Four Years of Google+

As Google+ chief architect Yonatan Zunger points out, today is the fourth anniversary of Google+. As I mentioned in my comment, I'll have been on G+ for four years, having followed Louis Gray with the FriendFeeders on day 2. I admit that, except for posting my blog entries and leaving the occasional comment, I haven't been active there much lately; I started with Twitter, and I still mostly hang out there. But unlike Facebook, which I never liked in the first place, I've never been fully absent from G+ for long, even if I didn't actually post.

What I always liked about G+ is the conversations, which don't descend into flame wars anywhere near as much as on Facebook. And the photographers, who were the most interesting part in the early days and who were the original reason Communities got started. And the ease of posting my blog entries, something that got very frustrating on Facebook just because Zuck hates Google.

So I've decided that now would be a good time to make myself more present there again. That means more uploading (and taking) photos, more poems (and song lyrics too, as 50 Songs in 90 Days is starting on July 4), more article links, and whatever songs and videos I feel the whim to post. Not that I'm abandoning Twitter; I'm still there, and I might even interpost.

Oh, and that "ghost town" they keep talking about in the tech media? Well, I must be seeing one hell of a lot of ghosts in my feed.

Here I come...

Man Mountains (He Died Big) -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #4

dudebro jams the needle in his arm
shoots up manjuice like a junkie
gonna make himself a manmountain
 bigger & meaner than you
gonna grow big die big gonna
 die young die strong dianabol
steroids turning muscles into mountains
shrinking his dick his balls & his brain &
 growing his boobs big
  & beautiful

big beautiful boobs bouncing bare
he goes fulltilt emo on your wimp ass
  beats you up
 screaming like a mad bull
 calling you faggot mangina
   & girl
furious fists flailing free in all directions
roidrage manmountain muscles straining
tries to strangle you with his
 sixty inch pythons
tries to smother you between the
 mountains on his chest

you land one big blow between his bitchtits
fivefinger deathpunch explodes his heart
he clutches the hole in his mountainous chest
flailing staggering moaning dying
die young die strong dianabol
 death in the lockerroom
inert mass on the lockerroom floor with
 massive manmountain muscles &
  big bare beautiful boobs
epitaph for dudebro
he died big

Copyright © 2015 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.

Jesus in My Teeth -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #3

I saw Jesus in my teeth
In the X-ray my dentist took
Right there in a wisdom tooth
He can’t take it out now
While Jesus is sanctifying me
Through His presence in the X-ray
  of my tooth

I saw Jesus in a pancake
He snuck onto the griddle somehow
At the restaurant where I was having breakfast
Downing a gallon of drip coffee and
Eating my bacon and eggs and bacon
 and pancakes
  and bacon
(Did I tell you how much I love bacon?)
And there He was,
 Jesus, the Lord
 appearing to me
  in my pancake
And so I ate Him

I’ve got Jesus in my tummy
I ate His flesh and drank His blood
 as bread and wine
  at Mass
He appeared to me in my pancakes
 and I ate Him
He appeared to me in my French toast
 and I ate Him
He appeared to me in my hot cross bun
 and I ate Him
He tasted oh so heavenly good
Like the Son of God should
And now He sanctifies my tummy
 till He’s digested
And I must eat and drink Him
  again

Copyright © 2015 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.

Posin' -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #2

please allow me 2 introduce myself im
nonentity drummer pikki pockett
  prettyboy poser
sellin out rocknroll 2 the man
sellin my soul 4 big bucks
  & bad drugs
 brought 2 u by
 sponsored by
 dont think shut up & buy
 xtra special offer
 get urs today
 i got mine
 im lookin @ u
 i got all ur money
 i know u luv me
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
got my invisible blackface on
cuz im playin 4 the man
sellout rocker playin 4 fame
  big bucks
  & bad drugs
modern minstrel steady posin
for the amusement of the oligarchs.

lookit all the old old rockers
lookin like dear old dad who
  smashed ya rekkids
 (do u remember?
  u put him in a nursing home)
where o where have the
 rocknroll rebels gone
  from days gone by
 gone baby gone
gone far far away
to the nursing home
 with the nice white men
 in their clean white coats
or the boardrooms of the oligarchs
  sellin out
im lookin @ u daltrey & townshend
 who sold out
 u thats who
 i dont believe in who
  no mo
never trust anyone over a million
sellin out rocknroll
no more screams & riots only
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
sellout rockers steady posin
for the amusement of the oligarchs.

minstrelsy will never die
alive & still dyin
 long as there b oligarchs
fashion industrial complex
lookin far & wide 4 the
perfect face & perfect bum 2 sell out
 rocknroll &
  hiphop too
im lookin @ u
 iggy azalea
 from australia
  pretty-pretty bird
  with ur afroamerica ghetto gear
  & no bum no brain no clue
  wearin ya blackface
  inside
pretentious posette steady posin
for the amusement of the
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
oligarchs.

rocknroll & hiphop b dead dead dead
mergered & assassinated by the
 fashion industrial complex
givin the people the finger & the
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
  clap.
for the amusement of the oligarchs
  in the name of
 free enterprise
 intellectual property
 infinite cheap profit
  & absolute power
dollin u up in hifashion bluesuede
  concrete galoshes
serenaded 2 the bottom of the hudson
 under landscraper wallstreet view
or london thames cuttin thru airstrip 1
 kingdom of lord murdoch
 lord branson lord saatchi &
 big brother who b
  watchin watchin u

please allow me 2 introduce myself im
nonentity drummer pikki pockett
  prettyboy poser
 watch me pose
  pretty 4 u

over the rotten stinkin corpse of

  rocknroll

Copyright © 2015 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.

Foosball Riot -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #1

The weird kid is
 not popular
 not cool
 not a thing at all in the eyes of the popular and the cool
But he plays a mean game of foosball.
He sees the holes you don’t
He shoots with uncanny precision
He scores before you even notice
He wins.

Riot in the cafeteria
Fake food flying in the air
Tables overturned, chairs thrown
Hair pulled, punches thrown
The faculty can’t handle it
They call in the cops.

The chaos spreads into the streets
Dumpsters on fire, flaming trash thrown
Cars turned on their sides and rolled over
Whole cases of empty beer bottles thrown
At riot cops firing tear gas back

It’s all over the news all night
These cute white kids all throwing a collective tizzy
 so cute, so charming
 this lily-white riot
 they’re only having fun
Being dragged off to jail drunk and
 foaming at the mouth
 screaming at the cops
 smashing news cameras
 beating up reporters
 looking like utter fools
Broadcast on live television to the whole world

 And the whole world’s watching

All because the weird kid
Played a mean game of foosball.

Copyright © 2015 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.