Tag Archives: electronic culture

Let’s agree to this

Now that we are all connected

can we declare once and for all

and forever ever that

what works best for me

may not be right for everyone else?

And that the same is true of you (plural)

and all your beliefs (super plural)


That maybe you’re part exotic cactus

that grows only on the rocky coasts of Aruba

and I am half moss from a crooked alley in Brooklyn.


That maybe looking out at the ocean

terrifies me the same way that you

can’t seem to warm up to chain link fences.


What I’m saying is that we should

agree that our own private histories

written on earth as events,

and stored in ourselves as memories,

twisted and told and encoded

as proteins genetically,

have manifested in ways

that affect how we

take shit in.


Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.

Orwell as Nostradamus

Don’t get psycho (or loco)

     no one can control

          the media or the message

now that we have the internet

     don’t get paranoid

          1984 has come and gone

without incident

it’s not like we’re building a

     giant, all-knowing, ubiquitous

          database full of private information

     including pictures, video, and text

          that can be tagged and cross-checked

     and connected to anyone the

          State needs to find.  (Facebook me)

So don’t be crazy (pendejo)

     after all

          who would ever ever ever

     carry a device around

          with them all the time

     that would allow

          anyone with access to

     a computer to track them

          by triangulation anywhere

     in the world?

          Who would pay to install

     a tracking device

          in their cars?

     People are not suckers.

          They won’t pay for air or water.

     Or air, yet, anyway.


Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved.



conspiracy theory

The fact
     that you are reading this
     proves my whole idea
     that you been trying to figure out
     who I am and where I live

and that you’ll probably be

     looking my name up on the internet

and checking out my interests

and vital statistics and hobbies

and such

and all that information

     that you are gathering for

     (we know who)

     will be put together

     with my social security history

and you’ll know how much money

     I made, legally

and if that matches

     what I spent on my credit cards

and on my cell phone

     the text I sent to friends

     about what I pay for rent and car bills

and you’ll figure out how much mileage

     I put on my car by checking

     my EZ pass and my tire treads

and my Metro Card,

and you’ll know if I was hanging out

     someplace I should not have been

     instead of working

     because they have cameras

     everywhere nowadays

And then all of this information

      will be tagged, sorted and filed

      put together mathematically

and run through that supercomputer

     that made the chess champ look

     like Koko the Gorilla struggling

     with her awkward hands

     unable to signal for help

And this little note

     will also be filed and labeled

and later be used to prove

     that I was crazy and dangerous

     to everyone around me

because I had it figured out.


© 2008 henry toromoreno

Originally published in Downtown Brooklyn, Issue 7, 1998


The sounds in your head, the things that you dream

The way you’ve learned to understand and mean

The things you recall, your memories and all

The yesterdays you put away, your nightmares and the disarray

It all belongs to someone else, when you consider what you became

There’s almost nothing of yourself; your face has changed, you’re not the same

You’ve learned since you began to be,

to use the “I”s around you to make your me

But perhaps you took too much, too much.

In such a rush to be filled up,  you let yourself become corrupt

Disrupted what there was of you, while trying to stay connected.

© 2008 henry toromoreno

a terse history of communication

What we talked about when we huddled ‘round fire

was closer to truth, to god and desire.

What we say to each other when connected by phone

e-mail, or blackberry, still leaves us feeling alone.

What we heard about when we sat around listening in caves

was news of real things that connected our ways.

What we hear nowadays is about red-carpet events

making sure we continue manufacturing consent.

 © 2007 henry toromoreno