HOWL 2.0 for Fixoid I I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation Destroyed

HOWL 2.0 For Fixoid I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by tumblr, blogging hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the 4chan threads at dawn looking for some tranny dicks, angelheaded hipsters burning for the facebook heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of lcd screens floating across the tops of desks contemplating gifs, who bared their brains to Google Map how to get under the El and saw Cory Arcangels staggering on boing- boing posts illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Lauren Conrad and Blake Lively among the scholars of blog, who were expelled from the EFnets for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the Windows of the 95, who cowered in unshaven chatrooms in underwear, burning their CDs in wastebaskets and listening to the SouljaBoy Thru The Phone, who got busted in pubic forums returning through Flickr with a belt of JPG's for ffffound, who made fire in MS paint intels or drank martinis in Silicon Valley, death, or purgatoried their inbox night after night with Delicious, with Dashboard, with waking nightmares, Re- dbull and cock and endless balls online, incomparable blind; tweets of Amazon cloud and lightning in the modem leaping toward poles of Adam4Adam, illuminating all the mo- tionless world of internet Time between, P2P solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook- lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chain lettered themselves to email for the endless ride from Blogspot to holy Blogger on common meme until the noise of hard drives and hamster dances brought them down shuddering mouse-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of .ZIP, who sank all night in submarine light of Rhizome floated out and sat through the stale gif after noon in desolate Nastynets, listening to the crack of M.F Doom on the Pandora jukebox, who blogged continuously seventy hours from bed to desk to kitchen to toilet to desk to the App- le Store, lost battalion of platonic conversationalists tweeting on the stoops on fire escapes on windowsills on Empire State out of the moon, on Empire State out of the moon, ROTFL screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of YTMND's and YouTube's and Space Ghetto posts, whole intellects disgorged in Total Recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, memes for the Ad Agency cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen Live Journal leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Triangles In Space, suffering Email sweats and Terabyte disk-grind- ings and products of China under dirtstyle-with- drawal in notcot's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the MySpace blog wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes at keyboards keyboards keyboards racketing through spam toward lonesome render farms in Bang- ladesh night, who studied Zuckerberg Jobs Duke Nukem of the Disk telep- athy and bop DFA records because the cosmos in- stinctively vibrated at their fingers in iTunes, who loned it through the booksmarks of J.O.D.I seeking visionary internet angels who were visionary internet angels, who thought they were only mad when Ballmer gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in bandwagons with the Dipset of No- homo on the impulse of winter midnight torrent light smalltown rain, pause who lounged hungry and lonesome through Gawker seeking news or sex or soap, and followed the brilliant Segal to converse about LOL Cats and Shaq, a hopeless task, and so took ship to The Pirate Bay, who disappeared into the volcanoes of GeoCities leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dancing gifs and the Java and ASP of poetry scattered in fire place Homested, who reappeared on the Kanye West Blog investigating the M.I.A in leggings and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin sending out incom- prehensible Facebook invites, who burned Trapped in the Closet DVDs in their drives protesting the third season of Flavor of Love, who distributed Macromedia warez in Lime Wire weeping and undressing while the sirens of Lars Ulrich wailed them down, and wailed down Kazaa, and the Soulseak users also wailed, who broke down crying in blue screens of death naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who SurfTheChannel streamed The Wire and shrieked with delight in Aeron chairs for committing no crime but the shows own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the office and were dragged off the their desk waving Blackberrys and power- points, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly fixed gear cyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the hipsters, caresses of Bushwick and East Williamsburg love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in coffee shops and the Dolores parks and free WiFi spots scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up on the FAIL blog behind some Epic Fail subpar post when cute overload kitties and puppies came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their Lonelygirl15's to the three old shrews of fake Greg Goodfriend, the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar Ramesh Finders, the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and Miles Beckett, the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on his ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom, who masturbaited ecstatic and insatiate with a bookmark list of free porn a Redtube vid a Megarotic NSFW vid a clip- hunter vid and fell off their chair, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who downloaded the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to twitpic the snatch of the sun rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through miseed connections in Nerve.com stolen virgin-cards, Tuker Max, secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Douchebag-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & bougie backyards, movie house parties Beatrice Inns, on rooftops in cubicles or with gaunt Public Relations chicks in familiar L train lonely pet- ticoat upliftings & especially secret podcast-stations solipsisms of johns, & midtown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid MPEGs, were Ctl Alt Deleted in dreams, woke on a sudden Brooklyn, and picked themselves up out of basements hung over with Heartless mp3s and horrors of Xzibit Yo Dawg memes & stumbled to unemploy- ment websites, who blogged all night with their socks full of crud on their OS X docks waiting for a door in the blogosphere to open to a room full of Friend Requests and YouTube hits, who listened to Suicidal Tendancies on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the World Trade Center blue floodlight of the boom & their heads shall be crowned with turban in oblivion, who ate the Value Meals of the Dollar Menu or digested the iced lumps at the muddy bottom of the rivers of McFlurry, who wept at My Chemical Romance and The Streets with their iPods full of Onion podcasts and bad music, whose files sat in dropboxes breathing in the darkness under the 2GB file limit, and finally were downloaded to blare MSTRKRFT in their roommate cluttered lofts, who coughed up nakid pix on the fourth chan of /B/ crowned with flame wars under the carpal tunnel sky surrounded by orange crates of theology cliff notes, who typed all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who saw rotten.com animals lung heart feet tail Seinfeld & Taco Bell dreaming of the Terri Schiavo kingdom, who plunged themselves under Whole Foods trucks looking for a wireless signal, who threw their Storm™ 9530's off the roof to V-Cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Technology, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who got on Gawker three times successively unsuccess- fully, gave up and were forced to open thrift stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent Prada shoes on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the Ad Age Daily emails of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis- ter intelligent Art Directors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolut Reality campaigns, who signed off the Media Bistro list this actually hap- pened and trolled away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley ways & EBT, not even one free beer, who sang out of their Windows 7 in despair, fell out of the subway Windows XP, jumped in the filthy Red- hat, leaped on Snow Leopard, cried all over the manual, danced on broken Linux distros barefoot smashed 5.25 floppies of nostalgic Mac OS 7.1.2P floppies finished the Repair Disk Permissions and threw up groaning into the Disk Warrior, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal spindle whistles, who barreled down the information super highways of the past journeying to each other's keynote-Golgotha

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