Archimedeeeees!
the ipod is dead
long live the ipod
I....I've always been stalwart in denying my parents claims that I'm addicted to technology. Naysayer, I, claiming that I could exist just fine without such trinkets. But in this crazy old world with so few sounds naturally emitting from trees that sounds like Steve Aoki tearing it the fuuuuck up with some rippin' dance beats, a girl realizes that she's much more dependent on music and music-giving technobeasts than she realized.
Where is the funk in my life, Archimedes, now that you've crapped out on me? Where are my delusional and ravings archetypal cabaret punk loves? Where are the infectious beats of dancing yesteryear, the soaring Broadway tunes that I once moved to and belted with such fervor? Immortal Technique, and all the eloquent crudity you represent, do you still resonate in the abadoned innards of my once-loving iPod, now cold in death and desolation? I long for the searing ballads of Billy Joel that once told of your love for me.
Once upon a time, I could be cheered by the sight of your clean, white face. I could raise my spirits at a glimpse of the shining, multi-colored protective sheaf I place you in, reminiscent of candy and childhood. Now....to look upon you is to look upon the face of a lost love. Clementine, sweet Clementine, lost to the frothing waves of a sea of shitty technological happenstance.
And still, as if to clutch me to you, I hear the death rattle of your attempts to raise one final song from the depths of your final moments. Do not trouble yourself, sweet iPod. Let my memories of your glory days linger, as you pass, rather than leave me frustrated with a half-alive monster - a cruel travesty of what you once were.
Verily, you have meant too much to me. Loathe am I to give my heart again to another...with such....alacrity....
My sorrow moves me to silence. Weep now, livejournal, for friends fallen.
long live the ipod
I....I've always been stalwart in denying my parents claims that I'm addicted to technology. Naysayer, I, claiming that I could exist just fine without such trinkets. But in this crazy old world with so few sounds naturally emitting from trees that sounds like Steve Aoki tearing it the fuuuuck up with some rippin' dance beats, a girl realizes that she's much more dependent on music and music-giving technobeasts than she realized.
Where is the funk in my life, Archimedes, now that you've crapped out on me? Where are my delusional and ravings archetypal cabaret punk loves? Where are the infectious beats of dancing yesteryear, the soaring Broadway tunes that I once moved to and belted with such fervor? Immortal Technique, and all the eloquent crudity you represent, do you still resonate in the abadoned innards of my once-loving iPod, now cold in death and desolation? I long for the searing ballads of Billy Joel that once told of your love for me.
Once upon a time, I could be cheered by the sight of your clean, white face. I could raise my spirits at a glimpse of the shining, multi-colored protective sheaf I place you in, reminiscent of candy and childhood. Now....to look upon you is to look upon the face of a lost love. Clementine, sweet Clementine, lost to the frothing waves of a sea of shitty technological happenstance.
And still, as if to clutch me to you, I hear the death rattle of your attempts to raise one final song from the depths of your final moments. Do not trouble yourself, sweet iPod. Let my memories of your glory days linger, as you pass, rather than leave me frustrated with a half-alive monster - a cruel travesty of what you once were.
Verily, you have meant too much to me. Loathe am I to give my heart again to another...with such....alacrity....
My sorrow moves me to silence. Weep now, livejournal, for friends fallen.