Matthew Conrad

May 15, 1986 - Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski

an exclusively internet poo'em

...and perhaps i could entertain serious poetics...
oh the subjects to choose from -
if not the immediately avaliable of the rolling omicron:
to have chosen - the past -
or to choose - the present -
compared to having a choice - the future...

perhaps i could write about about having
a magical gingerbread house -
where a hanzel and a gretyl are not pork chops -
perhaps i could write about having
an elephant tied by a string to an eucalyptus,
or a fly groaning trapped by a ball & chain...
or perhaps seeing herr trvardovsky
riding across the sky strapped to
a scythe shaped moon...

but like bukowski: my interests are less:
flamboyant... if he could wonder whether
the men collecting his rubbish knew
whether or not he existed...

it's still a funny "compromise" -
the "real" world and the "internet" world...
like the world of internet banking
and internet shopping?
that's not real... not real... at all!

because everyone just leeched on
to the comment sections:
all at once...
i might have commented here and there,
if i did: i usually came into
d.m. contact with the author,
and we would spiral...

commenting soon became equivalent
to: shouting over each other
with one side armed with a megaphone
and the other side armed with
dog whistles!

don't believe everything that's written
on the internet...
well god forbid you believe everything
that's printed in newspapers...
you sometimes wish the quality
of paper was better...
and you could apply reading
a tabloid daily press release
to the soft touch of a koala paper
to wipe your bum with...

alas: we live in the best of all possible
worlds: and that wish is not
allowed...

once upon a time on youtube...
and it really is: a once upon time on youtube
story...
once upon a time the algorithm was
smart... smart in that:
when you first opened the page...
however many times...
it wasn't the zombie static mirror
that it is today...
you could find things,
you could actually look for things...
by "things" i'm stressing: music...
you could find new music...

as i've already said: zombie static mirror...
if you don't know what you're looking
for? there's nothing you will find on it...
the former youtube algorithm had
a thesaurus quality to it...
you searched for red?
you'd get crimson too...
and cardinal... and all the other shades...
now?
unless you're using last.fm...

what are the chances?
nil.

i blame both sides...
both sides were orientating themselves
around the number of views...
god... that no. of views hard-on
measuring cock-size olympics!
both sides ruined what could otherwise
have remained:
a lovely day out for
any music junky...
to the church of vinyl and 80s c.d. disco
ball spins...
both then one side grew audacious
and arrogant...
the independent creators...
while the other side just threw money
and started spinning lies...

who was the best spin doctor of the
modern political age?
Alastair Campbell...
and thus came a point:
the indepent content creators are winning...
the legacy media is winning...
the carlos maza this...
zachary vorheis that...
james damore etc.,

i blame both sides for what happened
to the algorithm...
once upon a time in the fairytale of
what youtube was until 2016...
an intelligent algorithm could be akin
to a very knowledgeable music shop
assistant... joke being:
you were the knowledgeable customer
to begin with... so you were a winning duo...
it would acknowledge your already
vast knowledge and interest in music...
and feed you more...

and god... did it work...
how else would i come across modern
scandinavian folk?
akin to hedningarna (räven)...
how else would i decide to:
listen... classical music all and well...
but when you've been listening to it
from a very young age...
you're going to age and move toward
jazz and from jazz...
toward folk and medieval music...

ensemble für frühe musik augsburg...
if i were in some way in charge
of english pedagogy...
i would ensure to put a leash
on the high and mighty saxons
of these isles...
tempus transit gelidum:
their grammar is so akin...
ensemble for(the) early music (of) Augsburg...

i blame both sides for fucking up
a perfectly decent music library...
now? they raised their voices too loud it seems!
very much akin to the gluttony of boasting
upon having conquered the evil empire
of the u.s.s.r.... and now one has to
follow the commentary surrounding
california... so... nichts zu prahlerei,
zu sich freuen im?

wie ist der orangenschale
verglichen zu orangensaft?

there truly is an under represented community
of people using youtube...
or... at least there once was...
the people who used it to listen to music...
god forbid they would later buy
the music on vinyl!

youtubers... they call "it": "work"...
i don't even know what "it" was,
and later i should have been sent to a lunatic
asylum trying to tell a plumber
about the sort of "work" involved
in making youtube videos!

my jukebox is fucked...
i can listen to some youtubers... but they're only
something i listen to on my first two ciders
before ms. maber heads into the ginger jacuzzi...
and then... my jukebox is fucked...

em... yeah: the old you-tube did imply:
i was curating what music i might want to listen
to / find when i worked with the algorithm...
now? a static zombie mirror...
static! you poke it... it wobbles like
a panna cotta for a wink's worth of time...
before regaining its zombie shape...

would i love to return to a youtube before
i came across the existence of youtubers?
most certainly...
i don't even know how i came across them...
would i like to get my old jukebox back?
yes, thank you...
for what was once akin to the mines
of king solomon...
i now have someone who had to stress:
they had to have the conjunction of fuck
to be made equivalent to the conjunction: and.

