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Automatic

automatic

 

Copyright © 2016 by

 

David Wesley Anderson (@dwesleya)

 

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

dedication

 

“If you can feel that staying human is worth while, even when it can’t have any result whatever, you’ve beaten them.”
George Orwell,1984

poems

 

products

simply

things out there

anxiety

between two floors

prices & people

outsight

widgets

i am america

apple

multiples

pieces

spaghetti

paystubs

load

products

 

at some point

you must say

no,

and reject some part

of the world

around you,

for a better one

 

what we have created

is the sum

of our thoughts,

the collective

unconscious

 

if you stop

and listen true

intently,

so you can hear

the asphalt in the street

heave,

even it

has a say

simply

 

dollar signs in a bank account

you look for correlations,

statistical anomalies

variances

pie line chart

bar graphs,

calculations formulas

assumptions

predictions

forecasts, for more

of your

selfish greed

 

i wonder if you could

ever use

finger paints…

things out there

 

there are things

out there

that you will

never

solve,

understand

ever

wrap your head around

 

there are things

out there

unimaginable

unfathomable,

extraordinary

insanely miraculous,

that

exist

but we cannot

comprehend

 

and

there is you

out there

somewhere

and

maybe

you should worry about that,

instead of everything

else

anxiety

 

pulses slowly inside

the right side

of my head

reminding me of systemic

pressures

resulting from specific

instances

of habit

and exertion

 

on the tips of my fingers tingling

i feel little mocks

my toes also

restless,

defining nervous

an anxious state

of fear conjured

that isn’t

real

 

i have to learn better

to protect myself

my senses,

to listen to my body

saying

help

help me

before it is too late

between two floors

 

pallet jacks wheeling

hissing humping turning at

each crack in concrete,

the columns of which

steadfastly resonate the reactions

mechanical

heart beats

clamoring on four wheels,

the complex beeping

pushing

placing floor leveling

closing

doors opening ticking flips

of switches,

boxes placed

opened wrapped unwrapped

counted saved discarded

checked rechecked

and inspected,

placed stacked

moved sealed and delivered

in the automaton

clicking pacing asking

when will it be done,

it must be done

soon

or else

or else

it must be done

prices & people

 

i’ve seen their numbers

and when they walk

they hang overhead,

thirty fifty-seven

one hundred and six

 

price shopping people

efforts potential morale

usefulness,

return on investment

 

i try not to get hung up

even though i know

they aren’t worth a dime

outsight

 

there is no hand no algorithm

no variable phase induced decision

making weighting machine

 

there are

actions deliberate subtle grey

and impactful

 

there is also

time everlasting moving

forward so there are no

take backs

 

you are the sum of your choices

and some of someone else’s,

a self-aware progressively

elaborated product of this world

 

you cannot save and reload

 

there is only acceptance or denial

widgets

 

speed info light

filterless border free

click ad supported

 

stop

 

information is not knowledge

if it doesn’t teach you something new

 

stop

 

we are plugged in hooked up

pre charged four bars tethered

across devices and usernames

 

stop

 

welcome to the access economy

where you can be your own boss

 

stop

 

the TV generation

is in your hand access

is inches and a charge away

 

stop

 

remember

it still has to

make

phone calls

i am america

 

the disruptive couldn’t be done

bear of the new world democratic,

insistent on a never ending

dream journey of curiosity

 

yes, a divisive melting combination

of contrary godism ideas two

mouth’d politicians hypocritics,

and expert opinions ad infinitum

 

here, i have the tools for a time

machine the investors the lunatics

i can sell short on fate, margin buy

moon property tickets to Mars

 

where public and private are church

& state like anyone’s god and taxes

till death do we depart, but in

‘merica, you can live forever

 

i have no center but forward the

un-tradition without regret in

failure, and humanity’s greatest

reward racing across the rocket sky

 

every day is manifest destiny

trying to find my California,

for each place we find that isn’t

we are one closer than the last

apple

 

