Unpublishable: The Gay Science
I wrote “The Gay Science” around the time of the Obama-Romney debates, I think, so sometime in late 2012. Although I didn’t have a Twitter account at the time, I remember occasionally looking at people’s tweets and imagining the sorts of things I might tweet, as well as the sorts of things I would be reluctant to tweet, as well as the sorts of things I would never in a million years tweet. I began imagining a writer-character living in what I like to call the “idgaf stance,” just giving zero shits about what people think of her writing. I imagined her as either a poet or someone with aspirations to be a poet; as someone who is by turns funny, crass, despairing, boastful, vulnerable, lost, found.
At the same time I was rereading Nietzsche’s The Gay Science, maybe my favorite of his books, and I imagined the possibility of this same character feeling under the gun or on a clock with respect to doing a kind of post-millennial writing-through of Nietzsche’s book while under linguistic constraints similar to that of Twitter, her haste perhaps occasioned by a sense of imminent suicide or apocalypse. I can’t necessarily trace direct lines between what this character is up to and what Nietzsche was up to — many of the correspondences are associative beyond recognition; totally random lines from Nietzsche prompting her own writing — but I can still see some similarities among their thought in relation to power, morality, religion and art.
– Evan Lavender-Smith, February 2018
/to the poet, to the philosopher, to the saint, all things are friendly & sacred, all events profitable, all days holy, all men divine/ —RWE
the purpose of life is to … LMFAO
AP REPORTS MAJORITY OF AMERICANS THINK WAR IS GOOD
A: Why u drop a 10 spot on that bum? B: Bc he’s hungry. A: Aint u got no ones? B: He’s a bum not a stripper.
when julian assange auditioned for powder the casting director said put on some blush
obama’s suits = jcpenney bespoke
Her grandfather could never double-click for shit, she reminisced, but he always triple- and quadruple-clicked like a pro.
The Cambridge History of Social Media Anxiety Disorder, Vol. 1. The Cambridge History of Apple Hardware Refreshes, Vol. 1.
God, looking up from His microscope: “Oops, confused the slides again. Hon, check the trash and see if there’s one in there called Earth?”
SCIENTISTS ANNOUNCE THAT MY NARCISSISM MAY BE EXPANDING FASTER THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT
yesterday, merely gibberish … tomorrow, merely canonical … today, my poemz are nothing more or less than /the spirit of an age/
gimme 1 a those cute lil ethnic #s w big eyes. hold the consciousness, plz. wait … r we allowed 2 substitute consciousness 4 a cute tail?
Will her redesign of add-to-cart.jpg result in their greater pleasure, webmaster wonders, or their greater pain?
“It’s time to spice up my life,” she announces resolutely, “time to totally rethink my kitten avatar.”
Need more followers, need more fanboys, need more friends. Have poemz aplenty tho.
She stepped away to gain some perspective, tripped over throng of fanboys crouching on the sidelines, fractured her tailbone.
Q: Is that ur real face or iPad? A: Real face.
The author wishes to ask the reader that she willfully reinterpret the poem’s slightness as grandeur, its vulgarity as beatitude, its shitti
I am proud to call you my friend, prouder to call you my follower, proudest to call you my slave.
can’t type on phone, thumbnails too long. can’t clip thumbnails, typing on phone.
www has lost its revolutionary appeal. new revolutionary calls somebody up, meets ppl 4 lunch, takes walk, takes bath, sleeps, dreams
“Is she dead, I wonder, or has she simply logged out?”
any poem >140 characters will be drawn and quartered until such time as its mangled poetic torso weighs in at <141
—u never talk 2 me! —THATS ME —u look @ www all day! —THATS ME —u never put dishes in sink! —THATS ME —u alwayTHATS ME THATS ME THATS ME THA
Herd reads 2girls1cup.mov thus: “It can’t be real!” Ubermensch thus: “THE TRUTH HAS BEEN REVEALED”
She finally took the time to reexamine her life … and spent the entire morning staring blankly at her wall.
ebayed iphone, ipad & laptop, removed wifi card from desktop, cut ethernet cord w scissors … dismembered, she is wingless
The value of a single human life shall be measured according to the total number of followers accumulated.
ECONOMISTS WARN MARKET MAY TANK IF ROMNEY WIPES MORE THAN TWICE
Jony Ive accepted my friend request only after I sent him pics of iPad and me in a /compromising position/
sniped huge lot of eyelashes & toenail clippings w only 2 sec remaining!!!!
DM: “ur poemz so good!! plz show me how make poemz like u!”
WINDOWS HAS DETECTED THAT MEMORY OF YOUR PRE-WWW LIFE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED
Which lucky distant-future archaeologist will find my username and password buried in the sand?
DM, “u a evil witch, ur shit poemz must burn.” 2 which, “they do! aloe, witchhazel, prep h, myrrh, vaseline—tried all to no avail”
Steve Jobs’ last words: “I’ve always been wary of entrusting the etrenal care of my soul to beta technologies … haven’t u, Jony?”
Learning that www was originally a form of communications technology, future schoolchildren: “01110111 01110100 01100110?” (“WTF?”)
apparently one of my poemz sparked revolution in Tunisia, not sure which one tho … plz dm me if u know
prudent decision to purchase applecare+ plan, for her ipad was shorted out from drool by end of week one
U.S. SOLDIER URINE AND FECES FOUND IN LUNCHBOXES OF AFGHAN SCHOOLCHILDREN
Ur poemz should b lil jokey experiments. poems = good. 4 u cant realistically expect ppl 2 frown at poemz these dayz. poems = bad.
Poet shall receive no $ compensation for publication. Compensation shall consist solely of publication’s benefit to poet.
