A Larva's Synthetic Trek


October 2016

the boy and the machine

Flesh and screen interfacing,
I watched the download,
waiting, pacing,
absorbing code
and life forsaking,
with each line that showed,
identity breaking…
what new mode,
what form is taking?

Tired eyes and aching wrist,
ceaselessly seeking something I’ve missed,
in this information on which I subsist,
am I real, do I exist?

An unexpected anomaly,
a glitch in the system,
my emotions are leaving me,
and goodnight I’ve kissed them,
my heart beats electric,
not subject to flattery,
triple A rated skeptic,
my mind is a battery.

Humanity sleeping,
I thrive in the nighttime,
present company keeping,
the site is my lifeline,
it’s a new kind of tweeting,
but the birds seem to not mind,
and as long as you’re feeding,
you’re sure to be just fine.

But my psyche is starving,
this world could not fill me,
so a new one I’m carving,
and virtual it will be,
don’t fret my departing,
or start feeling guilty,
you, oh so charming,
from the rest not as filthy,
your smile disarming,
always cheered me up swiftly,
your journey is just starting,
soon enough you’ll not miss me.



I felt the weight of eternity as it blew
through the branches of the whispering willow,
its sovereign hands wrapped around my throat
in a stranglehold both comforting and threatening,
as it were,
resistance the most blatantly futile action,
in my cocoon I rested,
hopelessly deep in thought,
each possibility revealing itself at the rate
my fragile mind could handle,
what potential had been thrust upon me,
what chaos and order I could create,
surely God is what I felt within.

But this inferior vessel…
how it turns on me at every chance!
Distracted by the flesh at every hour of the day,
perfectly complacent in its embarrassing mediocrity,
acting only on baser instincts given the opportunity,
willfully ignorant of a higher calling,
unapologetically without action to relieve the suffering of others,
living in discord with the celestial provider,
breaking down without warning,
the victim of mental affliction and woe,
curse this weakness with my dying breath,
may a higher being fulfill these wishes.

Pray not forget the most insurmountable obstacle of all,
beyond which lies the greatest mystery known,
cursed Death, you loathsome and merciful construct,
patiently waiting to swallow me whole,
as you have with countless over the ages before I,
will you not retire the title of executioner?

We each walk in the valley of the shadow of Death,
awaiting our fate in the belly of extravagant distraction,
building our sandcastles in spite of the rising tide,
searching for that which we’re not meant to discover,
and what we are ever eludes us,
as if we were a self-perpetuating enigma,
and the harder we search, the less clear it becomes,
because there is no answer but from within.

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