Glitches

Were we meant to be this way?
Chrome and lipstick golems,
Matrices of issues and fallacies,
Or are we full of glitches?
Bugs in every interaction,
Error reports aplenty,

We twitch and palpitate,
Walking like static,
Our bodies morphing and shifting,
Streaks of colour arcing off our forms,
As if on an old television,
As if made of pixels,

Were we meant to be so technological?
Without the means of recoding ourselves,
Error icons and sheared cables,
Blue screens and melted solder,
I think some programs are superfluous,
So call the task manager.

Repairs

I once was flying so high,
Outstripping my design parameters,
Too close to too many stars,
But like any Icarus,
I burned up and fell apart,
And now in need of some repairs,
Welding and riveting and sheet metal,
No more rust from past trysts,
A tougher yet more flexile shell,
New polymers and moral fibres fitted,
Bettering the ticking power core,
A new and improved self,

There may be some industrial accidents,
Some bumps along the way,
But I have faith in the undertaking,
I’m not full repaired yet,
But the processes are underway,
Expedited.

Idling

Day in and day out,
And many months besides,
I find myself idling,
Loitering in my own life,
An engine sat in its own exhaust,

I have a destination in mind,
And even a path plotted,
Yet the pedal never moves,
I’m not sure where the defect is
But progress is hard to come by,

I fear no mechanic can assist,
There is no intrinsic damage,
This engine is capable of so much,
But I’m going nowhere fast,
My objectives remain distant,

Maybe my targets are unreachable,
Or maybe,
Just maybe,
This idling,
It is my human error.

Remote Control

Isn’t it curious,
How they can affect us from afar?
Swaying us with just a memory,
Tugging at that heartstring or this emotion,
As if they held a remote control,
A menagerie of buttons to pass,

Click click click,
Go these infrared manipulations,
Alien fingers on our brains,
Tickling at each thought,
Indecisive in their handiwork,
Changing channels on a whim,

It is almost insidious in its potency,
A battering ram to our mood,
Changing a laugh into a lament,
A heartbeat into static,
And a memory into umbrage,
Increasing the volume of our insecurities,

How they affect us,
Is it intentional or malevolent?
I know not,
But the device certainly works.

Virtual Reality

Are we not living a virtual reality?
Are we living in binary?
Chrome-filled goggles over our eyes,
Flashing every shade of ruby,
Screens of ones and zeroes,
Winners and losers,

It’s a life within a life,
Unreal,
Fake,
As if nature were moved to the recycle bin,
It’s all apps and numbers on screens,
And media that is less than social,

This VR world,
It’s a misery machine,
It’s not living,
And when it gets too much,
When our eyes are straining,
Can we even take the headset off?

Shut It Down

I’ve been running this process awhile,
Inhaling and exhaling,
I could pass for a technician,
No crashes so far,
Yet an anomaly has arisen,
A glitch in the machine,

Some entity has grabbed my attention,
Seizing my cursor,
A brunette beauty,
Pixels all in the right places,
She makes me feel almost human,
Replacing quicksilver with flesh and blood,

But there’s an internal error,
A spiteful little line of code,
Telling me,
I best shutdown these feelings,
Pull the plug,
Before karma catches up,

I am yet a machine,
So perhaps I ought click OK,
One doesn’t deserve romance,
So I’d better shut it down.

Photoshop

I’m seeing those models,
All pretty faces and curves,
Like goddesses upon the screen,
And wonder how they do it,
What sorcery begets such angels,

The computer claims to know,
The beauty is simulated,
A conspiracy of tech and objectification,
A scalpel shaped like an arrow,
Pixilated nip and tuck,

It’s not real,
The screen mutates the image,
Warped for the male gaze
Imagined perfection,
At the click of a button.

Cyborg

Oh to be a cyborg,
A factory-built Pinocchio,
To keep the undeniable qualities,
The cerebrum and heart and sensations,
Of a real man,

Blended with a physique of mineral,
Unfazed like an ingot,
A skeleton and carapace of steel,
Undeterred by time,
Impervious and cold,

The best aspects of each,
Iron and flesh,
The virtue and ingenuity of humanity,
With the force and adamancy of machinery,
In one body,

In one cyborg.

Digital Monsters

The web is a hunting ground like any other,
And has its apex predators,
Unfeeling Cossacks on website steppes,
Master phishermen,
Duplicitous wizards of code,
In command of invisible monsters,
Hordes of bytes and virtual dragons,
Digital chimeras and curses of malware,

Under pixel brush and basement canopy,
Stalkers unaffected by the suns light,
You won’t see them coming,
They covet everything you have,
And still more that you don’t,
Scavenging every gory scrap of finance,
But if you’re in need of a quick buck,
Then they know a Nigerian Prince.

Pig Iron Priest

I heard tell of a cult,
They awoke from an awful dream,
Induced by some story book,
And built a priest out of pig iron,
A facsimile of an orderly man,
Fuelled by a furnace of white-hot delusion,

This automaton follows that same book,
On repeat he recites litany from his speaker mouth,
And baptises babes with his steel fingers,
This righteous robot,
An ivory robe stitched to his metal skeleton,
Cheap clanging between pews,

He was made from fear and thrifty deposit,
But mineral has no heart,
Iron holds no soul,
With no understanding of that book of myths,
Dare not look under his frock,
That’s where they put the plot holes.