!

WIFI (a poem for Ai.Ko)

KatYa © 2015

if i could hold your hand through this lens
through this screen

through these wires snake around
and out

the head of medusa


if i could hold you
tenderly like thoughts of you i have
each time we come across

these wireless fidelity
moments we share
before the infidels encroach our unitive

time and work and money
reaching into us
pull us apart

naturally. i
guess

watch the night get heavier
drip into the grass

watch the morning dew
evaporate heading for the sun

watch the sun
at the end of an arc

watch the sky turn red


somewhere the earth is burning
somewhere protected. by ice

being with you
is always very
nice

itasca. usa.

The derelicts wait
to get out of jail
eating grass in the yard
sincerely,
snail mail

tricked some dumb girl
in Lincoln, Nebraska
to drop
all her clothes
in the family Winnebago
class A. Itasca

framed for a selfie
umm. wait... i dunno
omg. someone loves me!
i oughta...just do it!

the seeds
they parachute
around her parents fat asses
picknicking
oblivious
they think
she's in classes

the couple next door
in the '89 Sunflyer
uncouples

everyone in the trailer park
breathes a sigh of relief
after days upon days
bed springs
grinding teeth

here lies America
one part insane
three parts corn field
chicken fights
the great dane

sky of confetti
ticker tape patrol
on top of spaghetti
out on parole
all covered in glass
we lost all our marbles
trailer park cities
smoking the grass

had us some prilosec
for damage control
got the generic
omeprazole

over the counter
losing religions
fighting off viral
youtube derisions


fighting for freedom
across all the states
candy crushed pills
oxycontin
crazy eights

this is America
home of the rave
we party all night
our roads are all paved

we can
spy on your leaders
sell you our fruit juice
equal parts mother
hen turkey and
goose

we can
just because
we can
in god's name
we can
laissez-faire
we can
pollute air

the derelicts wait
to get out the pen
we can let them go
sincerely, usa

land of the free
prison industry
zen