State Of the Nation
The Questions exist
Of this there is no argument
The Logic is explicit
Of that there will be no question
The Answers are insatiable
And may possess no logic
The argument is clear
But can provide no answer...
Who, I ask, is the one to follow the masses into
The process of mind and take control
Of the universal chaos that no-one feels?
Who, today, will risk his crucifixion
For days in the wilderness of company?
Who will glow like the beacon of salvation
And lead the Atheist to his promised land?
Who? or maybe Where?
For where are the Atheists now?
I suppose too entwined in wasting away defining
Themselves as Agnostics or Humanists to replace the
Belief system with a belief system to believe in their own
And Where are the socialists now?
I expect in an armchair in Croydon
With Das Kapital prominent on the Coffee table
High on Cathode Ray Intoxicants and
Consuming abbreviated food.
Where are the loonies?
Sucking their souls through a straw
10 days dead in a deserted street
With blank eyes fixed on the stars
Where are the interesting people?
Hiding away in lucrative proffessions
Allowed to mainline a hit of opinion
Twice a day?
Or desperately noted on a headstone
A memory of the bullet that kissed them
To sleep and loving the Joy
Or maybe just given a name
Which is the bitterest death of all.
I demand a reply
Where is the intellect?
Ricocheting in cyberspace
Between info and pornography
Publishing its genius to an audience of none
And drinking to the treasured memory of thought?
Blinded by science
Run-down by the Wagon
Lost in a maze of expression?
This can't continue
This will fail
You can't rebel through rebellion
You will never find worth in psychology
You can't kick the corporate world wearing Nikes
You cannot aim at targets
Assemble and you die a movement
There can be no virtue in choice
If religion was the Opiate of the masses
Then Marx has become your narcotic
What are you now?
A believer in the 'essential nature'
And the 'Core of goodness'
Its all OK because there's
Some force Watching over you.
Well fuck you.
I Got a big fat cheque of resentment
For the 'Che' shirt I bought at thirteen
For a price higher than my age.
For the passion that fled with the first endorsement
And for every moment since.
I am all hatred now
And I know my enemy
The Nameless Oppressor
The Invisible Tyrant
The Unsubstantiated Autocrat
The Libertarian Dictator
I know whats going on.
There remains in blindness the memory of colour
You have canonised uncertainty
And falsified freedom to construct an icon
And made understanding your god
But I ask you:
If there is no 'wrong'
How can there ever be 'right'?
You have murdered conviction
The proudest pillar of them all
Now a Mess on the side of the road
A victim of Road-Rage, Rising accident statistics
Joy-Riders,Young-Offenders any other excuse for
Reality that looks good in the 'Mirror'
This is your vital irrelevance
This is why I bleed too
Splitting my skull on the asphalt
Adding to the Sanguine pool that shivers
Feeling the cold distillation of hate.
There's too much hate to handle this
Or walk the desolate and ruined city of ideology.
Too much hate to find inspiration
In pragmatism or to silence myself
In its name
Ladies and Gentlemen
We are living in a Mediocracy
And the Beauty
Copyright Simon Clayton, 1998.
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