Wednesday, 2 October 2019

Communication 161

the technotronic era

it’s far too late to retract such liberalism
‘ism’ after ism’, a straight-jacket, a gag
a homosexual, a ‘fag’, your right wing
views will only do you harm,
I’m tongue tied and despised,
he who tries to take on the state will fail
so you vote for betrayal,
it’s an egg and spoon race
it’s the media spin, first past the post wins,
those left behind will perish for their sins
condemned to rot upon the back benches
a caricature squeezed between column inches
they’re in for a pound, I’m left with a penny
the illusion to the many
that the few don’t control you,
they’re in it for the gold
a stealth tax on the old,
if you keep your mouth shut, you’ll be fine
you want to question the party line?
get to the back of the que,
the vote doesn’t include you


Thursday, 15 August 2019

Communication 160

the baggage of failure

I promise one day we’ll find a place called home,
I don’t know where we’re heading
it’s impossible to ever know,
grab your bags lets go, there’s a poison in the air
we’ve got to leave town before the whole place
comes tumbling down, the fire in this boys eye
has killed his vision, he use to be so wise
determined to shoot for the stars,
he was wounded by his past,
you can only clean the slate
so many times before you’re left red-raw,
why are we here? what are we living for?
a tidal wave of the unclean
are thrown to the dogs of this war,
I never pictured myself a ‘null’
a ‘void’ trapped in the house that jack built,
I fear not the consequences of my action,
only the giants mass that comes crashing down
upon the broken back of my wreckage,
to live with the unexpected
is to proceed to persist through shock,
those that haven’t crawled from the
fracturing of the day can’t locate a connection
to try to communicate in my language,
I want to live without the baggage of failure 


Communication 159


hitchhiking, encompassing
no great need to belong
I can’t stand the frustration,
inhibited by mental restraint,
don’t wait up, I’ll be back late,
the years have been unkind,
I’ve tried to salvage sanity
in the shape of a prescribed reality,
maybe you were undeserving
a bad apple yet to turn those
around you rotten,
or you were simply a ricochet
caught in the crossfire
of someone else’s desire,
either way you now retire
to the fact, your youth
ain’t ever coming back

Saturday, 27 July 2019

Communication 158

the golden age

welcome to the golden age
come grab a knife
go take a life,
stabbing is all the rage,
don’t be boring,
don’t be beige,
you’re alive in this golden age
where cultural enrichment
and a failure to integrate
has made it impossible
to relate
to those
that walk around me
and those that talk over me,
I’m disgusted with what I see,
since when did multiculturalism
repair such division?
I use to wear my heart clearly
on my sleeve, but I fear now
it will be taken from me
if I dare show
my true feelings,
there’s nothing less appealing
than someone else’s
utopian vision
forced down upon you
like a new religion,
truth be told we’ve all been sold
decades ago
but who was to know,
I’ve tried my best
but I just can’t relate to those
who choose not to assimilate 

Wednesday, 24 July 2019

Communication 157

false god disorder

I want to be an anarchist
I want to change the world,
to fight for the freedom of others,
whilst my hedge fund quietly doubles,
I can afford to be a hero,
an ‘eco warrior’, an arse,
a hypocrite of the highest order
an instigator of hypocritical disorder,
you’re simply putty in the hands
of those for whom you slate,
you’ve been chipped and numbered,
barcoded by the state
and all these diverse opinions
you’ve spent an age quietly crafting
are nothing more than sound-bites
implanted in your head by the ‘sodomites’
that parade their perverse persuasions
right in front of your eyes
“injustice” I hear you cry
whilst you quietly up the rent
to prevent
those who pay your life long subsidy
from tasting a sense of security
carry on … continue
don’t mind me,
you’re a hypocrite of the highest order
a victim of a ‘false god disorder’

Communication 156

the interface

a vast junkyard of wasted humans,
forgotten geniuses eaten away
by their own genius,
derelict hosts once so nuanced 
prescribed an ‘overdose’
I’m living a counterfeit life
all seems real to an untrained eye,
it’s the era of the ‘death of self’
familiar imagery, thousands
having mastered mimicry
I haven’t heard one true voice

since we’ve wired ourselves
into the interface
we’re forced to participate,
the mob can’t wait to retaliate
to opposing views that challenge
their delusion, I feel the confusion,
it all seems such a waste,
I’ve spent years trying to cut
my connection to the interface,
it’s malpractice, a database
used to debase, a tool
to develop our predecessor
a freedom oppressor


Wednesday, 17 July 2019

Communication 155

choreographed lies

over-saturation in abundance,
style over substance
the need to experience emotion,
feelings are dulled by repetitive abuse
of the nervous system,
are we having a good time yet?
has your lack of inhibition
caused you to do something
you’ll later regret,
have you massacred your skin?
to make you feel like you’re living,
have you swallowed the pill
in the hope the hollow in your soul
will be filled,
don't take it personally, we’re all ill
it’s just many don’t realise,
they just continue to project
choreographed lies