
Discover more from The Man Who Speaks in Technicolor
Little Bits of Prose, Poetry and Essays.
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Old tales, new tales
paper and pixels.
Somewhere in a
technicolor dream
I found the shape
of today.
I found a world
of sleet and old
leaves walking
out of digital
mist. Ghosts
in the machine
or my life?
Hard to tell
and who even
cares? It all
comes apart at
the seams and
the end of text
threads.
Someone once
sang that I had
to “memorize
nine numbers and
deny I had a soul.”
That seems like
an underestimation
now, as we all fall
through the cracks
of our own algorithms.