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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
May 24, 2008
Hold the Line, by =arctoa, makes a statement using something many of us are familiar with: the cold monotone on the other end of the line.
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Literature Text
riiiing.
riiiing.
riiiing.
riii-ck.
"Greetings, caller.
This is an automated service:
Please be patient while we process
your personal details,
and place your call on
hold,"
-- Hold on to a
final call for the faithless,
as fingers twitch a tuneless tattoo
upon graffiti casings; stacatto codecs
broadcast in desperation to
anyone, anywhere...
"Your continued custom
is our conscious concern.
One of our representatives
shall take the time to
speak-"
-- Speak in riddles,
subtle stranglehold puzzles
that tie in tangled, intricate knots
around this line against my throat.
I'm strung-out and up,
ready to hang
"-with you."
And then:
then they strike out
with that god-awful muzak;
recycled canned dissonance
that's designed to decay
and echoes hollow
with the incantation:
"Hello Sir/Madam,
my name is (irrelevant).
How may I be of service?"
One voice of billions,
that drones incessantly 'neath
stoic, stone-hearted heavens,
And I've
Had enough.
Over and out
Of control.
click.
riiiing.
riiiing.
riii-ck.
"Greetings, caller.
This is an automated service:
Please be patient while we process
your personal details,
and place your call on
hold,"
-- Hold on to a
final call for the faithless,
as fingers twitch a tuneless tattoo
upon graffiti casings; stacatto codecs
broadcast in desperation to
anyone, anywhere...
"Your continued custom
is our conscious concern.
One of our representatives
shall take the time to
speak-"
-- Speak in riddles,
subtle stranglehold puzzles
that tie in tangled, intricate knots
around this line against my throat.
I'm strung-out and up,
ready to hang
"-with you."
And then:
then they strike out
with that god-awful muzak;
recycled canned dissonance
that's designed to decay
and echoes hollow
with the incantation:
"Hello Sir/Madam,
my name is (irrelevant).
How may I be of service?"
One voice of billions,
that drones incessantly 'neath
stoic, stone-hearted heavens,
And I've
Had enough.
Over and out
Of control.
click.
Literature
Who Cares About...?
WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR MISTRESS' EYES?
(A Rebuttal to Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX)
Why should it matter in the least if her
Lips are coral red or pale pink?
If suntanned breasts are worrying you, sir,
You need your head examined, one would think.
And you honestly believe her cheeks and hair
Detract because they differ from the norm?
I doubt you'd find another who would care;
For as they are, they are indeed well-formed.
As to her breath and voice, I will concede
That reeks and rasps as adjectives fit well;
But Listerine will satisfy her need,
And huskiness in speech, a flaw? Do tell!
You love her, faults and all, or so you've said—
Literature
The Tempo
A while back a colleague of mine brought up in a conversation that somewhere in the world someone dies with every second that passes by. On the other side of that coin, he said, every second someone is born. He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense that there be some sort of universal scale of grief and happiness, life and death. I don’t know for sure that what he said was true, but today there’s two particular seconds I can’t seem to get off my mind.
I used to have this business associate by the name of James Silver. He was pretty young to be as far along as he was. I can’t honestly say that he h
Literature
affection drive
If I recycled
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.
Suggested Collections
Updated 25/11/2007 @ 15:31
Onwards with the re-submission of old associated visual works!
The words here were originally written in August 2005 and then severely re-worked in March 2006, but are barely recognisable now to what they were then. They've been expanded upon substantially, and while I'm still not entirely happy with how it has turned out it's much more representative of something worthwhile than the shoddy collection of syllables that were present previous to this upheaval.
As is patently obvious, I have a severe problem with using the telephone. I also have issues with much of what telephones represent; a vacuous method of communication at best. Of course, I might just think that because I am reduced to a stuttering wreck when I attempt to converse via one.
© 2007 - 2024 arctoa
Comments123
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I am dieing of love. This is fabulous. Loved it.