Seduction Technology/ Destruction Apparatus

"the internal war, external impetus, every second, every minute, every day"

   I am torn the f**k up. I'm dying to bend the truth, make it all unhappen and find some placebo purpose for a life.

 

   I want to just lay it all down; my disapproving frowns and high-horse standards-- try to get more flies with honey, make a little easy money.... master manipulator I'd must be for that. Every conversation becoming a distraction trap, a few more seconds of solace. If I can just focus on the next five minutes, forever will never happen.

 

   I'd need special effects to absorb my attention-- until a slow tectonic torture tears me apart, levels my mighty imaginary mountains and corrugates my landscape. Pleading whispers break apart in the wind. I'd watch the rust become me, oxidized dreams corrode me, erode me, corrupt me, disgust me.

 

   I've got blacklight sight. I mean this. Empty spaces, traces of the eso, endo, exo staring right back when I want to just see the stars for what they are. I can't help but see the negatives before they're developed, taken, turned, twisted, insisted it's something other than what I swear to god did you just see that?

 

   And what I really wanted to say is buried under notations and random thought drops I'm afraid will be lost.

 

   He shoots, he misses...

 

   I want to be an avatar, not this empty spot in time. If I could throw back arms and explode this chest-- heart bits so you can taste it-- savor the flavor of rushing like million miles. windspeed tears torn from eyes.

 

   Breath catch, heartwrench, snot slobber, forehead to the floor sobbing truth it's over. She's gone and I'm nothing all over again.

 

   But I will do this to death. I welcome each pound per square inch across my chest like I was blessed to be here, make this choice, speak with this voice, and the tone of a man who can commit but cannot convince.

 

   Read me like you'll never see it again and there's a little bit of what it's all about inside. Cipher through my semaphore signals swinging side-to-side like you're getting... very... sleepy. Why not? Half of us have been hypnotized for most a life.

 

   When I'm asleep I move like molasses with no strength at all; my bullet has no guns, I can't think straight out of situations we don't care to contemplate. But when I DREAM... man, it's the best. I get it all off my chest without worrying about who to watch and what's the cost.I let it all out with a rapid-fire release that just...will...not...cease.

 

   Half a nation popping pills just to cope with what's been created, inflated. It's a small-minded mutiny. Language technology just to shut your mouth, direct. Am I "correct?"

 

   One day I decided I cannot be crippled by keywords and phrases. If you let them tell it my kind can't jump, dance, run or fight--and if I flip the script and read it back I'm every little label they've devised for just such a scenario. It's only the esoteric that doesn't scare you off. Whole generations lost.

 

   I've found I don't need your distractions; and that my actions aren't built upon buy this, see this, watch it and want it to get a glimpse of the satisfaction guaranteed-to-be new and improved model, make, brought to you by our sponsors after these messages isn't it easy to see life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is a limited-time preferred customer gift frequent card rebate secure APPROVED flier miles away from what you really ought to be paying attention deficit debt dollar cash adjustable back rate percentage discount everything you CNN to the contrary, you free market oxyMoron.

 

   Ah, f**k it, why bother...

 

   Because I'm dedicated. Predicated on the fact that one day the toll I pay for this path may be half a soul, a pound of flesh, or the life of me I cannot remember where we went wrong so long...so long ago.

 

   Should they scatter my ashes like I never happened my combustion will combine with the cosmos, suffuse your substance with certainty and softly whisper to your soul: we have a destiny, and this isn't it. I love you, I love you...I swear it.

 

   Now breathe after me. See?

                                 February 2008

Author's Note

Please tell me what it makes you THINK, not just whether it's good/bad writing. Thank you for reading it.

Reviews

[IMOGEAN]

You bend the mind with your style of verse. It is original and that is what we writers strive for. I must read more of you.

Great Job!

[Forgotten Prophet Of A ..]

This is what happens when you log on to writerscafe on a mobile device, read a notice that someone has reviewed your work, click on "read the review": you get to review your own work!! Isn't that great? So, what do I think of Forgotten Prophet's latest work? Well, first I must say that I am a bit biased (as we inhabit the same body), but, despite that I think I can safely say that it is a revolutionary work, and in my opinion destined to forever change the way the general public perceives the world that we inhabit. I know this is supposed to be a literary discussion, but I'd just like to thank my parents, without whom none of this would be possible, and god(s), without whom they would not have been possible. Then I WOULD take this time to thank the Academy, but I'm supposed to be on strike (did that ever get resolved?) So I'll just close by thanking the Forgotten Prophet, who , through the gracious and unpretentious use of his fingers, made this masterwork (possibly on the level of a Magnum Opus) review possible. Thank you all, I must go. No no, really I must.

[Nicole (Carpe Diem)]

i think there are a lot of truths to your piece of writing... i enjoyed reading it and liked the points you brought up throughout the piece... nicely done.

[Samson J. Krupnik]

Ah yes. Well. A few years ago I decided that consumer marketing was useless, that demographics didn't exist, and that the advertising industry was propped up by doing business with itself. I concocted a plan to create software that instead looked at people's responses to objective prompts, such as music and color and shapes and a bunch of other s**t. The thing was I didn't really think it would work, but I thought it would be cool to try to sell something like that to advertisers. Complicating the emotions around this time were the fact that my bond trader friend actually did think it would work, plus there was the whole insane manic episode, constantly walking in the direction of the hospital for fear of having a heart attack, etc.

At the same time, I believed (and still do) that the music industry was a total scam and that people could record better music in their house using a suitcase and cardboard box (see www.jontakiff.com and go to splat for more details). So realizing this knowledge again made me crazy, thinking I could change the music industry with a cardboard box, so they locked me away for a while. But the good news is, the first paragraph is going to make a nice science fiction story and the underground music jukebox change-the-music-industry plan is still on.(see www.jontakiff/music/index.html) All that music was done for like 50 bucks and I ask you, is it better than the crap out today?

Anyway. That's what this piece made me think of - since you asked...:)

-Jon