"i legit hate these fucking phones"
he said, and i thought,
"ya know, he's right.."
may he reawaken
the return to a flip phone revolution.
that's just how i see him,
capable of affecting, inspiring change,
he does it, in me, so he, quite capable,
but I'm not enough, or the one,
to get him to believe, understand, see..
he is magical, but he rejects it,
an inner aversion to the light,
the heart, that is me...
now back to the illumination,
"the taught" in his teach
keep shit simple.
we gotta reach back to go forward
or, for me,
death to the connection keeper,
my personal hell, it's mine
and may now, be the time
i let go, "it's all good and fine"
realize the limited spectrum
of my reality, its impossible
to know the real reality of others
unless they let you in,
effort and the want for action
it doesn't exist in email
or texts, like bites, without bullets
that enter, the center, to explode
and illuminate,
fill the center with light
that can only be found
within the connect, human voice
it's a choice
in a world this distracted
this consumed with so much available
and passing
by, before our eyes and minds
there is too much to process
and too little time
too many words on screens,
flying by
too many "dings and pings"
"who, what now's", flying blind
for me, my fault, my flaw, i admit
and to use his lingo, his word, "legit",
this is it
i live in a space, wide open,
little trace
of anyone i actually see,
on the regular, face to face
no family, a few friends
but either they don't leave the house,
like me, or they're forever straddled,
lives frazzled, by the weight of
too many god damn kids
or they have fuller lives
whoever they're fucking, or fallen for
family members,
more friends than me,
clamoring, knocking
on their front door
so as all i have to do
is go to work, come home
and be consumed, sit, write, dream
i get easily confused
by my life, "abnormal"
and i reach out too much,
try too hard, to keep connections
alive, that others don't have the energy,
the space, the same want, or the time
and so shit dries up slowly,
like the cum stain from a hand job
hidden on the prom queen's dress,
oh so formal
fuck email, fuck texts
fuck trying to hang on,
worry in this wasteland, world
if someone special will remember me
I'll cross their mind and they'll
wanna stick around, reach out
with a depth of meaning, heart
like the best
friends we made, once
"back in the day"
before technology took over
and devoured "the love" in "the lay"
bare ones' heart,
with a little more soul
seems now all we are
are avatars and self delusional roles
of who we want society to see
filtered to, ridiculous and "wrong"
as the days only get shorter,
with all the stimuli scattered,
focus shattered, there is little
defined here, as lasting, anything, long
so please forgive me for trying
as in all the ways
of technology, "too hard"
"too much", "too many",
texts, emails, length and volume
scope of emotion, my cards
laid on the table
but not picked up, with regard
to the want, you wanted it, from me
you, stretched and pulled
a hundred thousand directions
the face of my heaven,
but I'm not yours
the same, in reflection
no guilt, no blame
no "your faults", no shame
i see, feel you in my heart,
someone sacred
but i cannot make you see me
for you, in the same
so, death to the chaser
i never set out, thought I'd be
and all my own energy flooded
at you, so easy to pour out
thanks to the ease, the devil
we know, stroke, masturbate,
to madness, misunderstandings of meaning, "thanks technology"
i meant all, in good
but that's no reason,
no continued excuse
to not see, the "too much"
here, in me
i just want things to be
what you want, desire, flow
forth and back, naturally
see?
god, i miss the days
of flip phones, simplicity,
when if someone truly wanted you, you'd know
because, your phone
would just magically...
ring.
bowen hart roselli
26 september 2020
ringwald love
