I DON’T WANNA BE A CYNIC
....when you start patting yourself on the back on a celebration of elderflower juice and lagers because you've been promised a change in government policy in a five year initiative
In the meantime they'll will make 20 trillion sterling, oh who cares if it's dollars
It'll be at least 500 trillion trillion yen. They'd have executed the genocide of five ethnic communities via war and chemical poisoning and acquired equity for the next four generations of secret society public schoolboys
So hey,
I mean, you can suffer the pain of degenerating organs so many of your waking hours that life becomes an eternal hellfire under a vague hope that you will receive what somebody promises to concede in a time just within range though so far there's been no change save the loose one I'm milking
and I don't want poets to befriend me on Facebook the day after I've performed a piece.
I'd welcome solution, empathy , somebody to love me for me. I want the centrifugal inertia of the madness to stop with a hydraulic sensitivity. I want to simply let go and drop and feel her arms pick me up right here, right now in the pinnacle of my vitriol
because I don't wanna be a cynic
but I just can't help myself
expelling truth in a booth of an aura
the way iconic comedians did until they died in front of us and the pain fell out
So soothe me, lie to me, spike me, giggle about me
Just don't fucking patronise me because it irritates like a rash and increases the passion when I don't even wanna be a cynic
I have a question
How come those kids in school never questioned the questions we questioned but strayed within the parameters of indoctrination and ended up blissfully married to the only girl in the class whose hormonal radar overlapped theirs, landing in each other's laps
and why are there books unread in my head
and why don't those cute cherubs in nappies in adverts make me smile and buy cleaning products and why don't I wanna go to Magaluf and vomit shots after beer o clock
and why can't I just absorb the toxicity of Drake and Rihanna instead of the fluid heroism of Dylan or the bravery of Gil Scott or the unpredictable virility of renegade poets
and why is the meaning of everything lost in the rot
so that I'd rather watch a spurious documentary than Vin diesel or chick flick drenched in suspended puberty catalysed through a silicone ventriloquist on the stew of contrived music and synthetic imagery
Maybe my cynicism instinctively took collectivism through a customised prism instead of the television
and now I live inside my head
where my heart will never be eaten by lies.
nor my eyesight damaged by hope
My protest vote wouldn't merge into a dictatorship and I might not own a hotel but I could fart without blushing
There's no
letter box to canvass political bollocks
No two way mirrored service providers with Trojan software
No cloak and dagger insurance
or door bell bible bashing Christians on commission
and mercifully there's minimal strained participation in inane conversation
with no caustic affliction to crafted disillusions written by deputised leeches from queen's speeches
to retail consultants selling foliage over the land mines of our consciousness
and you could get high on molecules of oxygen instead of xenophobia
My front door is past the chem-trails just under the serenity of zen
Please visit
But since we might be worlds apart
on the same planet
where humans are a pandemic
you have to wipe your feet on the doormat so I don't catch it
We could reason in my back yard
We might right wrongs while we smoke bongs and write folk songs that harmonise in high frequency without needing to close our eyes
like the sun and the moon waltzing in a momentary bliss of what we call an eclipse
We could unroll black holes
unpack their gravity
re-stack the atoms into geometric patterns
then bat them with batons
while the world recedes
from apocalypse to genesis to hypotheses
or some polar antithesis
Then we could snack on home grown rose buds with honey. All organic
That would be nice
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