Rives

I emailed the poet/spoken-word-artist/pretty cool guy Rives the other day, with a compliment and question on the poem he gave at TED in 2006. It was all about how he would run the internet. I was complimenting him on an excellent work. The part in the middle about emailing the dead started funny, but became really touching. Both K and I have lost parents, and we both really connected with it, since email is pretty much one of our main modes of communication. Turns out that bit was ad-libbed that night, as Rives though the audience was a little to 'laughy' at that point. He had not decided if he was going to keep that line in the poem when he wrote me back. I hope he does.

I also asked if I could transcribe that, or if there was a transcription available. He stated that he composes in his head, and had not bothered to write that one down yet. So here's my gift to him. :-) I've tried to do it in the same style he uses on his website, shopliftwindchimes.com. Links added where appropriate. Here goes...

----------

If I Controlled the Internet

If I controlled the internet,
You could auction your broken heart on eBay.
Take the money, go to Amazon,
Buy a phone book for a country you've
Never been to, call folks at random
'til you find someone who flirts really well
in a foreign language.

If I were in charge of the internet,
You could MapQuest your lover's mood swings.
Hang left at 'Cranky'.
Right at 'Preoccupied',
U-turn on 'Silent Treatment',
all the way back to tongue kissing and good loving.
You could navigate,
and understand every emotional intersection.
Some days, I'm as shallow as a baking pan,
but I still stretch miles in all directions.

If I owned the internet,
Napster, Monster, and Friendster.com
would be one big website.
That way, you could listen to cool music
while you pretend to look for a job,
and you're really just chatting with your pals.

Heck, if I ran the web,
You could email dead people.
They would not email you back.
But, you'd get an automated reply.
Their name in your inbox.
It's all you wanted anyway.
And a message saying,
"Hey, it's me. I miss you.
Listen. You'll see, being dead is dandy.
Now, you go back to raising kids,
And waging peace,
And craving candy."

If I designed the internet,
Childhood.com would be a loop
of a boy in an orchard,
with a ski pole for a sword,
trash can lid for a shield, shouting,
"I am The Emperor of Oranges!"
"I am The Emperor of Oranges!"
"I am The Emperor of Oranges!"
Now, follow me, OK?

Grandma.com would be a recipe for biscuits,
And spit bath instructions. (1, 2, 3…)
That links with Hot-Diggety-Dog.com,
That is my grandfather they take you to
Gruff-Ex-Cop-On-His-Fourth-Marriage.Dad,
he forms an attachment to
Kind-Of-Ditzy-But-Still-Sends-Ginger-Snaps-For-Christmas.Mom
who downloads The boy in the orchard.
The Emperor of Oranges,
who grows up to be me.
The guy who usually goes to far.

So if I were the Emperor of the Internet,
I guess I'd still be mortal, huh?
But at that point,
I would probably already have
the lowest possible mortgage,
and the most enlarged possible penis,
so I would outlaw spam on my first day in office.
I wouldn't need it.
I'd be like some kind of internet genius.
And me, I'd like the upgrade to Deity.
And maybe just like that, *pop* I'd go wireless.

Maybe Google would hire this,
I could zip through your servers and firewalls
like a virus
until the world wide web is as wise and wild and as organized
as I think a modern day miracle/oracle can get.

But ooh-whee, you want to bet
just how whack and un-pc
your mac or PC's gonna be
when I'm rockin Hot-Shit-Hot-Shot-God.net?
I guess it's just like life.
It is not a question of if you can,
it's, "Do you?"

We can interfere with the interface.
We can make "You've Got Halleluia!"
the national anthem of cyberspace
every lucky time we log on.
You don't say a prayer,
you don't write a psalm,
you don't chant an 'Om'.
You send one blessed email to,
Whoever you're thinking of
@
Daddle-ah-dat-daht-daht-daht-
da-daddle-la-da-daddle-la-da-da-daht-daaa
.com.

----------

That last bit is the tune of "In the Mood".

Thanks, Rives.

-D.