DOWNLOAD SUPER HOT GITMO VIDS
“omg finally found charging station for phone near occupy protest! omg u wont believe how chockful of shareable content my phone is now!”
Not sure what 2 do w past-gen apple devices cramming up those desk drawers? Thnxgiving fast approaches! Easy recipe ideas at epicurious.com
Logged on to find everything blurry. Went on hike instead, discovered source of www blurriness in mountain cave: a lizard had lost its tail.
Internet is the maudlin soundtrack accompanying her impassioned suicide scene.
Pain and suffering now streaming live in 1080p
NATO FORCES AIRDROP SIX TONS OF SCHOOL SUPPLIES, KILLING 24
DEFECT FROM THE SOCIAL NETWORK UNDER PENALTY OF TREASON, ATTORNEY GENERAL WARNS
I haven’t the courage to be truthful, only flippant. But for every 100 flip poemz, 1 or 2 may acccidentally come true.
This is a good pic, she remarked, of what her boss’s eyeballs might look like if he ever googled her.
friend me if evil poemz get u hot
upon login, must read & reread last 30 or so poemz before thoroughly convinced of her continued existence
“That is not poetry! That is the opposite of poetry, the debasement of poetry!” 2 which, “Hellloooooooo, canon!”
maybe we’ve gotten it all wrong, maybe these r real connections, real friends … yes & maybe our flatulence were simian, winged …
If u show www to a caveman he wouldn’t know where to click. —Will u plz stop reading my poemz w ur bleary ass caveman eyes?
It’s a poem./ What constitutes the poem is irrelevant./ It’s a poem./ What constitutes the poem is irrelevant./ It’s a poem. /What constitut
dm from LUVERMAN81 requesting meeting in the flesh … farted in bluetooth, signed yrs trly …
Are those treetops & mountaintops peeking out at the horizon? And over there, is that the sea?! —dunno, download camera+ app it has zoom
all I want is her friendship. —& the friendship of all her friends. —& her friends’ friends. —& her friends’ friends’ friends’ friends’ frie
“Troll harder!” she commands of her trolls. “Troll me like your life depends on it!” —For it’s the only way she knows how to feel loved.
current fav pandora station: contemporary suicidal
every time i sit down 2 write a profound poem, this is what happens
poemz little windows thru which reader disambiguates my soul. Q to reader: how many fingers is my soul holding up at u?
thnx 4 frenemying me
my poemz make u hot bc they so different from each other, u cant get enuf, u such a slut 4 my changing up styles
CONGRESS MANDATES EPIDEMIOLOGISTS TO FIND CURE FOR FEMINISM BY DECADE’S END
latent threat of wife castrating husband while he sleeps. —thingsthatkeeptheworldturning
DM, “i dont believe ur a woman.u a dood pretnding to b a chic.” 2 which, “bitch, all im pretnending to be is a poet.”
NEW CENSUS DATA SUGGESTS ALARMING INCREASE IN J/O RATE OVER PAST DECADE
Sister, can u spare some RU486?
“Latest poem born wretched, misshapen, w/out life enough to die.” “Omg what did u do?” “Online lit journal agreed to dispose of it for me.”
DM, “ur so vulgar, b a lady then we’ll fuckk.” 2 which, “dear fanboy, tell me its not true! it was all erotolalia, written jsut 4u!”
DM, “i bet ur so ugly irl.” 2 which, “really hard to imagine things any uglier/realer than this. thnx for poem idea tho”
fine, whatever, not real poetry. but can we at least agree that this is the future of poetry?
“My vlugarity is not 4 ur sake, dearr fannboyy, its 4 the sake of the wrold at larfge.”
cast ur gaze intently upon these poemz not 2 glimpse an image of myself, dear fanboy, but of thine self
Perhaps the fame/value of any given poet is proportionate to the intrigue of her typos.
the poet must always hold her mirror up 2 nature, i.e. up 2 www
DM, “my big gripe w/ ur poemz = theyr not true, merely silly.” 2 which, “my big gripe w/ ur poems = theyr not silly, merely true.”
& thus the old guard was finally trampled under the emoticons of progress
I take a bit of this & a bit of that & mix it all around & out comes the poetry, easiets thing in the world
“doesnt matter what u say, only matters that u say it well, employing strong typos & usage errors & postmillennial shorthand & cuss words”
I am not the first to appraise the social network’s poetic value. But I may be the first to sing of it with such conflicted passion.
Weary business exec logs on. Will he read my poemz or watch some porn? How fares the balm of verse contra the elixir of cum-hungry milfs?
My muse travelled halfway across the universe and all she brought me back was this lousy poem idea.
ok, enough, time 2 be SERIOUS, gimme that iPad … ok, enough, time 2 be SILLY, gimme that iPad … ok, enough, time 2 be SERIOUS, gimme that iPad …
poemz = thoughtful lil care packages i send the onanist along her solitary travels
some of ur poemz will b poemz of illumination & some, poemz of obscurity … yet all, illum & obscr alike, shd b formatted 4 mobile viewing
<141 chars is the sublime & severe form into which u must press ur hopes & dreams & fears. h&d&fs requiring >140 do not blong in poetry.
Think of ur poems as flanking maneuvers, ambushes, sieges, disinformation campaigns, circumvalations, frontal assaults, blitzkriegs.
DM, “why do u write poemz?” 2 which, “life is full of shit. poemz as laxatives etc.”
distant-future literary critics find my poemz on a fossilized harddrive, a discovery so vital to their understanding of what went wrong
when in a blue mood or brown study, just load up some pink ringtones on ur phone & soon life will be all good again
A: If earnest, maybe I’ll finally reach her. B: If ironic, maybe I’ll finally reach her. C: Give it up, u 2, she’s in an internet k-hole
“All u do is talk shit. talking shit & writing poemz r 1 & the same 2 u,” to which I replied not, dear fanboy, in silent awe of ur insight.
