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sometimes we yearn for The Feed innately

although we question it's motives

    know that expressing emotions is the best course

instead we turn to The Feed

we dream of trains

we don't need much 

caped superheroes, 20 minute recipes, AI recitations

we remember with sentimentality 

the pendulum of redemption

not noticing the way the world smells different after

your first paycheck, lost your virginity, Covid

we churn in The Feed

like a boats trawling the dark 

raspy breath of chaos

heaven's withered garden

you will never again be the person you are today

but have you yet clicked to see my hot take on Senate Dems?

what has The Feed given us?

noise, the illusion of unity, distraction, cookies

and what has The Feed taken?

revenue, attention, mystery

ah, the atonal frequencies of time

from naked passion to the nakedness of revulsion, 

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this comes at the cost of connection

    lost connection? we have profound presence 

as illustrated by

the domestic quarrel with a pair of weaponized shears

what sacrifice at altars of style

is worth the sweet orgasmic oblivion of life

why did we stream that interview about 

woman's loss of autonomy & capacity for ecstacy after childbirth? 

mob violence in Nicaragua?  

racial bias in preschoolers?

perhaps the answers swirl in The Feed

we strike back against death, launch the app, press search

Nine New Notifications.

"You know what you did to me."

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"I swear."

Click Here.

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Scroll.

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Every Girl I've Ever Loved

Everygirl I've Everloved
When I was a boy I used to imagine a white expanse where every girl I'd ever loved or dreamed of loving would be. Naked. All of them. In a long line. The ones I'd felt more intensely drawn to would somehow have been pre-sorted towards the front of the line, and those who had been mere passing fancies, (soap opera crushes, girls in magazines) would be further down.

One day I realized that there would be too many of them.
There would be no way I could get them all into one room.
There simply wouldn't be rooms big enough.

And plus, some of them had surely changed since I'd fallen in love with them. Half of them I surely wouldn't even remember! Beautiful faces that I'd hardly recognize. The young girls could now be old and chain-smoking. Maybe even some corpses! Starlets of the Silver Screen, long gone, now dug and propped up decaying. I wouldn't want to see that.
So I dropped the idea.