Poem: “Filter Bubble”

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Remote loss of control.

I wrote this at like midnight yesterday and barely edited it, so it’s pretty much stream-of-consciousness. In other words, I don’t really care if it’s “good” or not–but hopefully you get the character and scenario I was going for!  After all, there’s someone like this in all of us; I’m just hoping more than ever now we haven’t reached the day when it’ll finally catch up to us.

Filter Bubble

I

close my blinds, but keep

the TV plugged in—Blu-Ray, DVD, and a whole shelf

of everything else nothing.

 

I want

eyes wide

to constructed conflicts, fixed

in a box and hours.

Lock the door, click-chunk.

Internet on, just for antisocial media.

 

I want the

recycled-wrapper packaging of processed pastries

and dried fruit firmly in my mouth.

Rations made with passion, the blurred

line between food and feed toed

in a bottle or bowl.

Enough to last all is just good sense.

 

I want the end

to this book, this game, this song.

Dominos of closure, set up back

when war was a faint feint

and clean freedom a wistful given.

The ceiling holds

so many speckles, spectacles to study,

and it isn’t chipping yet.

 

I want the end of

squabbling, coddling, empty group photos

and meaningless memes.

I never had much use

for those streets anyway.

Never walked barefoot in that public grass,

sung from the spire of those tired-brick buildings.

Nothing ventured, everything gained.

 

I want the end of the

things that want it so bad.

Everyone divides, holds heads high, and then denies

they’ve become what they budded from.

Sometimes I feel

like I’m the only one who knows this

has all happened before,

and then sometimes I feel like an adult.

Now I feel an armchair, a growing glare

from behind tight drapes.

The sirens rise, and I

put on my headphones.

I can feel it in my bones, but every other sense

is senseless.

So out I tune, as I always have,

oblivious to the lunatics’ plan

to make the common keen and call

for undeserved rulers’ fall.

 

I want the end of the world

to be a surprise.

If I don’t hear it, no-one dies.

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“Feeding Day” – Election Day 2016 Story

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Always remember to find your local feeding station online in advance!

Happy election day, everybody!

Yeah… I don’t know too many people who are psyched about the choices for Who Wants to Be the Next POTUS, as this reality show has shaped up. With all the legitimate humor and horror that’s arisen over what both major candidates and their compatriots have (allegedly) done, though, I felt an unprecedented need to write an Election Day story this year. At least, how often does an author get a chance to be so timely? I’d have to wait another four years otherwise!

A Halloween deadline got away from me, what with the new job (and, last week, various celebrations for my 25th birthday!), but I decided I didn’t mind. Because this story, more than anything else, is admittedly just… strange. It’s about the political system, overall, but it’s also about how I feel like the world looks when we question too little, campaign too much, and value our own idea of a cause over any real person who actually cares about it.

So whether you lean right, left, somewhere in the middle, or couldn’t care less either way, assemble your offerings, grab your tickets for the White Womb, and try not to get too much blood on you. November 8th has come, but it’s better known as…

Feeding Day