deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pitching the replacement
The salesman's back, his slick hair combed, a thin smile on his cracked lips. They name him 'The Poacher' here. My name, well,
my name is Mr. A. I'm sleep deprived,
I've been up almost seventy-two fucking hours
and I've pissed myself drunk.
It's been one of those days, you know?
Wife told me she was leaving three days ago,
I fucked some bird, I was blind drunk and
the tease had blue-balled me then fucked off like a slut.
Anyway, this salesman starts chatting at me and I can't remember how I ended up here... His eyes glisten like wicked diamonds. He's the sort who's been in the job a while.
"The preference is,
when addressing robots,
you slide a little to the left,
behind the counters when you first meet them - they do not appreciate eye contact.
When you wish to set her
play with the controls,
confront her in a sharp, stern manner
and move her to direct positions.
You need to
break the fucker in
without sympathy,
without compassion.
Break her, Mr. A.
If twitches occur these items are still in their early
stages. Feel free to send her back,
I will deactivate her.
Deactivate her... Ah, that's a point
she can scream, there are dials for that. Here and here.
She can feel things
but you can turn the dramatics off.
She won't be paranoid or angry or tired or get that bullshit once a month.
The things I shouldn't tell you?
Well, her silence...
Her silence will fill the room.
It'll filter through your white wash walls
and cause you to smoke
due to the intense reality of your life and how it came to this shite,
to this pit of false waste and tar.
This, these dolls my friend, are where the good come to die as emotionless cells.
We're all keeping time,
keeping appearance,
keeping sane.
We're locked in the circuits of a technological warfare.
We are the future, kid.
I know...
We both know what's coming..."
He was right and even though I'd fucked up my marriage
and I'd pissed myself and I'd been up seventy-two
fucking hours
I couldn't take the perfect woman home.
Replacements, hey?
my name is Mr. A. I'm sleep deprived,
I've been up almost seventy-two fucking hours
and I've pissed myself drunk.
It's been one of those days, you know?
Wife told me she was leaving three days ago,
I fucked some bird, I was blind drunk and
the tease had blue-balled me then fucked off like a slut.
Anyway, this salesman starts chatting at me and I can't remember how I ended up here... His eyes glisten like wicked diamonds. He's the sort who's been in the job a while.
"The preference is,
when addressing robots,
you slide a little to the left,
behind the counters when you first meet them - they do not appreciate eye contact.
When you wish to set her
play with the controls,
confront her in a sharp, stern manner
and move her to direct positions.
You need to
break the fucker in
without sympathy,
without compassion.
Break her, Mr. A.
If twitches occur these items are still in their early
stages. Feel free to send her back,
I will deactivate her.
Deactivate her... Ah, that's a point
she can scream, there are dials for that. Here and here.
She can feel things
but you can turn the dramatics off.
She won't be paranoid or angry or tired or get that bullshit once a month.
The things I shouldn't tell you?
Well, her silence...
Her silence will fill the room.
It'll filter through your white wash walls
and cause you to smoke
due to the intense reality of your life and how it came to this shite,
to this pit of false waste and tar.
This, these dolls my friend, are where the good come to die as emotionless cells.
We're all keeping time,
keeping appearance,
keeping sane.
We're locked in the circuits of a technological warfare.
We are the future, kid.
I know...
We both know what's coming..."
He was right and even though I'd fucked up my marriage
and I'd pissed myself and I'd been up seventy-two
fucking hours
I couldn't take the perfect woman home.
Replacements, hey?
Published 9th Apr 2012
| Edited 10th Apr 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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comments 12
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
"The preference is,
when speaking to robots,
you slide a little to the left,
behind the counters - they do not appreciate eye contact.
When you wish to set her
play the controls,
address her in a sharp, stern manner
and move her to direct positions,
break the fucker in
without sympathy."
flipping love this!
I get a little confused between the I's,Her',She's, and certainly Mr.A- but I might have missed something. I understand the programming aspects, and makes for a decent read, but for me it reads at a different momentum than the first stanza(or paragraph in this case maybe?), which packs a wallop.
edit: why shadows?
when speaking to robots,
you slide a little to the left,
behind the counters - they do not appreciate eye contact.
When you wish to set her
play the controls,
address her in a sharp, stern manner
and move her to direct positions,
break the fucker in
without sympathy."
flipping love this!
I get a little confused between the I's,Her',She's, and certainly Mr.A- but I might have missed something. I understand the programming aspects, and makes for a decent read, but for me it reads at a different momentum than the first stanza(or paragraph in this case maybe?), which packs a wallop.
edit: why shadows?
Thank you!
What I was heading for was the idea of shadows of former relationships full of colour and intensity as apposed to the empty mechanics of 'the replacement.' Mr. A pays homage to the real story that made the poem, I tend to always add one very direct reference in all my poems.
What I was heading for was the idea of shadows of former relationships full of colour and intensity as apposed to the empty mechanics of 'the replacement.' Mr. A pays homage to the real story that made the poem, I tend to always add one very direct reference in all my poems.
10th Apr 2012 00:06am
damn it LA. How do you tear my heart out every time you submit a new poem?
Perhaps the answer's hidden behind the last line.
Perhaps the answer's hidden behind the last line.
10th Apr 2012 00:20am
Anonymous
10th Apr 2012 00:23am
...in that there is not enough coherent story for me to see where you are going. Introduce your characters, and always make the assumption that no-one knows your back-story.
Take me along for the ride, lift the curtains, create a frame for the reader so that, even if the story is to remain cloudy, the setting is firm.
Your writing is powerful, but no even LA can hold a write together when the foundations haven't been built.
DP
Take me along for the ride, lift the curtains, create a frame for the reader so that, even if the story is to remain cloudy, the setting is firm.
Your writing is powerful, but no even LA can hold a write together when the foundations haven't been built.
DP
10th Apr 2012 00:39am
Hey, thank you, man. It's honest - any better or have I screwed it up even more?
Anonymous
10th Apr 2012 00:49am
Fuck yeah...much improved. I had no idea that this was what you were writing about....sort of a combination of Isaac Asimov and Noir...like it.
Well done on the re-boot, my dear.
DP
Well done on the re-boot, my dear.
DP
10th Apr 2012 11:09am
10th Apr 2012 2:07am
Well I don't know, but this poem sure has some significant weight behind it. Maybe it seems all the more powerful by sneaking up in a way I never expected. I can only imagine that if you were to describe the concept to someone they'd think it made no sense... but now to see it written it makes its own sense and does so very eloquently. Also when some writers take on the voice of the opposite gender, you get the feel that they are just faking the lines. Not the case here. Hell I almost pissed myself laughing.
Thank you, SB. I got the idea from another terrible partner and a music video.
10th Apr 2012 2:46am
this came straight of the shadows. Nice, keeps that initial punch I liked earlier, but now i feel familiar with who where and why this is happening
10th Apr 2012 11:09am
