Valleywag has happened upon an archived trove of Twitter chairman Jack Dorsey’s poetry, which he wrote under the handle JakDaemon.
This explains the ‘e.e. cummings’ phase Dorsey was referring to in his recent New Yorker profile, and the fact that his first-ever tweets were all-lowercase letters.
Whether or not Dorsey’s a dilettante douchebag in the present, it’s hard to hate the guy for being so vulnerable in his mid-20s. The poems, written when Jack was roughly 26 (he’s now 36), occasionally hit a nail of dark profundity, even prophecy. Consider this little verse from the poem ‘written now:’
‘i want to take all my closest friends and 40 random people off the street and battle them all verbally creating instant and violent word art bleeding into unconscious streams of emotional rage.’
Wowza, Jack, “instant and violent word art”…sounds a bit like Twitter, doesn’t it?
Check out the entire collection here, and let us know your thoughts on the five poems we’ve curated below.
schemes for the night include Better Living Through Circuitry. perhaps a few eats stressing that EastBay ethnicity. i may be ditched while exploring some alt.country complexity. home alone on the third rail pumping thoughts and electricity.
no, this is not my language. i don't own it. nor do i crave any sort of ownership over it. i simply want to particate. i want the words that vibrate from the back of my throat and off my fingers to perturb the cosmos. i will add my misformed grafts and lack of proper structure. i will rearrange the letters without worry of a 2nd party check. i will add my own imperfections to what is considered the universal perfect and therefore standard. why should i dot myself in correction fluid when i can instead blow up the next fork? why shouldn't i show the world what it means to converse in the language of me? give me the grammerless and misspellers. they are the players and creators. and that is who i mark with. that is where you'll find my tag.
the great thing about NYC is that you can walk anyway you want and people think that's how you really walk. you can completely lose yourself in the mass of flesh and concrete or become an active part of it (a further source of perturbation). you can transform/mutate in an instant and no one will know the difference. thoughts while walking race faster than a cabbie on a suicide race to the east river. the city seems to evolve with you in a very obvious way. things are not destroyed, but built upon. there's always another freak to ante up. nature IS the culture. an alley is an alley one day, a bazaar the next, a crashpad the next, and a drug deal the next. an artist is everyone. everyone is an artist. you've walked through 40 thousand paintings, stories, movies, and whispers JUST by crossing the street. (what a rush!) the complexity of life is torn down on the sidewalk in front of you to show the massive wetworks. all your plans are co-opted and you end up having a peak experience. you can lay on a bench with the east river to one side of you, and the mass of buildings and animals to the other. high class or lower, you all hear the same noise. you can smell the emotion as easily as the sweat falling off the terrified onlookers. the simple act of STANDING in the Long Island RailRoad lobby during rush hour can invoke the greatest sense of fear you've EVER let take control. you can be completely invisible simply by standing on a corner in Times Square. you can experience the entire world by exploring one city block. you feel lost until you turn that corner...
i'm thermaling away from the past. and i won't dance over the mandelbrot turbulance of the future. let's sing about now. let's expand into the recesses of now. isn't it possible to fill up every moment, especially this, with wander and soul gusting into full immersion and everything-awareness? just look over at that congregation of sunflowers. you see that!? do you see that spread? that perfect, spiraling, unbounded expansion into the present tense? can't you hear the unending music the petals vibrate from the flow of the wind? the beautiful sound of regenerative motion and whirl? an escape from the self and departure from the flower ego. a return to the aspect of the whole. a running to the flavor and pheromone of now. allow me to lift and dedicate this fleeting moment: for now i am known only as "wow!"
i'm starting a band: jak daemon and the other st. losers. actually, that's just the seed name. it will be switched as fast as the members, instruments, and style. line one from me, pass the mike to you, to your friend, to an unknown, until the cable tangles and weaves us all. i'm looking at you to provide the beats off the floor. knocking the trashcan, banging your head, jingling your pocket change, screaming your inspiration. the song will never end because it never started. we'll crash off the stage, out of the venue, and into the street poisoning the city one sidewalkcornerbusstop at a time.