Ali Znaidi

Five Cyberpoems

Typing Something Luminous

Between light and darkness
a door of fathomless possibilities opens onto the ether.

Between light and darkness
a cosmos of limitations is exploded,
while limitless aspirations are being downloaded.

Between darkness and light
the butterflies’ wings are (still) static.
No movements;
only my errant fingers wandering in the keyboard’s  wilderness
trying to type something luminous in the dark.

Digital Dilemmas

I am Googleable.
I am Twitterable.
But why am I still unFacebookable?

I am Twitterable.
I am Facebookable.
But why am I still unGoogleable?

I am Facebookable.
I am Googleable.
But why am I still unTwitterable?

I am real. So why have I to be virtual?
I am virtual. So why have I to be real?

Am I online or off-line?
Am infected or protected?

Am a human being or a machine?

—The only thing
I am certain about is that at the end
we are (all) blog posts
and our ultimate goal is to be reblogged.

imagistic tweets that don’t require any Photoshop

{dregs}: follow the final lights of the twilight!
{rites of passage}: intrude in the hidden passageways!
{invisible comets}: don’t care about particles of dust!


We live by cacophonies (by the ether).
There are stars that resemble snowflakes.
Birds & fantasies.—Philosophy
& the silver (virtual) spaces.

Virtual Diaspora

The sky is not stagnant at all
because every bit of it is a map.
My poetical mind can’t measure the distance
between my shadow and the sun.
I used to envy the birds because they can assume many identities.
They always discover new moons and new stars.
They can (even) measure the distance between their shadows
and invisible entities.
Today there are screens everywhere.—
Complex maps. Provocative poetics.
I no longer envy the birds
as I can sink {tectonically} in the abyss of the web.

A Cybernetic Sonnet    

Twitter for breakfast. Facebook for lunch.
YouTube & Facebook for dinner.
This is not the whole story. This is just the gist.
Dawn begins to emit the first lights:
(BlurRED) eyes are still wide open.
Nerves are still bound to a vicious circle:
—A labyrinth of (free) fettered movements.
—A fake flood of encrypted happiness is inun[dating] the soul.
Everything becomes a code;
a sphere where liberty becomes a jail,
the human voice  becomes a replica of a hollow echo,
& humanity becomes a faint tincture. {Don’t forget Dada is a code!},

& persons become mere Dadaist entities encoded in a techno-sutra,
waiting for that technocratic saviour to have a happy-ending coda.

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