I open the lid of my Macbook Pro I watch pop music videos on YouTube By Kanye West and Miley Cyrus I don't have to search Because the suggestions bar guides me The suggestions bar knows me better than ever before And it's almost like love
Like the feeling of intense belonging When a barmaid addresses you by name And you know in some way you have transcended I move passively from song to song Piloted by the light of the suggestions bar Passing on the way dreadlocks of bright coloured hair Lazy socio-political statements And face tattoos Occasionally interrupted by Aubrey Plaza clickbait And ASMR videos
On my iPhone I play games by Ketchapp and Voodoo I scroll through Instagram Another close algorithmic friend of mine Making sure I see the posts of highest importance first I move through the tanned bikinied bodies of girls I knew from secondary school Who exist now to me only as ornaments Mounted on the inner wall of my skull as I scroll And who disappear the moment I lock my iPhone
I pass through Southeast Asia Through enlightened gap-years Each interchangeable with the last American sneakers on Vietnam soil Mounted on mopeds All captured on bum bag disposable cameras
Boomtown festival survivors Gurning and glittered In Sector 9 at 8 am My first urinary tract infection Every straight guy at Pride And every white girl at Notting Hill carnival Who are all adorned in Christian Dior And nothing was holy