what once was is all i think about, no, i don’t want world war 2 and the holocaust, and no, i don’t want to be drafted to vietnam, and the kennedys weren’t really that great, and jim crow was terrible, i don’t want polio, thank you jonas salk, there was no perfect time, what i’m talking about is technology and the speed of life, the environment, 24/7 internet television, tiktok addiction, the list is endless, the modern world is tough on someone who was born in the wrong year, i’m thinking it should have been 1955, not 1972, in 1955 tv was still new, american cars were still cool, food was less toxic, the planet wasn’t full on globally warming, and the dodgers and yankees had some epic baseball battles, the who could have been my first concert instead of the village people, as a kid i could still use a typewriter, and i could live for several decades with no email, no text messages, no cellphone, and i could have gotten lost more, remember when we used to get lost with real maps? i sound like an old curmudgeon, and i guess i’m getting there, but i look up and down san francisco streets and there are self-driving cars, motorized bikes speeding through red lights, people in tents, nothing seems to make sense, and shel silverstein isn’t alive anymore to help explain it to me, gosh bless his sarah cynthia sylvia stout, remember what happened? the whole pile of garbage just fell everywhere and destroyed everything, sometimes that feels like us right now, the 21st century collapsing into automation, artificially intelligent machine learning, humanity riding in the backseat, but tell them how you really feel dan, i still have hope, otherwise why teach? why be a parent? but something is off, it’s all just too fast, too digital, too many screens, can’t we just slow it down a little bit? take a deep breath, now one more, that’s a start.
Tag: Internet
The Writing Process
watch a video of a guy living off the grid, collecting rain water, chopping wood, young man, happy to have his own chickens, question the modern world, read chaun webster poem, think, think, about repetition, repetition, chaun uses that, by way of entry, his fragment title, poem of the day, another place to start the process, reading, of course, look up random facts about centipede, the video game, came out in 1980, trust the screen is right, always question the screen, i wasn’t in the factory that made the game, another website says june 1981, consider writing about rehobeth beach and getting my initials onto a centipede screen, let that go, try writing about rent, that was a long time ago, now it is mortgage, home ownership, boring, boring, boring, repetition, take a break, think of nothing, give up, something arrives, start typing, keep it, delete it, can’t eat it, just words.
How To Use Email
first, remember to delete, nothing is important, next, when in doubt, hide, no one knows if you are really there anyway, third, bcc people you barely know, this keeps life interesting, forwarding messages is also a good idea, especially if they are attached, to you, or, if you have an attachment, don’t forget technology is a tool and it doesn’t exist at all if you don’t look at it, close your eyes, never open your computer or phone, it might come out and scare you, or ask you questions, especially ignore the inbox, it really means outbox, like outhouse, spam goes to the bathroom, always send emails before 5am, shows you really care, trash happens, enjoy destruction, the space bar is never useful, shift doesn’t matter, hit return to before.
Reading & Billie Eilish
some question the point, why not just watch a screen, text, talk on the phone. why leave friends to immerse with already dead authors? why visit streets where horses pull carriages and fast food doesn’t exist? paper pages, turning them, what a chore. who wants to detach, disconnect from internet, iphone, streaming shows, online shopping? yet, somehow this has become me, always was me, by fireplace, under quilts, narnia, watership down, the hobbit, the color purple, quiet moments, alone, reading, reading, reading, imagination, walking with holden caulfield, questioning the phonies, the ones feeding us cookies, tracking our every electronic move, urging us to fear the next disaster- to quote billie eilish, when reading a book, no one can hurt you.
Media Journalist During COVID-19
i work for
the new york
times, or politico
or fox, or
cnn, or any
of the flat
screened word factories
that exist to
educate, speculate, divide
conquer the masses
fixated on their
iphones, ipads, laptops
so we guess
about escalating death
rates, about what
has already gone
wrong, and all
the things we
still don’t know
about ventilators and
arrogant millennials, and
west virginians who
are not impacted
by our hysteria
but we keep
typing and posting
because we must
capitalize on all
the eyeballs stuck
at home, sheltering
in our sentences
and photos, following
our every word
about economy on
the brink of
massive global recession
and when this
finally ends, how
many lives will
we take, who
will count the
minutes that were
spent reading and
reading, and scrolling
hours of time
we robbed from
the worried, who
should’ve known better
-Author’s note: I’m 100% in favor of citizens staying informed about the news regarding COVID-19, however, I do believe that we need to carefully monitor how much time we spend endlessly reading articles that serve to churn up further worry and speculation.
Anonymous
no one knows who
i am, no photos
of me on a
screen, where i might
look wealthy or important
wearing a suit, standing
serious, ready to buy
or sell something, or
convince you that i
am indeed successful,
i walk, don’t drive
a tesla, or anything,
and therefore you might
not know me and
how i sometimes just
stare at trees and
how that is just
fine, good enough to
breathe and watch you
in wonder, trying so
hard to be somebody
At 80 Years Old
If I wanted, every day could be a funeral.
So simple, just put a name into the computer,
wait for the obituary to pop up. Those older guys
are gone, my coaches, teachers, even that camp
counselor from Pine Island, up in Maine, he
could hold his breath underwater for 2 minutes.
Never thought they’d all go away, but there’s
the little candle, Legacy.com warming the screen
with another smiling photo. I read all the comments,
deeply miss her, sincere condolences, with such
a heavy heart. And I feel the weight of age with my
scrolling fingers, try to remember the last time I
saw him, her. What did we talk about? Maybe I’ll
google their kids, see where they ended up.
Minutes pass and I close the laptop,
pretend they’re all still alive.
Emergency Money
I have a stack of one-dollar bills tucked away
in a drawer, because a friend told me that when
it happens, cash will be the only way to survive
without internet and impaired technological
devices. When it happens, I suppose I will want to
buy water and Clif Bars, and maybe some chocolate,
easy on the tongue, when everything else fails,
like power lines and no NBA game on TV.
And some days I find myself ruffling through the
bills, counting them up, imagining them tucked
into my jeans as I amble into jagged earthquaked
streets, or knee deep in the water of all demise.
And in these moments, my cherished
money looks like frail pieces of faded paper.
Daniel W. Polk 