“Why did the accused hold poetry in such contempt, all the while calling herself a poet?” —“Because she was NOT ALL THERE, that’s why.”
initially seduced by their wit & typos, only after centuries of study did they come to appreciate the nonpareil /uselessness/ of her poemz
“I just wanna say thnx, ur poemz saved my life,” 2 which, “ok glad 2hear it plz mail canned food donatoisn at earielst convneicesne.”
1st Law of Poetry: Be Smart. —RENOUNCE THE TYRANNY OF POETIC INTELLIGENCE!! READ MY POEMZ!!!
/Compelet Poemz/: her whole ouevre now available on usb stick for only $1.99 + shipping
no story to our narrative, no sense to our poemz, no melody to our music … just bitches w brains & devices volleying obloquies
“didn’t mean to offend, was only trying 2 encaspulate soul of www in a few well-chosen words”
if 1 exclmation pt, author is square/ironic; if 2, author hipster/mistyped; if 3, square/ironic; if 4, hipster/mistyped; if 5+, oh plz grl
Neither the typo nor the postmillenial abbreviation nor the emoticon may be refuted, stylistically. —MY STYLE B POWERFULL, YOURS B BUTT.
“what keeps u goin? why not end it once & 4 all?” —bc there’s always another poem to write, always another laugh or shit or piss to be had
DM from god, “u wrote ‘God’s dead … j/k.’ so 2 demerit pts 4u.” 2 which, “enuf w the pedantry already, deadass motherufcksr … j/k.”
GLOBAL CONSORTIUM OF ASTROPHYSICISTS CONCEDES UNIVERSE HAS NO PURPOSE, SPACE AND TIME A TOTAL JOKE
Head: “Lossy digital compression of still image sequence.” Heart: “Writhing naked bodies.”
Genealogy of sex. —Caveman 2 sees Caveman 1 rape Cavewoman 1 … Caveman 2 rapes Cavewoman 2 … Caveman 3 sees Caveman 2 rape Cavewoman 2 …
pull lever, biscuit appears … pull lever, biscuit appears … pull lever, palestinian explodes … pull lever, biscuit appears …
… distinction btwn poet and pharmacist became confused … booksellers required prescriptions … walgreens stocked used flu shots …
1) She accidentally clicked her way to child pornography again. 2) Her heart accidentally beat again.
Fingers fluttering lightly, nimbly across keys … researching promising porntubes with agile discernment & terpsichorean grace.
rose from bed: hit ok to confirm deletion of late bff’s digitized soul. returned to bed: slept, dreamt of sea.
Friendliness is the new loneliness (loneliness = so 80s/early 90s): “I’m feeling depressed, isolated. I should really unfriend some folks.”
At first she resisted total wireless immersion: “No escape!” Now, when out of range, she panics, freaks: “No escape!”
i wanna adjust my defualt settings 2 ur default likings, i wanna b a defaulat function of u
Googled “phone plans”: her children’s faces became verizon adverts. Googled “break at&t contract”: faces reappeared.
No more infosuperhighway, no more wififree countryroads. Must find newway: earthenclay iPad, silicon shadetree, hardearned doubtfaith.
“Forgive me, Father, 4 I have sinned. I was sexting in the pew.”
POPE BENEDICT XVI VISITS LARGE HADRON COLLIDER IN SWITZERLAND, CALLS IT “GOD’S PINKY RING”
bluetooth-enabled rosary syncs your prayers with the cloud
liveblogged my Sims all-nighter. fav comment: “gods got nuttin on u girl!”
The DM was “sent” because I “hit enter.” What a naive formulation! Perhaps 1 in 10,000,000 people can properly articulate what occurred.
1) I need to text my bff. 2) I text my bff. —Can the nature of human will really be as simple and straightforward as this?
I pray on the john & on the john alone, for it’s only then that I’m 100% certain He’s listening.
DM, “Do u folow the teachinsg of JESUS?” 2 which, “Did, but unfriended Him when He started posting those lame-ass proverbs on His wall.”
They invented apocalypse & its necessary conditions, & thus the conditions and apocalypse came to pass.
her deathday will be a special day, like christmas, like her bday … butterflies in her tummy, pit-a-pat of feet in the hallway …
main reason i left church is cuz i hate the way it smells in there. u pious fucks ever hear of febreze??
In 101,423 AD, ppl finally forgot what AD referred to—After Digitization? Already Dead? Asinine Dating?—and reset the calendar to 0 BS.
The cynicism and conservatism of the US voting populace was later traced to the influence of a toxic chemical compound found in Big Macs.
“Sorry, I thought it wd make U happy if I sinned,” 2 which God, “No, sin is bad,” 2 which I, “Have U tried it lately, tho? It’s hella fun”
WORLD CELEBRATES AS ISRAELI AND PALESTINIAN LEADERS REACH AGREEMENT, MAKE PEACE, ON THIS HISTORIC DAY, THE FIRST OF APRIL
Developmental spirituality. —When young, her older brother told her that rain was God peeing, whenever He felt she deserved to be peed upon.
RELIGIOUS LEADERS REVISE RAPTURE DATE TO AVOID CONFLICT WITH PRESIDENTIAL PRIMARY DEBATE
“Father, I watch porn every day.” “My child, if in 1080p, then 3 Our Fathers & 2 Hail Marys per day. If in 720p/1080i, then 2 OFs & 1 HM.”
I fear that God and His Son, Simon Cowell, will judge me harshly. America, plz text ur vote 4 my soul’s eternal salvation.
