I’ve never felt comfortable walking through cemeteries.
Tombstones of our digital journeys served to me
as innocent suggestions.
A cartoon horse being lead to slaughter.
and what’s the name of that kid from Stranger Things?
No, not that one, the one with the lisp.

When you realise I am only 63% compatible
with your previous experiences
change my passwords and put the
sceptre of an important religious figurehead
through my IPad. I want to forget you

in an iconoclastic way. Watching The Holy Grail
on VHS while drinking Smirnoff
out of the actual Holy Grail.

But this isn’t some technophobic poem about how we’re more
connected than ever but also more alone.
Notifications are my love language.

When you leave me pull the fibre out of my walls,
leave my router at a haunted yard sale,
slumped behind tape decks waiting
for an analogue séance.

Changes are just endings impersonating progress.
Like Blockbuster Video
restructuring itself out of existence
or online encyclopaedias.

I wish my ass was a USB port.
I wish all the world’s content could be
systematically pumped into me. I wish
I warranted repeat viewings.

Algorithms tell me I’ll get hooked on this gritty new drama
about a troubled marketing exec who’s trying to juggle
being weirdly handsome with his secret, underground
juggling career. But I can never watch Jon Hamm
stare broodingly at pictures of Coke
cans without thinking about every
time the power went out at 2:00am
and we became each other’s battery.

There’s no value in nostalgia.
It’s like being horny for fax machines
or the days when you could only see
Dame Maggie Smith glower in historically accurate
disapproval once a week at 8:30pm while being
periodically interrupted by the Briscoes lady.

The difference between emotional and artificial intelligence
is only one has the grace to let you forget.


You previously watched: me forgetting we had dinner plans with your parents
How about: supporting me selflessly through difficult periods
You liked: being taken for granted and emotional indifference
Why not try: giving me a second chance

When you leave take the Netflix account with you.
Watch hours of meet cutes and missed connections.
Reconfigure your habits until
every trace of me is buried so deep
no amount of cliff-hangers or new seasons
could ever reach the surface.