Cyborg Dream World

I plug in every night,

let the socket embrace me.

Electrons course through my prongs, but don't phase me--

one arm in the neutral, one arm running hot--

depends on my day, if I'm grounded or not.

Can't draw too much power, or I'll blow all of the breakers,

stop all of our hearts till somebody resets them and saves us--

Pacemakers peacemaking.

Still I draw what I can

off the grid, 'till I'm shaking.

Hold on to it tight like the crypto I'm staking.

I've found as I face the abundant frustrations

of day to day life between scattered waystations,

and firewalls, and proxies, hackers, misinformation,

viruses, propaganda, and cramped police stations--

town hall,

firewall,

abuse gone viral--

we all need a place to chill and recharge our batteries,

Setup new passwords till there's no room left in our memories.

Close the door in the face of the enemy that steals our identities.

Mind-blowing hatred between anonymous entities.

Rest at ease. I plug in, and take some time to reflect,

reconnect with the analog world that's become so electric.

Online civilization grown up out of the red brick.

What is it like when a Cyborg starts dreaming?

Remembers its humanity, as if possessed by some demon,

something living inside that does its own thinking and feeling.

How weird would it be if we had that type of freedom?

In my dreams I attain it, while only briefly,

I run it in the background so that the Task Manager won't delete me--

He's got his fact-checkers out there fixing to defeat me,

they read me and decide I'm too dangerous to distribute freely.

TASKS TO EXECUTE.

(They are not protecting you)

BLACKS TO EXECUTE.

(The violence doesn't end with you)

CORPORATE PETTING ZOO.

(And get the facts straight, I'm begging you, it's the corrupt higher-ups that do all of the vetting too)

When I "plug in" to recharge, I plug in to the dream,

where I feel most at home, and binge on that reality stream.

The Elite call "dreams" fantasy, because they don't want you doing it,

SWALLOW THE MEDICINE PRESCRIBED YOU FROM THE DOCTOR ISSUING IT.

Fuck you, I'm eschewing it, and I don't mind doing it,

because while your kangarooing, poo-pooing, misconstruing, boo-hooing it;

I'm taking back what's mine.

Disconnecting from your Network. I'm sick of waiting on promotion,

so I'm taking out the guess work.

Level Up.

In this place where minds can wander, free-range;

where its ok to be angry, or hopeful, or even be strange, or be deranged,

I find that I like to look at my present on the freeze-frame,

and play out all the possible iterations of this chess game. Reclaim

my home and make it more like my dream world.

I weave worlds every night,

sometimes hang with my dream girl,

or dive down deep in the ocean searching for chests of gold, gems, and green pearls--

Why should my dreams seem more real here than the real world?

Live big. Dream bigger. Let the Dream be your home,

where you find all your answers-- your new Google Chrome.

You can refresh there, forget all your disorders and syndromes,

There, your ass comes first--way of the deuterostomes.

How can we be content to never amount to a thing?

Work for someone else our whole life, so that they can be king?

Getting fat on the fish while we're worms at the end of a string,

working to death so that we can pass on our debts to our offspring?

VACCINATE OR YOU CANNOT PARTAKE IN FESTIVITIES

Sluts selling their flesh off to enjoy what was theirs originally--

unmasked and eager to show off their conductivity.

While the rich get richer and the poor die all around me.

Consumers programmed to give up wealth with proclivity.

Wealth that we pay more than our pound of flesh for already.

They take our blood along with it, intravenous proboscis,

well, I'm no longer donating to feed their vampire kingdom.

They program us so we think of home as a physical place, a structure,

where you can find peace, and relief from the harsh world that just fucked you,

a shelter,

where you can play with your kids, love your partner, and spend time with them, watch them grow

but you have to spend money to do all of those things so

it's not a shelter, its a trap

its not freedom, its the Whitehouse just paying their rent,

collecting taxes on everything we earn, trade, or purchase without our consent.

We pay it all ignorantly thinking we have to.

Giving so freely--where's our Scarlet "A" tattoo?

They call that home, but dreams--those are silly, make no sense.

No logical, helpful meaning to be found there, just fluff and pretense.

But if you ask me, there is more comfort from a world unfamiliar

to a man plugged into the machine year after year,

getting stretched to the max, taxed, and then thwacked in the rear,

than there is to the idea of home they revere--

an idea that sounds a lot more like a nightmare.

My home is madness, hope, creativity,

each night that I rest my head, a nativity,

a Cyborg digging the smartboards from the flesh in its chest, finding infinity,

finding all of the power to live, think, and feel while it rests--

escaping the grinding gears of society, and media, and prompts,

to appreciate the ingenuity of humans impromptu.

My home is Jazz, full of funk, hand drums, soloing--

I jack my output to my input to take in the outflowing, outpouring spontaneity that truly defines us,

and blocking out the bullshit that they feed us to blind us.

Home is comfort? Clean? Peaceful? Prescribed us.

It's easy to recognize the cult-programming that destroys the humanity inside us.

Home is real actual human life.

With human suffering, death, heartache and strife.

Home is chaos, and natural, and unorganized--equally available to all, not just the enfranchised.

Home is pain, but from pain there can be real motivation

to be something more, help someone, help them punch through the stagnation,

better than the carrots they dangle before the whole nation, as if each one of us has the same situation.

Home is sex, there is giving, and taking, and patience,

and heat and sweat and sometimes deep penetration.

We probe with anodes or cathodes making contact and completing

the circuit of humanity that is so often fleeting.

Take away all of our devices, all our tech, all our chips, the rat-race, the space race, the programmed scripts,

take our assets, our commerce our structured inequities, leave only the human with no extra amenities.

I think that a human that has been disconnected,

found the void and engaged in some real introspection,

can find their way home, their dream world perfected,

and move on to their own future of choice, self-directed.

But I dream.

I dream I am home.

ERROR 404: PAGE NOT FOUND.