we were loving in Indian Summer sweating
exasperated puffs
we were drinking words in megabytes
We, drunken prophets,
we're future synonyms of conviction of triumph
traded for intelligent hours poring over shit we dint ask for
but it came to us anyway and we wolfed down irrelevant articles of cats and Bollywood
and distance kept slicing off
we reached nearer to where we set away from
flesh decayed in microns and death catches us little or may be it will meet us with a truck tyre over our head
my victories are bored enough with chaos of social network to shout in darknet
"I am chthulu, I am Tyler, I am kalki riding my white electric horse, I keep flaming sword in my zip and piss fire, I kill orphans of war zone and I support capitalist natural selection of underground lab discoveries and open access for knowledge. I am the geek pirate robbing servers.
For money, for truth, out of sheer boredom, for retro inquiries into faux-metaphysics, I will delete entire human futures and when time will flow back from negative singularity, our ancestors will be indebted to me."
my mind tied in a sadomasochistic duel with the internet and my brain fried
guilt of a future ghost rises from my sweat and semen
and denies me any gratification of age
I have to be here
caged in sick humid golden morning against the bus window and opposite world dies and sleeps into drunken night
give them blessing of the kid and phantasm
bright blue phantasm which sneaks up in cold night
forced under mile long pillows of flashing headlight
that phantasm which is my aborted child
I will be here to see a permanent dawn of daily new Suns
yesterday
or was it tomorrow again?