“I luv u.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so much.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so*10 much.” God: “Not enough.” “I luv u so*100 much.” God: “No
Texted bomb scare to priest, interrupting his sermon. Priest looked up from phone, intoned to congregation, “Wonderful news, my lambs!”
“How many gods u got mon?” “1 God.” “Only 1 god! I got Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesha, Hanuman, Lakshmi … Go back 2 sunday school, lazy Christian!”
PANETTA DENOUNCES PICS OF U.S. TROOPS ROASTING HOT DOGS AND MARSHMALLOWS OVER PYRE OF BURNING KORANS
french fries: this is my body. ketchup: this is my blood.
if Obama really were Osama with a face transplant, as the GOP argued, surely he would’ve changed more than just one letter in his name?
LIQUOR, TOBACCO, PROSTITUTION SHOW STEEP DECLINES AS APPLE STOCK CONTINUES TO RISE
nowadays basis for politcal corruption is not using public power 4 private gain, it’s texting a subordinate high-res dick pics
tonight i call on every american: go to disneyland! go shopping! buy lottery tix! fill up ur tanks! go to mickey ds! spend indiscriminately!
he was so devoutly religious that he felt he deserved a little break now and then. little statutory rape on an otherwise sinless sunday
The moon: His gloryhole. The stars: prior gloryhole constructions abandoned when His conscience intervened.
“Revelation,” an augmented-reality app for mobile devices. Above each passerby’s head, graphic shows his/her realtime salvation probability.
We may have given up on God, but we have not given up on bullshit. Pray let’s give bullshit one last go before giving up altogether.
u scream thru ur feeds like they’re coded 4 disappearing e-ink; we go slow, deliberately, archeologically, like words were chiseled in stone
we asked for delta updates & we got them & we had so much more time on our hands & what did do with it but think of what to ask for next?
She who changes her chat status, changes the world.
She anxiously readies her post, now her cursor quivers atop Submit. For her, the fate of civilization turns on a single click.
To like everything that catches one’s fancy—that is an inconvenient trait. In discernment’s absence, a like signifies self-aggrandizement.
Never will I yield to their alarmist exhortations and forego an early upgrade, never will I squander my love on outmoded techonologies.
Leave it open source. Your perceived heroism will, in the end, net you more $$$.
A narrative old as clay. —The prior-gen should still lurk within—and the next-gen should be evoked but not spoiled by—the current design.
Her own profile: conduit of reassurance & amour propre. Her friend’s: bottleneck of castigation & self-deprecation.
The Silicon Valley CEO, bored with uniform success, deliberately errs to induce experiential variety. —For life is not all profit, he knows.
Extinguish all ambient/directional lighting. The room’s objects will be best illuminated by LCD emission alone.
One determinedly deactivates one’s account—a prudent decision—only to determinedly reactivate it months later—another prudent decision.
speak of product cycles, of shipping estimates, of trademark disputes and industry rumors—she’s all ears. speak of anything else—she’s deaf.
she gathers friends like nuts & berries, storing them up, hoarding them. for when winter arrives, her misanthropy should not go without.
bereaved family member later discovered final post by entering command-Z into browser: “too few page hits this month, cant take it anymore”
Keep ur frenemies closer. —Were it not for the early antagonism of her followers, she might never have gained such widespread public favor.
Desperate & isolated, she posts diatribe on Herdbook, referring to it as such. Post receives beaucoup likes, leaving her validated & content.
the famous r only 1 dui, 1 sex tape, 1 ugly baby, 1 rehab stint, 1 bad haircut, 1 disputed rape away from becoming the shamous
DM, “ur vulgarity is spoiling my feed.” 2 which, “ur feed was already spoiled. my vulgarity simply revealed it.”
obscurity appeal. —be a tease with meaning. they will keep coming back 4 more if u don’t give it up so easy.
obama AND romney, not obama OR romney (life AND death, not life OR death)
The format of the debate is straightforward: whoever garners the most raucous bouts of audience applause will be declared the winner.
“that all men are created equal” “that they are well endowed by their Creator” “that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of manliness”
“maybe tell a joke about the financial crisis.” “like what?” “u know, does a securities analyst shit—poop—in the woods, that sort of thing.”
PRESIDENT OFFERS SOUL IN EXCHANGE FOR KEYSTONE PIPELINE LAND RIGHTS
I txt, there4 I m. —She arrives at her thoughts & feelings via her texts, not her texts via her thoughts & feelings.
“And what is a typical sunday morning like for the first family?” “Cuddles, breakfast, Netflix.” “He didn’t say church. Get the rope.”
u follow me like a dog. i lead you like a handler. we trot the ring at this, our final conformation show, judged by god. u win top bitch.
Help me … Help me, friend … Friend, r u there …? But ur perennial available status and super cute avatar were always so reassuring!
Music of the future. —Kanye w/ Strings. SFSO Presents: Rhianna. Lil Wayne in Vienna. Beyonce: The Complete Deutsche Grammophon Recordings.
live in a) perpetual war & surveillance state, or b) danger of imminent mass attack by shadowy global terroist network, or c) both a & b
“The rich want but dont need our help, the middle class needs but doesnt want our help, the poor want/need our help but always sqaunder it.”
She had work accepted by a top-tier lit journal—but she is not happy. She wants to be published in the filthiest, most DIY e-zines around.
DM, “many of ur poemz r racist, sexsits, offesnive.” 2 which, “spirit of an age, spirit of an age—how many times do I have to say it?”
Onanists of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your shame!
“Who’s ur favorite philosopher?” “Jesus.” “My bad, Governor. I’d ask u to plz name someone who wrote actual books of philosophy.” “Satan?”
DM, “ur shit bloz my mind, thnx.” 2 which, “dear fanboy, i beg u, censure me, shame me, crucify me, auto-da-fé me—but plz do not praise me.”
