2002

The Nokia 3310 hiked its way up the consumer market,

Accelerating the impending downfall of the landline

As home phones across America clutched their cords,

As illegally downloaded music came for the throat of CD stores,

As MP3 players rose to stardom on the cover of Seventeen magazine,

As Usher tied up Lenny Kravitz in his basement and hacked Billboard 100,

As Brittany Spears squinted in the mirror and pictured herself bald.

Mainstream media mauled mountains and computer bugs burned bridges,

All to make room for me.

On August 1st at 9:30AM, I tore through an incision in my mother’s uterus

Adorning pair of Sony MDR-661 headphones blasting Avril Lavigne.

I am your Internet Lord, master of copyrighted music and keeper of YouTube pornography. 

Ask me anything—I am Wikipedia. I am Steve Jobs. I am the baby at Chili’s with a sticky iPad.

Slice your palm and drip the blood into my mouth, and you, too, can have unlimited screen time and five free gigabytes of iCloud storage.