EDM,  

                                                              808s, 

                          the floor is packed with Pop-Punk’s

disciples waiting for a new plug.

                   Drugs are dead—dead are new fixes.

                                      The beboppers were false idols,

                                                                      the Beats were posers.

The new Americana—the new American art form—

is in the glitch tones,

the Audio-Technicas live, alive,         unplugged 

into the culture.

​

Now that Daft Punk left with their visas,

we’re on that new cosmic path to becoming human.

                  No more dance clubs Eurobeat-ing the lifeless yuppies.

                  No more proto-punk tall tales from the suburbs.

                  No more anthems or odes or elegies to hip-hop over soul samples.

The mansions turned into cheap Paris hotels.

Minimalism for grinders and NFT scammers.

                               Never go too 

                               Far into the 

                               Times

because people lust for any generation than now in

post-internet, 

that machine of buzzword highways.

Reality transcends time, which makes

Tyler the Creator right about cyberbullying:

Just walk away from the screen.

Just close your eyes so that post-internet can

blaze its way 

               through 

dreams,

               through 

textures,

               through 

language.