High Tech Luddite

High tech Luddite, you might well say
Finally fed up, it was was my then-fiancée
Who got me my first mobile phone that Independence Day
Tired as she was, frankly, about my anti-social ways
She put me on the Friends-and-Family plan and said "Say no more"
Reader, I married her, months later, and carried her across the door

I work with cutting edge software but continue to be a late adopter
Friends often remark about my puzzling inertia
Looks of concern and wonder, as if I were allergic
To all those shiny gadgets, must-haves, and flashy widgets
Those social networks, elite apps, and newfangled platforms
I'm always out of the loop and unaware of the latest norms
I guess that I'm altogether immune to the fear of missing out
And trust that when I do move they'll have finally worked out the bugs

Vinyl and hefty speakers, my sound system dates from a bygone era
When veritable dinosaurs roamed the land along with other chimera
The kids joke that I write in my dusty notebooks with ancient quills
Preferring manual over automatic as I do, an aesthetic of low frills
This studied indifference has served me well but sometimes beggars can't be choosers
Sixteen years later, I finally got the courage to ask to be an authorized user
For, with a cracked screen and sharp spikes that make it a danger zone,
Apparently I still need permission in order to upgrade my vintage phone

Old School, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Old school by Lucky Mensah
• Obsolete by Mc Solaar
• A bit old-fashioned by Babyface
• Rock me tonight (for old times's sake) by Freddie Jackson
• Old fashioned by Cee-Lo
• I'm old fashioned by John Coltrane
• Flavour of the old school by Beverly Knight
• Old school by CunninLynguists
• Old school feeling by Rebelution
• Old school by Burning Spear

File under: humour, technology, adoption, culture, life, observation, perception, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 15, 2022

Such Is Our Asylum

A carapace of insight
Built incrementally and revisited anew
An exoskeleton of wordplay
Whose affirmation frames our point of view

A dense network of thought
Fleshing out an informational mesh
Such is our asylum
There's no time for buyer's remorse

Snap judgements galore, we write our own stories
Judicious case studies, arguments by analogy
Feverishly devising impressionistic narratives
Changing the frame with our oblique perspectives

It's a reflection of these fragments of identity
Collecting pieces of a dream in search of community
Crumbs of solace gathered from probing conversation
Forging liminal links while chasing word fugitives

And so we weave together strands of allusion
Erecting barriers of layered protection
A comfort suite of irrepressible storytelling
Refining the mesh that is social living

Toli Theme, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, consider this a musical manifesto of sorts. (spotify version)

• Strategy by Archie Bell & The Dells
• Stories by Carleen Anderson
• Conception by Black Thought
• Searching by Roy Ayers
• Social Living by Burning Spear
• Weaver of Dreams by Kenny Burrell

See previously: Such is my Asylum

...

The book is done.

This note concludes concludes another collection of toli, my fourth collection of poems, a year in the life. I started May 2021 with The Lobby and ending on May 2022 with another covidious folktale. It took in tragedy and its aftermath in South Africa and Ghana as well as my usual meditations on small things. Hopefully it will escape hypertext into physical form sometime soon... I call it Buyer's Remorse.


File under: culture, observation, perception, strategy, creative process, writing, Buyer's Remorse, poetry, toli

Writing log: March 23, 2022

The Fleeting Canvas

While some record the imprint of history
Gathering impressions in weekly tallies
Others move forward without regret
The swinging doors closing behind them

Waiting chambers of yore become empty nests
Lines drawn with one stroke, resolute, with no makeovers
Passing murmurs, and no time for contemplation
The flowing streams wash over rough stones

Passengers in a season of migration
Pursuing the elusive gifts of time
Glimmers, flashes of the treasures of fate
Prospecting for liberation in the river bed

A glimpse of self with its fractured reflection
Instant love, living in the moment
A prelude to adoration and devotion
Swaying, rustling curves in motion

Recapturing sensations that once left you breathless
Luxuriating in the waning passions of seasoned flesh
To slow down, abide, and truly savor change
And in the aftermath, pause fitfully for reflection

Did you ever feel butterflies in your heart?
The lightness of the sensation, susurration
A whisper is ephemeral but love is lasting
And bold. To know its pathways. Recognition

Tracing patterns of exchange in coarse sand
The transient glow of bite-sized triumphs
Putting aside the slights and misunderstandings
A wave washes over the pebble beach

From silvery gray to deep black, gradations
Control measures, to master the brush stroke
Love again, weighed against disposable feelings
Love. The texture of a life, the fleeting canvas

Liquid Soul, a playlist

A soundtrack for this grace note. Three hours of langourous, elliptical soul. Dissolve in the grooves, let them wash over you. (spotify version)

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time.

File under: sensory, culture, observation, perception, Buyer's Remorse, emotion, lyricism, life, love, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: April 9, 2022