Climate science funding faces its greatest obstacle in our conviction that the scientists will spend taxpayer money on Priuses & abortions.
“I can’t believe it. He seemed such a nice, polite young man. He always liked everyone’s status updates and shared such apt cat memes.”
“If he’s an American, be sure to use easy-to-understand words. And always remember to give him a high five and compliment him on his gun.”
SECRET SERVICE DIRECTOR CLAIMS UNDERCOVER AGENTS TARGETED COLUMBIAN BROTHEL, A SUSPECTED WMD REPOSITORY
nature finds a way. —suspended herdbook acct, soon thereafter began receiving a dozen or so blank emails per week w subject line “like”
“but is it worth the blood of u.s. soldiers & the toil of u.s. taxpayers?” “i resent the question, senator. oil has nothing to do with it.”
—its top secret. cant. —plz? —k, but dont tell al qaeda or else u.s. is gonerz. —k. can i tell bff? —k, but tell bff dont tell al qaeda.
“do not touch me, do not come near me, do not look me in the eye, do not breathe my air—just vote 4 me then crawl back under ur shitty rock”
“what a generous gift! we will survive another year! r u sure theres nothing i can get 4 u?” “thigh rub from ur asian intern wd be swell.”
CHUCKLE CONTAGION PLAGUES HOUSE CHAMBER DURING SOLDIER’S TESTIMONY OF IED CASTRATION
“fuck this black metal shit!” sez tank gunner 2 tank driver. handing driver cd labeled LAUGHTRACK4, gunner: “crank this shit on repeat, yo!”
AIDES ANNOUNCE ROMNEY TEMPORARILY SUSPENDS CAMPAIGN TO COUNT HIS MONEY, ENTER CRYOCHAMBERS
neurodiary later revealed vast empty stretches demarcated by imperatives, e.g. “just do it, colin!” “circular tongue thrusts, condoleezza!”
Sir, can u spare a wee shred of ethernet cable? I beg of u, sir, please help us. I have 3 small children who haven’t logged on in days.
where it sez why 2 bomb it, put terrorist training facility. —but isn’t that a pre-school? —u smarter than u look, private.
“congresswoman, i’m afraid u will never convince this panel that poor ppl require as much assistance as rich ppl do. it’s just not logical.”
She trolls my wall, she likes what I like, she emulates the cadences of my syntax, her sardonic profile poses mimic mine. She is my friend.
“What a truly great man he was.” —But how can you possibly know for sure, if you never once saw him without his pants and underwear on?
Why did u decide 2 go 2 war? —Which war? —First one 4 starters. —OK, lemme think… Lil hint plz? Maybe first letter of war?
Towelhead tried 2 kill my daddy. —Which justifies destroying a country, 100,000+ dead, trillions spent? —Towelhead tried 2 kill my daddy.
FBI’S “REAL” MOST WANTED LIST MOMENTARILY APPEARS ON GOVERNMENT WEBSITE; INCLUDES ITUNES GIFT CARD, DORA’S TALKING KITCHEN
Here’s soul of Prez, cyrogenically preserved. —And the big purple blob in there w him? —Barney’s soul, in accordance w Prez’s final wishes.
To the rich man: Spend ample time consorting with the poor. It will serve your ego well, inflating it all the more.
U gotta have faith. —Have faith in God, in love, in man, in science … Have faith in something, 4 only then can we welcome you unreservedly.
& what did He look like? —White hair & beard, kind & squinty eyes, sorta big & round & fat, exuded jolly. —Like Santa? —Yes. Sans the red.
God told me to do it. —What’s His voice like then? —Don’t know, He texted. “I cmd u,” He texted, “2 do my biddng. Wait til 1 sec remaining.”
warred 4 oil, told ppl 4 freedom … ppl now unfree, oilless … nxt time try war 4 freedom, tell ppl 4 oil … could work who knows
country need make good bombs no plastic, little girl bones good way country make new bombs, one thing country rich in good new girl bones
was the detainee’s depravity improved by his detention? —but i thought the point was our improvement. —of course. i withdraw the question.
The condemned man’s pleas for clemency fell on deaf ears, for the executioner’s auditory function hadn’t yet been properly calibrated
how they would have it. —if ur a father, raise ur son to be a man. if ur a mother, raise ur daughter to be a super hot semen receptacle.
The poet tells the politician that his lies are too simple; if he wants to get elected he must work harder to obscure the truth.
If a registered voter cannot read braille, he must a) be blinded and enroll in a braille immersion program, or b) deregister.
The poet’s cat looked up from the poet’s feet to say, “Why all the haughty moral affectation, little poetaster? Be like me, just chill.”
Human nature is violent; images of violence stir our nature’s passions. Attend to and acclaim humankind’s most natural creations!
DM, “keep up the good work! we believe in u!” 2 which, “plz don’t. if u must believe, believe only in the epoch-making power of my poemz.”
logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 30 sec … logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 29 sec … logoff or laptop will self-destruct in 28 se
romney, obama … all the same … hitler, gandhi … all the same … windows 8, os x … all the same … death, life … all the same …
“Maybe it is total bullshit, congresswoman, as you say. But is that really reason enough for me to question my resolute faith in it?”
She who feels obliged to post self-congratulatory status updates will never persuade the world of her real worth.
idiot: “genius requires hard work.” genius: “not for me it doesn’t.”
“i had the most interesting dream. it concerned—” “stop, i implore you. i’d prefer to hear the most mundane episode from your waking life.”
a butterfly flaps its wings in brazil, steve jobs invents the soul in cupertino, i think i just farted in cyberspace
key events in the narrative of her emotional existence were indexed to key alterations in her syntax & pronouns & typos & capitalization
shd I portray myself as a character in a narrative or as the spirit of an age? reply now & 1 lucky random follower will get publicly shamed
he’s way nicer than u think, all u know is his virtual persona. —he’s a vitural dick but an irl softie.
