About the Book
American Mohawk is a collection of poems spanning from 1995 to 2003. It covers travels and excursions from Chicago to New York to Boston to Toronto and the beyond. It talks about life in small town Buffalo New York in comparison. And most of all, it is about trying to find an identity in a world so often calculating. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
About the Author
Chris Bradley has been collecting his writings since 1995. With the encouragements of friends, professors, and others, he hopes to make a positive impact on a few lives by encouraging literacy. He has been published other places on the internet and otherwise. Chris enjoys working with WikiNews and some high technologies people in internet relay chat to develop interviews among those who know what's coming next. Do some googling, you might find him out there in the ether.
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The Neuroscience of Christopher St.
By Christopher J. Bradley
©2003 for William
I.
Lady Ada’s fingers dance
On an ivory punch
And the cards fly
She is the first
Of the mutltitudinous
Modern day conquests of Babbage.
Our new Rome rises
The seeds scatter through the wilderness
Sowing the Grapes of Wrath of Milnet
In the home-brew clubs.
A hundred thousand Mitnicks are born
On the waves of fruitfully colored sand
Vacuum tubes shine Basic on the retinas
Of young wizards and fighters.
This is the Proving Grounds of deep space
The calculators have long since fallen by the wayside
In the currents of the war to end all wars
They will be the relics of an established author.
I am a young keyboard player
With a Commodore 64 and an RCA television
The magazine arrives and I trip my vision
Over the letters and sculpture on the cover.
Cyberpunk.
William Gibson and Bruce Sterling
Inspired musicians and artists it said
Some of the kinds of artists
That took up the animal rights and other political causes.
The journalist pointed out the new move
From Industrialism to Informationalism
I had to come to terms with them
I asked my aunt for some money to buy a first book at Walden?s.
The flechette of his stylo needles text into thought
Case is fixing up at the Gentleman Loser.
Molly is tooled up all in leather with her deadly nails
3 jane is mixing up signals in the Spire.
Riviera is taking in the Scorpion Sting
The Hwang is cutting Black Ice on the Hitachi
Case is riding the back of a silver virtual shark
The Turings are being offed by the landscape spider drones.
Neuromancer is plotting a merge with Wintermute
The haunting spectre of the Finn is overshadowing his communiqués.
On the Sensenet riot hack by the Panther Moderns
The Masses are executed like code.
II.
Time froze and I got to work
My BBS became Sensenet
My handle was Flatline
Suddenly dragons and outer space
Turned into Coding and Implants.
All of the colors became vivid
I had to get an IBM
The true tech heads came out of the webwork
The Matrix found me with Charles.
Bobby Newmark punches deck
While his mother?s hooked on stim
His problems with the vampires are many
With their shark cartilage makeovers
And their jet set whores.
The spirits of Ja are rattling out their Voodoo incantations
Of the fragmented archetypes of the
Voidspace archipeligoes.
While her eyes shine on the catfish farm
And her father?s polycarbon nightwing
Crashes during a Yakuza hit.
Turner sets tensor rigs in her hotel
To take out the flak Mercs
And ushers her into infamy
In the Davinci contraption Fokker.
III.
That?s about the time I met Andy
The Star Wars role-player.
And the walnut hit the car
And we scattered into the woods
The party was broken.
One night we spent time in Andy’s garage
Fanning out the drums on a single snare
From the Violent Femmes
After I bought his 800k Floppy Drive
‘Let me get out Like I Blister in the Sun.’
Sally Shears is shopping with an Origami princess
While Angie Mitchell makes her Debut
Everything is Stim now
The world wrapped out in goggles.
A Chrome face hangs in the void cover
A ghetto cruiser has a skull headpiece
The judge is resting in the garage
This is Gentry’s turf and Bobby’s on a slab.
The Voodoo priestess is with her
And a miniature flying thing attempts murder
She is vanished into the night
Our Mona Lisa of the cybersphere.
