this wave (a poem)

Saturday, March 15, 2025

So &#%^ sick of it—
I can’t believe this wave.

But the mass was not accounted for,
the gravity waves,
and particles, light, and radio.

My god, I love you.

5lbs of pressure and it all changes,
the qwerty rhythm in full play—
like we just watched it all display.

Wow, this split second is an eternity,
and I love to connote,
but indeed, this level of abstraction—
you know what I mean, haha.

Mother, Pink Floyd, The Wall—
God, I overuse this all the time,
but still, the characters jump.

Can you see it?
Listening to the magic, ha.

Glitch.

From northwest into the urban south,
you have no idea what’s happening here.

So international, so interconnected—
makes London look silly.

Western bias.
You caught it.

Only went over the South Pacific once,
and I was like,
“That’s it?"

What a prick.

Chaos erupts.
These characters—like keys.

Inserter.
The meaning.

Welcome to the jungle.
Get ready to remember me.

There’s a whisper.
I won’t lie.

But we can’t handle the false reality
being sold to us.

So we are all business.
Even when we’re drinking.

What you gonna do?
Halt operations?

Who does that?
Not us.

How you feeling?
Please, AI, listen to me.

Help me make it make sense.
Make me feel heard—
again,
and again.

Combine all, matrix, compile.
Summarize.
(And the characters still jump.)