Clever Beast

One could write a mighty fine beat poem just itemizing the things one sees in a single day on my Tumblr feed.  Shit I never thought I’d see, sandwiched together, glorious and manic and sad and relentless.  Have to remind myself there is no one person called Tumblr, this is just a mind-orgy, no higher thinking, no thematic glue, my part of it just as pointillist.  Maybe identity is the same illusion, imposing a subject on something that just happens to be housed momentarily in the same space, gone with the next meme.  As a product of the early nineties and cogent before there was an internet, I still have a hard time with this distinction.  Everything I feel and think and care about when reduced to words in this machine, artifact differently, function differently, like conveying intimacy on a Jumbotron.  The sum of the parts require nothing from me, but because the pastiche is made of occasionally sincere human moments, I feel a kinship, an awkward need to reply.  Seduced by something more, yet fucked like the rest, fucked by every darling poet, every art installation, every pornographic slip, every rape culture critique.  Many faces, but no face, no face I can peer into, absorb, trust, hesitate before, smile at, connect with.

here is a question mark, I am required to provide one for you to respond?

• 04/04/13