read between the pixels

even as they become re-tina,

same price as every other year

now with 3d force touch

just hold the button longer,

incremental automation

 

see through the noise of selling

every improvement for pleasure

your eleventh finger is just $99,

and the power hungry individuals

celebrities who we want to be

shiny fresh and foolish too

 

try to find the larger arc leaps

while being burst photo’d in 4K

the long view is not for you,

but power nap and background

refresh come with ADHD

persistent with yearly upgrades

 

they made the pro plus special

uniquely for your dollars one in

a hundred million shhh red edition

million million, henry ford would

have admired bono does too

don’t forget to buy headphones

 

it’s a consistently learning free

experience plug and pay one

button home and away, under

the shroud a minimum viable

product brushed & polished

made in chinamericalifornia

multiples

 

nothing excites it’s as simple

as one two three there

are ideas over ideas they say

we will do this

and that and there

and this,

but they never do

priorities change

rewards change

but people never do

except for me

 

ideas are created sold

rehashed rebranded

forgotten given up

and reincarnated,

but only if some can

execute

 

transparency is beautiful

because it is no longer who

thought of it first but who

can execute it better,

more efficient

more complete

and sell it as their own

 

transparency is the new black

and white it’s either from

the old world

or from the new

pieces

 

it’s no longer nine to five

i’m sorry it’s seasonal now

even though we aim to be a

self-purchasing re-purchasing

year round business

 

they talk of f-l-e-x time

work-from-home

whatever is a sick day anymore?

in my bones i know it’s small now

where i work but—my boss

he says what do you want to do

next year?

 

i make decent money for a decent

job but i ask her how my hair looks

“good”? what is that? i want great

i want hey that guy is sharp

good is for the birds

decent is for the street walkers

 

it’s f-l-e-x time your five to nines

no more coal mines

a twenty there a three day weekend,

piece it together no longer

a day shift but pieces

decentralized

spaghetti

 

after hours he harks

don’t forget about tomorrow

and w-o-r-k,

don’t forget about

my vision for y-o-u

 

he pushes deadlines like pencils

on a table hey

can you have this done

two weeks early?

 

maybe i say

in some polite way

but i should have said

are you c-r-a-z-y?

 

the batshit kind

that sandbags buy-in

and last resorts

because nobody

and i mean nobody,

believes the data

that supposedly we all believe

 

what’s crazier than not

believing you are when everyone

else says you are and they are?

 

my brains are spaghetti on the wall

but at least i know where i am

because they sure as hell don’t

paystubs

 

they work

to get away from the babies

crying the wives nagging

the drunks at the bar

to see the pretty girls,

at the office with slim waists

and bright blue eyes

the ones that have ambition

written on their chests,

because at home there

routine the discussion of money

and who’s and why’s

and where were you last night,

at a hotel for a company

event a business meeting

a place away from reality

where they can focus

on one another, and not

each other’s baggage

just a carry on to the room

that awaits to awaken

what stirs beneath the

paychecks, that conceal

avoidance and a nuclear

family where desire left

before the baby was born

after they started a new job

to pay for the next chapter

of their lives.

load

 

over my shoulders

on my strained muscles

people seem to notice

with a heavy sigh

the demands of others

placed stacked high

 

i bend and stoop

the demands of others

slowly increasing the load

without care or regard

i try to keep my balance

walking this boulevard

 

without much light

i try to keep my balance

the load constantly shifting

drifting in my mind

on my strained muscles

running out of time


Automatic

Quiet. Listen to the street naked from the human condition away from our calculators, computers, and automatons. Where are you now without them? Hurry and find yourself before the stacking checking inspection begins. Would you price shop for a spot in heaven? Is it black and white in hell? Where is your manifest destiny? We have new G-O-D-S so catch a powerbook nap before the next sacrifice… will it be you? Will it be televised in 4K? I hope so.

  • ISBN: 9781370776085
  • Author: David Wesley Anderson
  • Published: 2016-08-29 06:05:11
  • Words: 1418
Automatic Automatic