So considerate. —She always carried a couple-few biscuits in her back pocket in case she happened upon the hounds of hell.
But of course she’s not envious of their success, for she would never consider it such … their poems are published on paper … with ink …
Her depression was contagious: soon all her friends were miserable. She finally surfaced from it: they did not.
I count it part of my good fortune that I do not own a domain name. But if I had to, it would be www.ipromisedmyselfiwouldneverdothis.com.
My poem cycle is a series of powerful magnifying glasses through which astute readers can approach a definitive tally of my body hairs.
no matter what or how much she reads, she is always reading about herself, about her own problems, about the www
U get her new book? —Yes. —What u think? —Bummed it only comes in taupe & fuchsia.
in the event of my death, plz use enclosed materials—fingernail clippings, poemz—to reconstruct my consciousness & bring me back to www
DM, “how do u choose the subject of any given poem?” 2 which, “Thnx.”
sh tkes a 223 scnde brk b4 clcuatign odds of pomz timelyy compnelteion: 100%
DM, “ur poemz r all the same: lil gravity undercut by lil levity. wtf?” 2 which, “4 real. steadily approaching perfect poem, perfect joke.”
What good is a poem that does not even shit on every poem that ever was and will be?
She will not stop until she’s illegally downloaded every last song, from every last album, from every last musician
CAVEMAN CHARGED ON COUNTS OF LOITERING, STATUATORY RAPE, DISORDERLY CONDUCT, LARCENY, SODOMY, TRESPASSING, INDECENT EXPOSURE
it is not world hunger that pains me most of all, but rather my own immediate, personal hunger. —anybody up for a quick antipasto?
most of all I will miss the sun, the stars, and the U.S. Dept. of Education’s Federal Direct Student Loan Program’s biweekly phone calls
thank god 4 THAT meme, else THIS meme may never have even gone viral. —but perhaps some even more precious THIS was precluded by that THAT.
can’t be embarrassed by your poemz if you’re always writing a new one
DM, “do u mind if i imitate ur poetic style?” 2 which, “go 4 it grl, & may ur world fame soon equal & exceed even mine.”
those majestic mountains, that shining sea: all god’s handiwork! —omg grl, ur looking 2 deep, keep ur eyes more on the surface of things
she never knew how good her poemz were until all those super famous poets started hating on her
If I may, what role did luck or chance play in your poemz centermost establishment in the canon of world literature? —No role whatsoever.
The American and the Terrorist, speaking simultaneously: “But you’ve got good and evil exactly ass-backwards!!!”
Once I write the next poem, the previous poem blooms. Until then, it’s as if the first one is incapable of blooming, as if it’s—gulp—prose.
Who’s the most original poet writing today? —Trick question. —Correct. So how about today’s most unoriginal poet? —Why, me, of course!
Amt of time before Wikipedia page was updated 2 reflect ur death? —Approx 8 min after flatline. —Sorry, waiting rm 4 nonfamous is nxt door.
It’s not her vanity that fuels her incredible desire for fame—it’s her survival instinct.
her link to hezbollah site received same number of likes as link to zionist site received same number of likes as link to elmo site
the only thing she knows with certainty is that she doesn’t really know shit about anything
finally i am famous, poet declares, finally i can stop writing poetry, start enjoying life
as my goal, Ur Eminence, was the complete overthrowing of their episteme, I didnt particularly feel myself subject 2 blah blah blah blah
DM, “u r my hero.” 2 which, “i scale the mountain atop which u sit, dear fanboy, my highest hope, the heavenly summit for which i suffer.”
what do u believe? —that any and all belief is erroneous. —but how can u b sure? —idiot.
try speaking to real humans in irreverant 140-word microbursts, try becoming the person u really are
Do not pity ur friend her flip phone and PC—that pity will only diminish the intensity with which u might better love ur Apple products.
“i luv u, fanboy” = “i have high hopes 4 u”
Poet tells therapist she’s ashamed of her poetry. Therapist suggests poet try writing prose. Poet fires therapist.
Prospective poets may now submit online or be euthanized for a nominal fee.
Where do u write? —Bathroom, in front of the mirror. —Why? —I’m sorry, this interview is over.
DM, “do u ever go thru & delete old shitty poemz?” 2 which, “Every poem is as it must and forever be.”
friend dies, market crashes, book falls in toilet—all conditions the present. had book ricocheted off rim, would not be person i am today.
Like life. Defriend death.
We were friends. She blocked me. Later she refriended me. I blocked her. Now we friend/block a couple times/year. The earth spins aimlessly.
SURVEY FINDS INTERNET HAS REPLACED CHURCH AS COUNTRY’S TOP NAVELGAZING SANCTUARY
How refreshing it would be to encounter an eschatology without all the drama. A soft belch from God, a sharp error beep—world’s over.
Most poets wouldn’t work in this form bc they’d find it too languorous—viz bc they only ever learned to trot. Come, fanboys, walk with me.
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers finally discovered how to make tanks run on ideas. Operation Iraqi Freedom XII was primarily epistemological.
A: What a lovely sunset! B: Random molecular scattering. Also, clarity may presage good hunting/gathering weather. A: Go fuck yourself, B.
god friended me, trolled my wall. i blocked him. refriended me under an alias, but id know that smug, self-righteous trollstyle anywhere …
she dreams of transgenerational improvement: faster connections, longer runtimes, more efficient power consumption, securer ecosystems
few members of the media predicted that the new offerings would include wireless charging capabilities, even fewer predicted teeth
Orgasmic flurry of posts. Body shuddering, cacheing, updating. Prolonged plateau phase. Laptop drenched in sweat & tears & rheum.