this doesn't exist in the "real" world...
nor does internet banking nor internet shopping...

just like rhyme should not be forced...
what is rhyme, otherwise?
throwing a tennis ball against a brick
wall expecting a prefix to elevated the otherwise
rubric suffic cascade -
either in a couplet interchange or just plain dross...
perhaps in a trinity -esque of Dante:

poetry: a style of writing that employs
too many techniques in a very claustrophobic
amount of both time and space...
what of the classics - the grand narrative -
the conversational overtones?
if i'd want to look upon a cube
without minding its geometric parameters...
i'd head toward mecca and call
the kaaba... art...

what thrill from a rhyming spontaneity...
the sort of rhyming that is not practised in Eton
or Oxbridge... i've had enough
pedagogy learning curvatures to know
when memory is being erroded...

my first ever rebellion came as the rebellion
against rhyme as fixated as
a french coreset stiff relic...
rhyme is beside "looking pretty"...
it's to enforce a memory labyrinth...
how many... the thesaurus labyrinth
for crossword puzzles...
the rhyming labyrinth for the witty...
banking on anecdotes in bribed conversations
(interviews) with the press?

if rhyme it is to be? then rhyme out of
spontaneity!
no box... no thinking in it,
or thinking outside of it...
hell: no thinking about a box - period!

rhyming toward a zoological study
of man... the man with prefixes and the mundane
suffix artwork:
time and time again -
what could have been a cascading
pleasure to paint a waterfall -
would only become a scholastic: pain...
in the ass...
a sophisticated variation of:
boing boing boing...
pre- who?
pro- what?
oh! that ooh?!
indeed: this that!

some sort of reedeming flamboyance?!
surely even i know there must be something!
not today...
i blame both sides...
when the independent youtubers
invited the legacy media to invest in a youtube
presence... when the youtubers that
covered the news...
"covered" the news...
well... basically read articles anyone else
could have read...
and made their mind up...

this observation is so itching my chin
that i almost feel like ripping out my beard
to scratch it! perhaps if i massage the hairs...
by tensing them but not pulling them out
entirely this itch of the chin will subside...

my jukebox is fucked: i blame both sides;
will i gravitate toward toward the "real" world?
modern or archaic problems?
something to mind a critique of
archetypes or not critique of them in
modern psychology?

eh... psychology = philosophy for the masses...
psychology is a rubric variation of philosophy...
not point hinding grand words like:
logic! reason! brought to reason! etc.,

psychology is like philosophy contaminated
by reading the fucking horoscope...
and some rigid evolutionary- attaches...
to make it: a proper rigid history impasse /
cul de sac of: it all began like so...
and it all has to end: like so...

but sure... sure... this isn't the real, the "real" world...
nor is internet banking, nor is internet shopping...
nor is... not having received a postcard for
god knows how long...
that's not real...

am i bothered though... concerning how prostitution
became tame...
last time i checked...
you'd go into a brothel and touch something
akin to the five blindmen touching up an elephant...
i can understand the old method of whoring...
you paid for an hour...
you spent an hour feeling a cotton sweater...
you rubbed sandpaper against marble...
you were the water that was poured into
a glass filled with olive oil...
these days?! the THOTS? o.k..... i don't get it...

so the modern day... ahem... "prostitute"?
is all about making money from selling bath water?
sorry... what?!
when i think of a prostitute i think of:
she puts on the condom as she's sucking you off...
i think of dim lights...
i hardly think about cocoon one night stand sex
under the bedsheets...
i think about taking a shower together
washing her body...
i think about fucking her, not fucking her,
sharing a cigarette, having a bourbon sharpshooter
(4:1 ratio of bourbon to coca cola)...
talking...
smelling her hair...
using her bosom as a pillow...
listening to her heart beating...
kissing her hands...
kissing her eyelids shut...
kissing her mouth...

mind you... not an easy thing to get away with...
what? stealing kisses from prostitutes...
i'll let you know... it's not a hollywood cliche...
prostitutes have this very ancient code
of conduct: to not allow "customers" to kiss their lips...
lucky me... i kissed one and subsequently
sucked off a legion of cocks...

those aren't prostitutes...
they're scam artists... con artists...
the ideal madonna-whore complex representation...
she's thinking: i'm a whore...
and she behaves like a whore from behind
a video camera... but then she retorts:
i'm a madonna! well... what the eyes saw
eyes have not touched!
hard... isn't it?

i much prefer the old school of things...
you pay for what you can touch...
you pay for what you can mould...
you pay for what you can take in light of also
admiring a sculpture by a Rodin...
not something behind a screen that's
only touching itself...
and you have no access to...

hey... after all... it's not about the looks...
the prized ballerina doll...
come the beached whales...
the missing teeth...
the imperfections or perfections
akin to a francis bacon...
if sex is anything... it's like a franci bacon
painting... the body has to become
subjected to the most grotesque
modifications / exaggerations...
you're not fucking a still image, m'pet...
you're fucking a horror circus!
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