Sunday, September 11, 2011

Netaphor Capitalism


The browser takes off its hat.
The code falls to its knees.
Bits lolligag and gradually drift.
A ping is sent without return.
A subroutine is putting on a mask.
A domain is being unreachable.
An address is listening for a pulse.
A connection is set in stone.
That open window’s ears are burning.
This skin is getting its architecture back.
The player is idle on the desktop.
The files are laying all over the place.
The folders are taking our remaining money into small sacks.

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