Is the mass-produced smartphone that fails in a year
A fit toy to include in a box of corn flakes?
When it, on its own, places calls, what should I do?
Those damned things have a sex life. They’re willing to screw
With an old, flesh and blood man. They make their mistakes
Due to vengeful young code geeks whose motives are clear.
My solution is Fuck It! I’m on my way out
So I’d give a sick rat’s ass were I to be kind.
But I’m not. I am fed up with technology
Engineered to insult and to embarrass me.
Fuck this Damned generation, ill-mannered and blind
To what is truly social. Clearly you have doubt.
I don’t need a damned ‘escort’ to hurry me on
To my ending. But Fuck It! Your ways can’t be changed.
Degradation of humanness, as my demise,
Is a function of nature. That’s not a surprise.
Obsolescence, the dark cloud that keeps me estranged
To the real world, will be here long after I’m gone.