I Looked Up and Saw My Bandwidth Swallowed by a Black Hole

I admit when word got out that companies were sending
employees home, to work from home, I was pretty jealous.
While most of the world seems to be testing the technology—
stretching the limits of communication,

stretching my bandwidth thinner and thinner.
That’s what it comes down to with technology, though,
levels of communication.
I mean talking with grandparents, with mom and dad,
can be spotty even in the same room, let alone with
technology thrown in the mix.

Lately I’ve seen my bandwidth stretched so thin
at times I can hardly get through an episode. Or share photos. Or video chat.
Companies are trying to adapt with us and it’s making me
ask what’s necessary: what things are still worth putting on
a platform. My health? my eating habits? quality of my food?
Or is it my technology? my entertainment, my gaming,
my sports, my gazillion monthly subscriptions to apps,

I’m thinking about how much I need
from grocery stores and wondering if I’m not putting all my
eggs in one basket, which I’ve been warned against.
We all have for some time now.

Look outside, look to nature and see all the variety,
it doesn’t take long to realize that
the variety is what is making each and every thing work
nothing is dependent on one source,

everything depending on each and every other thing
yet I am pretty dependent on this one source: the grocery store.
I’m pretty dependent on the few global corporations like Amazon,
or Google for my information, which have made it their aim for
us to depend on their one source, and now what?

Now we’re fighting for toilet paper and Mountain Dew
I need to be able to depend on myself a little more.
Though I’m not sure if I have the authority to change this.
To be a source of variety, to dig my hands in the earth
and pull up root vegetables, potatoes, and onions and bring
them to the dining table, the family table.

I’m lucky, though, to still have the chance to bring home
the bacon, I suppose. My wife, on the front-line, a grocery-store worker
is also being stretched thin with early mornings and sleepless nights.
Here is an opportunity to appreciate those that we do depend on
regardless of the social hierarchy; they aren’t teachers,
or police, or fire, or doctors,
they aren’t scientists, or academics, or public officials,
or even ironman, or spiderman,
but they are first responders. Our grocery store workers are
first responders.

While the world is testing the limits of communication
with technology, I’m testing the limits of my communication
through poetry, through living a life for my loved ones;
to work for them and spend time with them in a more direct way
while the whole thing comes crumbling down around us. 

Ever Wonder

Sitting under spectacles of spires
the rain falls like crows feet
hitting the street have you ever
wondered if there’s more than this
the bell rings four times
four times the bell rings and
you think you’ve found god
at the bottom of the stairs
by the gutter under St.
Ignatius’ chapel, but it’s mere
loneliness and green things in a
canopy of themes
reduce the family
the family crossing the street
to accents in your mind
in my mind
the accent is awailable
but when i try to let it
puncture my lips it slips
and there is space compressing
soaking the words with gasses
or fuel. In the infinite spaces of
my head there is a sanctuary
that i always have access to, yet
cannot reach through the hall of
mirrors. Herbavores bathed here
between the bitter fronds, varicose
tendrils, when i consume i consume
like they do. Green is the colour
i build these pretenses around
trying so hard to protect that
emerald city       building
building a city that cannot last
outside we build up, but within
we build out to keep each
other out at a distance so we
can use the smartphone to
get a hold of each other get
a hold on reality get a grip
let it slip cause there’s nothing
more than this. Have you ever wondered?
Do you ever wonder?
where the escape button
got hid

Casting Nets of Convenience

We passed each other in the hallway, nodded and smiled. He went into his apartment and closed the door, then said: Alexa, set a timer for thirty minutes. And she said Okay . . . Convenience will be the death of you. Master.

And I thought, what if we are erasing ourselves with technology?

Casting Nets of Convenience

Scrubbing this diseased
skin flaking
into ash and sand
like salt mounds taller
than the great mountains and
stretching from horizon to horizon
this is how we reach
such great heights and far distances.
How we communicate with the dead,
or loved ones across whole oceans.
scrubbing to get clean
erasing ourselves is a process.
Start it all over again.
Climb further. Thickness is
numbers, piling.
Numb to the bone. Scrub the bone
hide behind the phone.
Those people on the screen? those aren’t people,
they’re CGI and they have rights too;
sons and daughters of a corporation. Now’s
the time to explode. We are piling high
laying in beds feeding the sloth within
while casting ourselves into the net
lying in beds
so that we can be everywhere
but here
this fiction is growing
this future we’re sowing
into that which we
can’t recognize
our brains are spilling
liquefied and
pulled out from under
us like the table cloth
Stomach on the floor. Evolving
into something we can’t classify.
there’s no winning, we’ve already won.
Numb. We don’t have any friends anymore.
Numbers. Numbers, lying on the bed
a pile of numbers. We don’t have friends
we have numbers. Numb.
We are numb to the bone.

Thoughts In Your Morning Cereal

Casting thoughts of the future like searchlights           
this is worship.
The halo of attention sits atop storms of desolate mindscapes    
like little bloated O’s floated in bath scum. 

Frosted CRISPR Cas13’s deployed 
in your morning cereal. Dad says to eat up.