Cyberspring. —The sun has shone on fertile soil, gentle rains have come. Flowers blossom everywhere within these, our integrated systems.
on constraint. —it is not the exterior form that shape her poemz, it is her interior taste, tho form and taste happen to align, in her case.
repair roof with keystroke. construct addition in couple lines of code. remodel kitchen while you sleep. add children by clicking here.
“2 much www is bad 4 u.” —but u havent plunged, refused 2 come up 4 air, learned 2 breathe differently. 2 much www is only bad 4 ur big toe.
2 stuffy here, 2 much recirculated air, i have 2 go outside. —go then, pen ur tree poem, ur sunset poem, ur epic fail. i shall stay indoors.
the poet’s inclination, to write what she knew—celebrity scars, industry rumors, hardware specs—starved to death her pathos-hungry readers.
Faith—that lazy, persistent fool, that vile habit, the bad joke she couldn’t stop telling herself—would finally become her poetic undoing.
DM, “what else do u do besides write poemz?” 2 which, “could i ask u 2 rephrase the q?”
disdain for her cavewall’s familiar shadows was later echoed and even surpassed by disdain for her herdbook wall’s familiar posturings
Had some good ideas for poemz, but then went and—idiot!—wrote them down with pen and paper.
Where art ends & life begins. —She eulogized the bent paperclip, the crumpled Kleenex, the dusty surge protector, the empty toner cartridge.
As magic was to science—the prelude, a promise—so was religion to social media.
always thought poemz were responding to the world, later turned out they were merely creating it
foolish little riddle, grand poetic pronouncement … any old random bit of bullshit … all good in the hood if fewer than 141 characters …
seeming infallibility.— “ur every poem is a gem, u can do no wrong,” 2 which, “i m but a curious poet who happened upon an infallible form.”
attempted poem w linebreaks & meter … espied thru window fast-approaching clouds … dogs barking, strong winds … then came the awful shaking
New poetry hire to dept. chair: “It’s nice, roomy. Love the carpet. One question: What’s with the straightjacket hanging from the coattree?”
she defriended every last one of them, deleted every single post on her wall … she perused her blank profile and feed, finally content …
no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, www rocks! no, www sucks! no, w
takes her <2 min 2 compose & post poem, takes fanboy <2 sec 2 love/loathe/meh it
One day the poet finally broke down weeping. “I spent my life seeking their approval,” she lamented, “never their condemnation!”
I sent my armies of poemz out on important peacekeeping missions—but now the whole world’s at war!
“Behold, the future of poetry is at hand!” sez distinguished poet. Didn’t hear him tho, concentrating too hard on my funny meme ekphrasis.
She gave her mood disorder a pet name: Ethernet. “Here, Ethernet!” she called. “Bad Ethernet!” she scolded. “Heel, Ethernet!” she commanded.
DM, “Why u dont ever post brutal sex poem?” 2 which, “Politicians’ purview. I post of technological, scatological, rumorous beauty alone.”
Upon perceiving any encroaching lyricism or narrative: cmd-a, delete, DM to random stranger “i know what u did”
When the fateful day arrives, will she maintain her resolve? Will she breathe 140 sharp and irreverent breaths before kicking out the chair?
Fanboy perceived her prescience thus: “With a poet’s gentle touch does she gauge our culture’s pulse.” She thus: “Skullfucked by e-demons.”
She longed for the romantic character of her past depression to replace the frigid character of her present depression.
Possible worlds. —1) Don’t take ur lithium: the pain is important, there for a reason. 2) Be sure to take ur lithium: u cannot live in pain.
—A miracle! —Pshaw, red dye pills in water. —A miracle! —Pshaw, saw him here earlier installing acrylic platform below lake’s surface.
ASTROPHYSICISTS INDIFFERENT TO SPACE EXPLORATION FUNDING SLASHES: “WE CAN NOW CREATE CHEAPER UNIVERSE HERE ON EARTH”
The only way we can win is if we start thinking like they think. For starters, why not replace these blast walls with women and children?
She listens inward toward her organs or outward toward the stars, hears alike that familiar irrational rhythm, total tonal discord.
U.S. MILITARY JOINS FORCES WITH AL QAEDA IN WAR AGAINST BEING
Life as a means to knowledge. —But what good is knowledge when they insist on keeping secret all details of the impending hardware refresh?
Easy 4 me 2 suffer, hard 2 inflict it. Hard 4 him 2 suffer, easy 2 inflict it. So we run toward each other w/ open arms, suicide bomber & I.
You must cleanse yourself, my child. —But I bathed just yesterday, Father. Surely it’s enough to throw on some deodorant and clean clothes?
Syllogism. —Life is a complete joke. Poetry is part of life. Therefore poetry is also a complete joke.
DM, “Ur poemz r all abt yrself, egomaniac biatch. Burn in hell.” 2 which, “If only I could! But flattered, fanboy, u noticed egomania. :-)”
What do u do 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u do 4 work? —Poemz. —I say again, what do u do 4
She verified that poem’s intent was preserved in fewer than 141 characters. Then she allowed herself a maniacal convulsion of laughter.
But ur new book of poems was so widely reviewed & praised! How can u possibly complain? —Reviews spoken, never screamed.
If u luv me, u must accept the bad poemz along w/ the good.
The gravity of poetry. —“That’s not a poem.” “How do you know?” “Because it made me laugh.”
An epic beach volleyball match—Mozart and Beyonce against me and Goethe—to once and for all settle music v. poetry question.
DM, “Where do u get ur ideas?” 2 which, “Lil voice in ur head sez do one thing, do exact opposite.”
The ratio between the lengths of a patient’s index and ring fingers served as an accurate predictor of his/her total number of followers.
