Sometimes you can almost feel the world spinning beneath you; your head full of minutemen; weathermen; clouds; television images and revolutionary words that would transport you to the platform at euphoria where all is alive.
And the past has no other meaning but to inform.
And today’s bearing toward that melting iceberg causes the rivets in the rusted hull of progress to laugh in arrogant disdain.
And like prisoners-of-war in a war that is not a war these molecules will agitate with injustice.
We regret to inform you that your application was lost in the mail; your pension plan raided by corporate detail.
You digest your morning cereal along with the free gift, a plastic fabrication designed to addict.
And the demons in your bowl blow bubbles of joy, when you finally realise that it wasn’t just a toy, but a paranoid scanner that kicks in to observe the sad faced citizen in the state of medicated totalitarianism, blissfully unaware that his freedom is a myth concocted by the moneymen in order to enslave him without having to manufacture (at a loss) those ugly metal shackles that do not match any configuration of colours, fabrics or tastes.
And the serial that glares nightly from your lcd; plasma; widescreen machine, goes on to reinforce that freedom; that common sense; those beliefs held to be true by virtue of their ubiquitous repetition into the heads of teenagers and dim-witted adults.
And the pillow on which you rest your radioactive head, breathes isotopes of bitter sweet nothing into the darkness of your dreams, leaving the morning to return unthinking and obscene, the maze whose exits are clearly indicated with large green arrows by the department of health and safety and cotton wool candy for the sweet toothed humanity that oozes concern for the future of mankind and the coffers of insurance brokers in the bullring tonight.
On second thoughts (for those who prefer to have more than one) perhaps it is my head that is spinning beneath me, gravity being nothing more than a myth like the creationists chants from east and from west that echo in the black hole of the future and threaten to destroy the whole of the past.
And the past has no other meaning but to inform.
And today’s bearing toward that melting iceberg causes the rivets in the rusted hull of progress to laugh in arrogant disdain.
And like prisoners-of-war in a war that is not a war these molecules will agitate with injustice.
We regret to inform you that your application was lost in the mail; your pension plan raided by corporate detail.
You digest your morning cereal along with the free gift, a plastic fabrication designed to addict.
And the demons in your bowl blow bubbles of joy, when you finally realise that it wasn’t just a toy, but a paranoid scanner that kicks in to observe the sad faced citizen in the state of medicated totalitarianism, blissfully unaware that his freedom is a myth concocted by the moneymen in order to enslave him without having to manufacture (at a loss) those ugly metal shackles that do not match any configuration of colours, fabrics or tastes.
And the serial that glares nightly from your lcd; plasma; widescreen machine, goes on to reinforce that freedom; that common sense; those beliefs held to be true by virtue of their ubiquitous repetition into the heads of teenagers and dim-witted adults.
And the pillow on which you rest your radioactive head, breathes isotopes of bitter sweet nothing into the darkness of your dreams, leaving the morning to return unthinking and obscene, the maze whose exits are clearly indicated with large green arrows by the department of health and safety and cotton wool candy for the sweet toothed humanity that oozes concern for the future of mankind and the coffers of insurance brokers in the bullring tonight.
On second thoughts (for those who prefer to have more than one) perhaps it is my head that is spinning beneath me, gravity being nothing more than a myth like the creationists chants from east and from west that echo in the black hole of the future and threaten to destroy the whole of the past.
2 comments:
Medicated myths that spin your head or your world. How many want that to be so they don´t have to see. Don´t look forward, don´t look back.
But stand poised on the balls of the feet facing west in the morning and east in the afternoon so you can see the shadows approaching from behind.
Post a Comment