Viruses create havoc— an attempt to take control of the host.
Then ooze blob-like out of the light of attention before turning
into dark smokey shadow to regain the high ground.

With this my daily bread i shall take to infirm the wretched—
part of a complete breakfast!

halos shoot arrows with razor blade precision
germ warfare has been declared. But it’s Dad’s war, and didn’t 
he also say not to fight in other people’s wars?

Snip the disease of our humanity
until we are no longer human. 
Now we started a war
that we can’t win.


in a mirrored reality
an old ghost
looks back at me through the touchscreen.
wrinkled and tobacco stained
slowly being erased,
from a mass memory.
I hear the grumblings
of an old man slowly

to the surface
of thoughts,
releasing dopamine
to cope like a dope.
Perhaps the tides
of time
sweep us away
faster than ever before
to the sandbanks
to an ever changing shore.


*I’m not sure why but anytime I upload a poem from google docs the formatting always seems to get lost in the publishing portion and so I thought I would include a link to the poem in a pdf format, if that sort of thing interests you.

It’s not often that I feel ready to take on the process of aging, rarely do I get to adjust the lens of reality and stand defiantly. Usually only when looking at my relationship with technology can this happen. Sometimes the fantasy of aging slowly, without any major diagnosis or emergencies clears and the raw knowledge that something is inevitable, someday I’ll have to tell the story that starts something like, one day I woke up and… and life is changed forever, this, though is what provides the impetus to move forward, with great effort to deepen my relationships with loved ones.

A Digital Nature

Billowing pink ephemera

mushrooms into bloated intestines

stuck within a generation

draped within the darkness of

ignorance i’m sticking to


I was walking down the street the other day, looking into people’s houses, it was amazing they all, no matter how scummy, all had 58” or better flat screen TVs posted on the wall. As I passed stuck on the screen was the end of a political ad;

president trump was a saint

whose feet hung in midair,

his two finger pistols pointed, one at a brown immigrant lady

begging for the opportunity, so that

one day maybe her grandkids could be the next generation of spoiled american brat.

The other finger pointed at a bald eagle

the book of christ at his feet

heavenly clouds shine rays of celestial omniscience.

he had a special look of not really caring at all on his face, and i thought that’s where it’s at. i want to live like the white trash.

Did you know that at some point in your life

technological advances will surpass your intellectual capacity,

at which point your fucked.


i want to get back to the land.

i want to work the soil,

sweat and toil,

i want to be intertwined with natures spoil,

the land i work will grow old with me,

and if i take care of her

she’ll be there for my kids.

Did you know, At some point in your life your mode of thinking will be obsolete,

at which point your fucked.

all rock and roll is pornography,

stuck in your ways,

stuck to a generation.

The Indians say our mind and body are a form of Technology,

even this form of technology seems to pass us by,

Draped in ignorance

we fade

into the rolled eyes of the youthful as society continues its gradual march.

but the land doesn’t really change,

our relationship with nature never really goes anywhere.

So that’s where I’ll stake my claim

i’ll tie my mind to nature instead

of technology, or generational concepts

of gender and race.

that way i’ll fade back from where i came.

*The line “all rock and roll is pornography” come from the song Hellfudge by Lard. The link is to enjoy said song, not to pornography! Although it might be just as offensive to some…


I’m sinking in this sea,


trying so hard to get free.

Every vector point

Spins the web of consciousness

Leaning back, into technology

I could be trapped.

Covered by the sea foam


I’ve nowhere to call home.

It’s the Future Man


Oh man,

people say to me,

Well I’m a Jesus man,

others say yeah

I’m a Buddha man,

people walkin’ down the street

say I’m for Mohammed


Oh man


Oh man


The other day someone says to me,


I’m an Ai man,

Technology is the future



Well, well, well, well

I’m the man,

I’m the future man

I’m the future man

I’m the future man


It seems to me we’re all lookin’

for a future that’s incomplete.

We’re better off

walkin’ through

parking lots.


Oh man,

Hey man,

Oh man,

Hey man,


The other day some junkie

says to me,

I believe in human rights

I believe in

safe consumption sites.

Why are you always

hasslin’ me

tryin’ to take me

off the streets.

I don’ wanna

I don’ wanna

I don’ wanna


I’m the future man,


I’m the future man,

I’m the future man.  


We’re just waitin’ out our days

for something better

to take us away

We’re just whiling away

the hours lookin’

at the issues.

What’s the real issue?

We all want something

to believe in

something to take away the pain

walkin’ through parking lots.


I’m the future man.

A Myth to Myself

I saw so many pictures of Jesus this week
Hanging on walls,
Sitting on mantels.
Like he’s off matriculating,
Or proselytizing in some shithole.

I thought,
It’s like they all have the same forgotten son.
What about technology,
The future of Ai,

Technology is going to save us, I said
But they just gave me a funny look.

Technology requires faith too, I said
Because I knew that they thought faith
put them on some kind of pedestal.

Well where do we all go from here?
With a face and a name
Yet it all seems so unclear.

In search of a self
Secure in our selves
We just want to identify
Building walls
Maybe this is my ground
Maybe this is my ground
Maybe this is my ground

We are the shattered,
Nameless faces.