Literary critics of the distant future may look back on her poemz and say, “01101101 01100101 01101000” (“meh”).
The poet eagerly enlisted, for to her war seemed a short detour to suicide. But soon she was bored of war, as she had been bored of life.
She fancied herself possessive of rare genius—i.e. genius that rarely revealed itself.
If she must speak last words, they shall be these: “Tell Jony he can save room for other fun things by making the spacebar smaller.”
Post each poem as if you will later be forced to account for its merit under threat of the world’s immediate destruction.
Dawn of final day she wakes, addresses the sun: “Long ago u tired of us—but stayed on for me. Go now, I give u leave to shine elsewhere.”
Creation myth 2.0. —She tripped on a stalagmite: her iPhone fell into a pool of slime. Millennia passed: iPhone became iPad.
Her quarrel with God, her quarrel with truth … Her quarrel with quarreling … Her quarrel with quarreling with quarreling …
Of far-future feminism. —Her campaign against objectification was undermined, they argued, by her decision to undergo body removal surgery.
DM, “I don’t really believe in god either!” 2 which, “disbelieve more strongly, dear fanboy, disbelieve to the second power, thus: 666^2.”
—Good? —Evil. —Death? —Life. —Man? —Woman. —Past? —Future. —Question? —Answer. —Rise? —Set. —Many? —Few. —Faith? —Will. —Poems? —Poemz.
“I know the answer u want, but I won’t play along, 4 ur whole ontology is built on a faulty presuppostion.” “OK, shall we try 2+2, instead?”
/species so successful planet’s every nook & cranny occupied by a body/ … thus an underwear-besemened Chas. Darwin awoke from stuffy dreams
ok, time 4 church, u kids have everything u need? coats on? gas mask straps fastened? ties tied? everybody’s bazooka’s cocked & loaded?
he sprayed my soul with lysol. —lucky, he took a brillo pad to mine. —ya’ll quit your bitchin. mine’s gone for good in some old vacuum bag.
imagine all poets at conference w/o clothes. —done. —now imagine their poems w/o familiar literary gravitas. —hold on … wait … still trying
It began w an attribution of moral value 2 their common actions: she taught them that 2 like/share was good, 2 troll/abstain was bad.
what she does not post is forever lost; what she does, forever stored
“who’s ur audience?” 2 which, “garbagemen, ceos, children, supermodels, the mentally ill & physically disabled … mine are democratic poemz.”
She was a poet, a translator, a professor, an editor, an activist, a mother, a wife, a daughter—viz., she was first and foremost an actor.
She was an American poet: she drove a Volvo, preferred Aveda hair products, was an Apple devotee, owned a Roth IRA, rarely ate red meat.
she’s a noob, so she sits sheepishly in the comments section, awaiting the perfect occasion to intone her first amen, hallelujah, LOL
The end was nigh. Like a dying animal she went off by herself, chose solitude, found a cave with barely any signal.
Reading over her life’s work, content began to blur, form grew clearer, until she saw only a vast series of the same poem, 140 underscores.
She was a truly great poet. And like all great poets before her, she excelled at deception, simulation, falsehood and idolatry.
for sale kustom abrams tank: ground effects, hydraulics, underbody neon lights, dub spin rims, jet black paint w skulls & ghostflames
she loved her husband devoutly and would remain faithful to him until the end—even if, God help her, Ryan Gosling came calling
In my time of need, I called on a friend for help … but she had never even heard of me.
sifts thru old posts w finetooth comb, honing her persona, augmenting her likeability w strategic deletions, reading herself as a friend
tried to read an old-fashioned book—printed on paper, with ink, covers, etc.—started sneezing, wheezing, broke out in hives by end of ch. 1
she had many followers, but she posted only for Him
“i won’t dress up my distaste for her work in some aesthetic formula … her poetry makes my knees ache, my back hurt, my tongue itch”
she imagined stumbling upon another poet who posted work very similar to her own—and loathing all the irreverant triviality
Why write poemz? —For one reason alone: autoimmortalization. (Oh yeah, two more: Wealth and fame beyond all imagining.)
She felt misunderstood, misjudged, misidentified … She was not /a/ poet, she felt, but /the/ poet.
stars on phone align with stars in sky. sweeps phone fast to left, fast to right: stars remain locked in. crosses stars off list.
“The purpose of life is to hydrogenate carbon dioxide.” —She reads the sentence 100 times, willing its alteration via absent telekinesis.
ALIENS LAND ON EARTH, SEEK OUT LITTLE-KNOWN INTERNET POET, CROWN HER UNIVERSAL POET LAUREATE
“I believe in nothing.” “So you believe in something called nothing?” “No, not even in nothing. & not even in not even in nothing, either.”
She completes cycle of poemz, she’s reached her goal, good to go. But then, just before kicking out the chair—new poem idea. Oh wtf.
We know that consumerism is ugly, archaic—yet we must buy the new iPad on release day lest we miss out on the sublime, the future.
Type awhile, hit submit, receive DMs. Type, hit submit, receive DMs. Type, receive DMs. Type, DMs. Type DMs. TypeDMs … Die. DMs peter out.
The writer of this poem is no misanthrope, but not by dint of choice—there’s simply no one here to suffer her loathing.
To sing of the internet, to sing of it truly—with distance and perspective—she would have to leave it for a time, well nigh 15 tortuous min.
Poemz: she dives quickly in, quickly out again. But not deep enough! exclaim the enemies of swiftness, flight and dance.
“If only we had from her a fingernail clipping, a strand of hair, an eyelash, we could have brought her back to post for our age, as well!”
Friends, followers & fanboys needed: who have not yet been born. Fellow poets sought: who can pirouette on the surface of an electron.