Hair straight sis

 

 

1) Mac Donald's children

 

The birth of civilisation

commandeered the cradle of its creation

sewing rising populations with needle sharp industrialisation and pleasure

ironically fusing polarisation within homogenisation

serving documentaries

because as the picture expanded we saw beyond our communities, then beyond the

other , then our minds grew wings

as we saw fish in polluted waters and virtually touched the glass ceiling of social

classes in cautionary tales and skyped distant cousins in mud huts full of family

function and corrupted resources

Now box ticking bureaucracy is shutting services employing security

And the question , when essence floats to the surface is ' what can we do with all this

hate'

Democracy has more anagrams than any. Namely tyranny, corruption, hypocrisy

Surely this is only inevitable if the behavioural nature of energy is insular

The man in the mirror is a cliché whose future is in a textbook. Forget changing the

record cause its scratched; industrially. And we're in time pockets that blip and replay

in fashions of sociology and war. Somebody done this shit before

Mac Donald's children

representing the murdered lives of sheltered wives

So what is there to do with all this pain

Pain that caresses your heart

That encases you in the bus stop queues

When poetry becomes rock n roll

with no money and much soul because this is the performing arts so it's pain for the

exorcism of pain in a rewarding purge

Can I get a fucking witness or is one of us pretentious because nobody knows

where the key is

Caffeine tears the lining but these words hurt as they bust my guts and why not; it's

worth the rebirth

Art is suicidal

Illusion is the icing heat seeking the hollow innocence of children who haven't

stumbled into hell

Cause she'd gone 30 years ago.

30 years, four months and two weeks and something like fourteen to 18 hours that

we got the news. That mom's body was shattered from the dialysis and treatments

and round the clock barrage of multi coloured pick 'n mix tablets and giving. Giving.

Giving to families that suckled like naive cubs and her organs stopped her life

and the doctor asks me out of the blue 'how do you feel about what happened to

your mother ?

And my jaw tried to move . I felt my mind disconnect and I tried to grab it

surreptitiously but it fell away into a distant haven, running for the hills

and then it started to tremble as though I were alone in Siberia and my cheeks joined

in canon and then the muscles behind my eyes and whatever came out of my mouth

was the grunt of a fraudster's last attempt to be

I slammed my hands to my face as if I could push the tears back in or hide the fact

that I was as broken as a pile of twigs

I sucked back the mucus. He offered me a tissue. But did he forget that I was a

masculine man ?

We spoke as though it never happened; restoring my dignity

I've been exceptionally nice and a hollow beacon of indifference accidentally making

density out of destiny because the greatest happiness became the worst tragedy

So what am I going to do with all of this pain

Fuck dignity. This is dignity

I've seen dirty looks floating on air like feathers over high streets all looking for a

pavement crack to belong to

I've gone from passive to mad, from dependent to angry

I’ve shyed away from acceptance and rejected favouritism

I've spat at the television

Bowled through crowds

Cussed the genteel and today's organisms living for tomorrow

bellowed at clouds

I've sworn 1 million times ten million times a hundred million times

FUCK !

yup! plus one and counting

I immersed myself in punch bags , drunk slags , after night club fight clubs with no

Brad Pitt and no commentator and no 20th century fox and no friends

I chewed nails, fingers and knuckles

I smoked hash till my knees buckled in a drunken stand-off

Maybe you ain't feeling me because its my problem or because engaging with a spirit

carries an iota of responsibility or because this is god's fault for being in full control

and parliament's fault for being ruthless

and my fault for being in love with being loved

and the illuminate's fault for manufacturing fantasy before reality

Actually it's our fault because all of it is about all of us

from the Rothschild seal to the grunt of each foetal guinea pig

and this is my core in the fire of perjury

energising the scene

Penetrating your screen

Melting a fashion student's plastic dog tag

Pouring tears into air bags of high insurance premium motors

Smearing oil behind that catalytic paint by numbers on your face

I hear you sigh with relief every evening when you close your front door

slumped to the floor

weighted with the weary jowls of a dental smile

and disconnected handshakes

The green eyed monster restrained in the ritual gel of incinerating blood cells

Most people I ever knew signed up to a division

skunk weed

money

or some popular religion

Religions as an orientation system to help to interpret reality and define human

beings,

sold with the dogma of fascism ,

the boldness of communism,

the slick of capitalism,

The voice of Zionism,

the violent drive of Christian crusades, the rancour of Buddhism

and as re-production doesn’t stop registration keeps topping itself up

You'd think we don't live in different worlds every night

before waking up to reminders that the nightmares of real life have already kicked in

and re-enforcing the sixth sense that sleep is the starship emancipation

glory in her refrain

But born again

where the same life occupies the same veins

what'll I do with all this pain