Death to Analog

Slipping is what we do best,

into different shapes, into different crevices,

into habits, into bad dreams, into cycles, into small spaces,

into empty rooms, into hefty vices.

Into the hidden sanctuary of the sub-conscious mind we go,

probably the last safe place on the sub-atomic plagued Earth.

Exploring the depths with a lighter and a slippery candle.

The mind is silky with soft solids and fluid ruins,

so mushy, it tries to swoosh itself across the fence.

Not ever making it over, you run circles inside the cavern of ideas,

the labyrinth of dreams and the garden of nightmares.

Bathing in blood, hungry for a new thought to devour.

Your mind seeks and grumbles, its loose weight makes rumbles.

Drifting in the sludge, am I suppose to feel a bug or budge?

The sewage of sloshing rain, a strain of some crap for fame,

the stain that never comes out, reminding me to always wash my clothes.

Tooting in the distance about some expensive car,

some ticket-booth slave, prying at my feet and asking for a dismiss.

A solid but shifty in weight, a slight onslaught of the prey we slay.

We enter rooms as easily as we exit chapters,

We drift as heavy as the black night.

We are often caught unaware, hurt and vulnerable to pain and suffrage,

blinded by youth and stupid naivety.

Under the storm of rain, falling from heights deemed far from pain,

a wane in the ways and directions, a pane of clarity waves at changing perceptions.

Injections of toxic fluid, the bug flutters by my hazy yet lazy eye.

Capitalism suggests, "Some contraption that will 'connect' us all!  Bring the world closer because uniformity - much like fear - helps us to control you.  You will all be peacefully conquered and indebted to the uniform dollar; a happy slave to monetary transactions."

We diligently agree like a school of blind rats, singing the national anthem during morning stretches, "Our debts we forever owe, our souls captured in the heavy hull.

Our minds will never be let go, always forcing to pay a toll."

The toll road, you once remember, was a road that you had to pay to use.

This will be a surprise however, just when no one was looking.

Just when we least expect it, we will lose it all.

Freedoms will become tied up by clauses and excuses and late fees and interest rates.

Rights will be surrendered due to 'the war on terrorism' and less to 'the war on drugs.'

No lies will technology tell though, a spun web where we spell and sell and nest and dwell,

comfortable on the web because we built it ourselves, portraying it as our second abode.

A line of slinky messages they rode, distorted and full of viruses on dusty roads, pop-ups, blue screens of death and internet 'activity' shows.

We dive into the dog-pile of floppy disks, hunting for the next bigger, the next better.

We are sloppy and we don't drive straight and we always want something bigger, something better.

Capitalism argues, "The depths of their pockets shall not stop us now, the degree of their wealth supported by greed can know no limits!  We shall win this battle, we shall leave no prisoners..."

Conquer values and learn to splurge.

Diminished returns and learn to over-consume.

Let sex and violence hold you by the throat,

let the music hypnotize you and follow us,

join us and let the seducer fulfill your needs.

Let the rain calmly sooth you, a fine reminder of exotic euphoria,

forget about the stresses of life and come enjoy your vices.

Let the rain cover your eyes, cover, cover.

Cutting and re-sewing sutures will never hold, ever.

Capitalism screams, "...Burn the telephone and radio, we are on to something bigger!  Burn the cassettes and burn the books!  Do not feel like a minority, do not feel like an outcast, join us in the digital age.  Do what is right, go digital; remove all notions of the past, destroy all analog!  Remember nothing of diversity, only pursuit of uniformity!"

The purist notion, of climbing rain clouds,

wipe clear the shrouds that they smile and tout,

they try to trick you with many illusions that target human emotions.

It's so hard to go against, we have been brainwashed since birth.

A stout lingering taste remains like a wasteful distance between two points.

You shake your head because you don't believe your ears.

You pinch your arm because this is surely a bad dream.

You forget about it and continue to slave, your pockets now running empty.

You laugh it off until you are broke and homeless on the streets.

Angry at the technology that took it away from you.

No one will respect you if you're poor.

You shake your first but no one watches,

you announce your defiance to the system but no one listens.

You become lonely, twisted in your own thoughts, sinking and suffocating into your safe sub-conscious shell.

You become comfortable bathing in your own blood of dismay, for water from the facets costs money these days.

Your legs become weak and crippled because walking and occupying multiple spaces costs money these days too.

You ask for help but people just walk on by, thinking you're just another crazy who slipped...

R.I.P. ANALOG

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