This Back World Where I Live

@tomfordvelvetorchid

turn the sound on for the love of god

No the music honestly killed me

DoN’T TUrN ThE SOuNd ON

I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

I met a programmer the other day Who said “A vast and blocky plastic box Stands in my workspace; in it, so they say Half-dead, a chip from Intel lies, which clocks 566 M-hertz; the CD drive And fifteen gigs, and bundled AOL Must have seemed neat when Reagan was alive But now the stickers on its lifeless shell Seem only fit sad memories to revive And on the light beige case are words that say: "THIS COMPUTER IS NEVER OBSOLETE SURF! INVEST! EMAIL! TYPE! SHOP! TRAVEL! PLAY!” The monitor is dark; near its defeat My new and shiny MacBook whirs away

A mood

@thisbackworld

for context, this is what I am

“…then you have them fold up their hands like a nice coffin, taking a nap in a vampire for a few centuries.”