We've been replaced by avatars,
our bodies left for dead.
Shambling flesh-space corpses,
being socially drip fed.
We've become nothing more
than profile picture icons.
Reduced to pretty faces,
for someone to swipe right on.
I've got touchscreen feelings,
so, baby, please press like,
and I'll leap into a manic dance
that'll surely last the night.
I look up from screens,
to see reality.
But it's just more one's and zeroes,
in this insane virtuality.
I'm buffering
and it's killing me (x3)
Please Restart me
CTRL ALT DEL
When I'm online,
I compress what I see.
A 15” window
is more than big enough for me.
Without it, the real world
can overwhelm me.
It's all too still,
too stationary.
It's stillness builds
copies upon copies.
Each copy of a copy
brings it's own noises.
The more still the world is
the less my mind is.
I'm focussed on nothing,
everything is unfocussed.
I'm buffering
and it's killing me
(x3)
Please Restart me
CTRL ALT DEL
(x3)
My eyes become browsers
my fingers the keys.
Too slow, please restart me
CTRL ALT DELETE.
Each movement, each glance,
each noise and each smell;
their volume, size
and importance they all swell.
In their increasing
meaningfulness,
they all become
meaningless.
I sit here,
a voyeur of my life.
Watching you hacking,
feeling astrife.
--
Not sure where my cursor is,
it's floating somewhere off-screen,
Sitting here blue-screening
wanting to scream.
But there's not a mouth option
on the book of faces.
So all of my emotions
they stay locked in stasis.
I don't make a sound
not a single peep.
Cos I try to hear
the sound of my heartbeat.
But I am automaton,
watch me dance.
Put in a penny
and twist the crank.
I wish I knew the code
to edit my sight.
To see with clarity
which virus I have to fight.
Memory banks close down,
I don't have clearance to see.
Permission is denied.
Because there is no me.
Just a ghost,
inside a machine.
Alabaster, XY,
no eyeholes, bedsheet.
Abbrev is a tall creature than can be seen huddled around small glowing screen, nodding its head to hypnotic beats and
synthesised waveforms.
Abbrev writes and produces it's tracks single-handedly.
Abbrev likes the basic, yet strange sounds. Abbrev's tracks all seem to start one way and end another. Abbrev likes to experiment and likes to write and record within a week....more
Far-out exotica from this aptly named group—the kind of music George Jetson might play while unwinding with a martini. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 13, 2022