'T W E E T .'

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by brevity,
over-connectedness, emotionally starving for attention,
dragging themselves through virtual communities at 3 am,
surrounded by stale pizza and neglected dreams,
looking for angry meaning, any meaning,
same hat wearing hipsters burning for shared
and skeptical approval from the holographic
projected dynamo in the technology of the era,
who weak connections and recession wounded
and directionless, sat up, micro-conversing in the
supernatural darkness of Wi-Fi-enabled cafes,
floating across the tops of cities, contemplating techno,
who bared their brains to the black void of new media
and the thought leaders and so called experts who
passed through community colleges with radiant,
prank playing eyes, hallucinating Seattle- and
Tarantino-like settings among pop scholars of war and change,
who dropped out in favor of following a creative muse,
publishing zines and obscene artworks on the
windows of the internet, who cowered in unshaven rooms,
in ironic superman underwear burning their money in
wastebaskets from the 1980s and listening to Nirvana
through paper thin walls, who got busted in their
grungy beards riding the Metro through Shinjuku station,
who ate digital in painted hotels or drank Elmer's glue
in secret alleyways, death or purgatoried their torsos
with tattoos taking the place of dreams,
that turned into nightmares, because there are
no dreams in the New Immediacy, incomparably blind
to reality, inventing the new reality, through hollow
creations fed through illuminated screens.
Screens of shuttering tag clouds and image thumbnails
lightning in the mind surfing towards Boards of Canada
and Guevara, illuminating all the frozen matrices of time between,
megabyted solidities of borders and yesterday's
backyard wiffleball dawns, downloaded drunkenness
over rooftops, digital storefronts of flickering flash,
a sun and moon of programming joyrides
sending vibrations to mobile devices set on manner mode
during twittering wintering dusks of Peduca,
ashtray rantings and coffee stains that hid the mind,
who bound themselves to wireless devices
for an endless ride of opiated information from CNN.com
and Google on sugary highs until the noise of modems
and fax machines brought them down shuddering,
with limited and vulgar verbiage to comment threads,
battered bleak of shared brain devoid of brilliance
in the drear light of a monitor, who sank all night
in interface's light of Pabst floated out and sat through
the stale sake afternoon in desolate pizza parlors,
listening to the crack of doom on separate nuclear iPods,
who texted continuously 140 characters at a time
from park to pond to bar to MOMA to Brooklyn Bridge
lost battalion of platonic laconic self-proclaimed journalists
committed to a revolution of information,
jumping down the stoops off of R&B album covers
out of the late 1980s, tweeting their screaming
vomiting whispering facts and advices
and anecdotes of lunchtime sandwiches
and cat antics on couches with eyeballs following
and shockwaves of analytics and of authority
and finding your passion and other jargon,
whole intellects underscored and wiped clean
in the total recall 24/7 365 assault
all under the gaze of once brilliant eyes.

LINSANITY

Linsanity is not Jeremy Lin.

Linsanity is not a nickname, meme or trending topic.
Linsanity is something much bigger:

Linsanity is unexpected human triumph.

Linsanity is the dream we all have that talent is more important
than systems, politics, connections or The so-called Man.

Linsanity is when the establishment is profoundly shaken.

Linsanity is when Spike Lee and a grandmother
in Pasadena start tweeting about the same thing.

Linsanity is when something really human happens in
a previously very fabricated set of circumstances.

Linsanity is being crazy enough to take the opportunity in front of you.

Linsanity is a state of defying pressure and
creating a new set of wildly unexpected expectations.

Linsanity is a little piece of imagination that
tickles us when it spontaneously becomes real.

Linsanity is stranger than fiction.

Linsanity would be a cheesy unbelievable Hollywood movie.
But since it's real, it's inspiring and extraordinary.

Linsanity is the intersection of hyperbole and truth.

Linsanity is hope personified.

I hope there is no cure for our case of Linsanity.

A COVER LETTER FROM AN ART MAJOR SEEKING A JOB THAT LITERALLY REQUIRES HIM TO APPLY THE SKILLS HE LEARNED IN SCHOOL.

OYL IN TOKYO
A blog that covers culture, art, design in Tokyo. Here you will find commentary, street snaps and documentary footage of daily life from the world's most hyperactive city. Jump to Oyl In Tokyo on Tumblr.