More poetry. I thought this one was lost…I always liked this. I love Radiohead.

Ice Age Coming

Somewhere alongside the freeway
It is possible to hear birds outside your car window
Thick, soot-covered birds
Cackling in Ornette Coleman harmony
As they perch on plastic buildings
As they perch on the antennae
Of the rooftops that make up the
Rusted satellite cities where the
Beautiful people don’t live.
Antennae that reach up for gray skies
With broken fingers
Antennae that fold those broken fingers
In some unthinkable prayer.

You can hear them over the petrochemical
White noise shriek,
The throbbing nasty murdering sound
The murdering sound of what we have no right to do.

I am not human,
I don’t know if you can tell
By looking at me–
I don’t know if one disease
Can recognize another.

We are what is swept up from
The concrete floors of concert arenas
Ticket stubs, cigarette butts
And broken bits of digital reproduction
Strewn bits of experience and storage
Coded in deoxyribonucleic spiral drains
That flow down into the void
You never know you’re going
Until the second it happens–
Isn’t that funny?
When your stomach drops
And you open your mouth to say something–
And the full knowledge of how the world works
Comes down on you like a shining Mack truck.
Welcome to eternity, brother,
Welcome to what happens next.


Your soul is the one thing
You can’t compromise.
Or so I was told,
I never believed that

When I was a child, they told me that
The future was astral weeks
And transcontinental travel
And no more death.
I would be laid down
In silence, easy
To be born again.

Standing, somewhere, outside of time
The man I would become
Was somewhere over the sea of Japan
Watching red-sailed junks against the cornflower ocean and their white
tails of foam
On their way from Hokkaido to Brisbane or Adelaide
Or my mother nation, great nation of cars and rec rooms and hip-hop.
Standing on the observation deck
Of a nullgrav transport,
Watching nations hiply fragment
And society groovily decay.

Now I’m no longer human
I’m a smart card, I’m a credit card
I’m an advertisement for an idealized version
Of myself.

Graphic artist,
Creator, destroyer,
Shiva with artfully ugly hair
And a tangerine plastic chariot
With a nineteen inch screen.
And it’s all Microsoft lounge parties
And kings and queens of the fucking universe
Until night falls–
Remember that,
Until night falls.


I am no longer human,
I don’t know if you noticed;
We are born without eyes these days.

My soul swam away
Into the sea of warm memory,
Which grows colder by the minute
And forms pale veins of ice.

Humanity is memory
And memory is desire
And neither comes easily to us, these days.

Desire is codified and
Memory is replaced with suspicion
And nothing quite exists
The way it once did.

Red sails of junks,
Against blackest simulation ether,
Floating on the pale chemical candle face
Of the screen in front of me, blurred in my vision
And the music of salty teardrops
Falling into a searing liquid nitrogen pool.

Music for dancing children,
Who were born without souls.

This is all that’s left
Of the future


The hive glistens
As something is born.
Something pale and squealing
Pushes its way out of the ice,

That moves like kudzu,
So quick and so slow

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