Planned Obsolescence

The Mart hung in the distance like an obsolete super-computer

Overcompensating for its faulty wiring,

While nervously waiting for the next big thing.

In a field, I stood in the epicenter, across from this epiccenter,

On an uneven ground of weeds, dirt, gnats, puddles, trash.

 

In the limits of vision, I saw the par-king lot

Balancing its inputs with its outputs

Into the super-computer.

-> In went bleak, gray, hungry bits of code

Out came obnoxious, colorful, fat bits of code <-.

 

I – usually bleak, gray, hungry – approached the Mart,

Pulled from the dirt-tangled field

By the electromagnetism of the straight angles ahead.

 

As I closed closer,

There emerged a binary to these bits.

And the Mart proclaimed, “Let this be man and woman,

And let their sacrificial computations be predictable, timely, and manipulateable,

And above all, let the 1 of woman and the 2 of man serve separate functions

To my Consumption Processing Unit.”

The Mart looked over all that it had made, and behold, it was very good…

 

My heel hit the hard of pavement and rolled up to my toe;

And as this became a recurring action,

My feet dealt distance with subtraction,

And the bits of code, post-transaction,

Grabbed my eyes with curious attraction.

 

These ostentatious outputs carried colorful cases,

Walked with manufactured importance,

Slapped smaller outputs and told them, “When I say stop, that means stop!”

Sputtered and spat at the ground,

Rolled toward their steel boxes like medicine balls in the wind,

Held the reins of their belt-buckle stallions, bucking for a fight,

Or yanking their buckles over their bulbous bellies,

With crooked smiles, crooked laughs,

Crooked plans, but straight paths.

 

The par-king lot carried the code

The best that pavement could.

Should cement lament it would.

 

I tried to think up a better system:

-Maybe a cloud based application (?)-

But my thoughts were sparse,

So, instead, I joined the cement sojourners,

Rolling toward my own steel box,

And together we awaited the next big thing.

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About cognifeeder

My name is Josh. I like to think about things. I also like to write (albeit, “type” might be a more appropriate verb). Sometimes, I can muster these two likes into an enthralling synergy of self-expression. Sometimes not. Cognifeeder was a word I made up in this poem. To me, a “Cognifeeder” is any bit of learned information. A Cognifeeder is a piece of culture, something learned that contributes to one's map of reality. The world is littered with Cognifeeders. Take them lightly. When I’m not blogging, I run Sonata, a digital marketing and SEO agency based in Aledo, Texas.

Posted on March 23, 2012, in photography, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. Awesome stuff, as always. Were was the picure taken?

  2. I thank Jesco again for the “story of stuff” link (http://www.storyofstuff.org/movies-all/story-of-stuff/) that ended up, in a roundabout way, inspiring the unanticipated direction that this poem took. It started as a poem about standing in a barren field across from a Wal-Mart, but I couldn’t keep off reflecting on some ideas in that video, so the poem fell together into a different lump than what I set out to collapse.

  3. Oh my, cognifeeder, this poem is a wonder to the imagination; very good job…

  4. Excellent imagery. Excellent comment. Excellent poem

  5. This is a diesel poem. If you’re into reading poetry as well, I posted a link below to a sick website that has poetry written by juvenile delinquents in LA; It’s some great poetry that tells these kids stories and I think it’s rad if you want to take a look! http://www.streetpoetsinc.com/

    • I just read a few poems from the “street poets” site, and there’s some really great stuff on there. You can tell that these kids have a voice that pulls from real experience. I saved it to my favorits and will definitely be going back for more. Great find, and thank’s for sharing.

  6. This post is art of the highest form: beautiful, intelligent, and moves to one to make better. Pure artwork my friend. I am both awed and in envy.

    J.

  7. Story of Stuff? Excellent…
    Also excellent… this post.
    [Slapped smaller outputs and told them, “When I say stop, that means stop!”]
    Indeed.

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