Communication 141

Repeat

gears grinding, churning, spitting
the same old pipe is splitting,
the identical key in the same ignition,
repetition after repetition,
this isn’t the life you envisioned,
too much
division
on
the
television,
the same
anger
fights
frustration
broadcasting
on every
radio
station,
this isn’t the life you want,
you’re the deviation,
an alien among the population,
patience is at an all-time low,
a billion lives locked in limbo,
the strangle-hold of the mundane
continues to constrict your airwaves,
you can count the hours
minutes and days
but they’re all the same
they’re always the same,
we repeat without question,
we repeat without suggestion,
the metaphorical cogs and springs
are breaking and disintegrating,
the system is forever dictating,
depleting and repeating
taking you from me,
breaking you and me,
we repeat to deplete
indefinitely

Communication 140

the process

dormant
there’s no need to rush this,
hold fire, sit tight,
we’ll find ourselves complete
when the time is right,
you can’t force metamorphosis,
we will hatch,
our new born
will form,
aborting is treason
we’re cocooned for a reason,
we can’t set sail without a tide,
we cannot grow if our roots have died,
wait, rest, convalesce,
you know you’re alive
when you’ve managed to survive
the process

 

Communication 139

Countless Projects

“time and time again
age will defy the greatest of men”

father time will subtract our mind
and fuse it together with Alzheimer’s,
he’ll slowly turn us back into a child,
containing us inside ourselves,
lost within the wild, exiled,
I know you’re in there somewhere,
I just can’t seem to pick the lock, 
such a Trojan horse can’t be stopped,
our heads will die once the body starts to rot,
so where do we go from here?
I don’t believe it has to end like this,
the human body just can’t survive
an environment so toxic,
it’s clear we’re all part of an experiment,
you’ll be the one who’s diagnosed next,
our disease is positioned so perfectly
in the places we’d least expect,
tightly packed on supermarket shelves
and hidden within each poisoned breath,
there’s a killer in the air,
an addiction, crystal meth,
heroin & needles,
drug pushing pharmaceutical reps,
the pusher, the junkie
they’re one of the same,
but only one is to blame,
our illness is an industry,
our death, a temporary inconvenience,
the moment you rely on the words of a clinician,
you’ve resigned yourself to the five sense prison,
their wisdom has no latitude,
medical science can’t be viewed
as a solution to the eternal ‘why’,
they’ll simply slice you up when you die,
your organs become a set of props
used to teach the lie,
new young minds will find no answers
to man-made disease,
it’s clear we’re all part of an experiment,
you’ll be the one who’s diagnosed next,
we are the pretext, born statistics
the unwitting subjects
of countless projects
 

Communication 138

objects

thousands of the faceless break ranks,
they scramble through the make-believe  
of another carefully calculated marketing ploy,
they have no control over their addictions,
materialism has overridden what’s free,
nothing of any value survives in a consumer society,
we’re in debt to the creator,
a manufactured greed
fueled by a manufactured need,
to replace meaning with objects

Communication 137

Beauty is the ‘art of self’

you look painfully unnatural,
pretty isn’t perfect,
perfect isn’t pretty
true beauty needs no cheap disguise,
wipe the mascara from your eyes
learn to master the ‘art of self’,
youth can’t be purchased off the shelf,
bypass applying cosmetic distraction,
attraction can’t take place
through a painted face,
beauty can wilt
when internal balance tilts,
except your decay,
a change is underway,
you can’t turn back the clock
with the abuse of Botox,
or enhance your
sultry
seduction
with a cheek enhancement
or liposuction,
real strength sleeps within
your wreckage,
you are beautiful
never forget it,
your seasoned skin
and, ‘those same kind eyes’
is where your true beauty lies,
beauty is the ‘art of self’
it belongs to you, no one else

Communication 136

My Final Night

here on my final night
my one last curtain call,
I’ve come to the end of life
I hope I taught you well,
please don’t mourn for me,
I survived, I saw it through,
all I ever was beats
deep in the heart of you,
I never was a religious man
I can see a light so bright,
I can hear your mother calling me
dressed in angel white,
she’s finally in my arms again
her beauty still unchanged,
our bodies may turn to dust
but our spirits stay the same

Communication 135

Cut The Cord

an uncertain direction,
self-preservation,
subtracting your mind
through 5G connection,
to conquer a life, digitised
we must cut the cord
to rationalise,
we relocate our lives
to the collective hard drive
time and time again,
editing the truth
in the hope
that it will trend,
we’re imperfect beauty,
idiosyncratic,
we must cut the cord
to break the habit
this technology is fallacy,
symptomatic
of a collective need
to feel connected,
never to be rejected,
your constant hunger
for a ‘digital feed’
is so anticlimactic,
we must cut the cord
to rationalise,
we relocate our lives
to the collective hard drive,
time and time again,
cut
the
cord

Communication 134

Clockwork Toy

my wrists twist ninety degrees,
effortlessly on a natural bearing
I’m usually positioned on a miniature chair,
from the corner of the room staring,
there’s a world beyond the window,
it’s something I’ll never know
I’m calling for you to let me go,
no longer am I the fad or favourite
of what parents see wise,
I’ll have you know I was in fashion
long before you were alive,
coming a close second to the ‘chattering teeth',
my tin exterior hides
a fragile heart beneath,
ticking, beating and repeating
each time you wind me up
 
my mechanics are far to intricate
to be produced in a mindless factory,
I thought my days were numbered
come the alkaline battery,
I have no hardware or USB,
no A.I. intelligence, you can’t delete me,
over time, it appears I’ve been relegated,
I suppose some might accuse
this broken toy jaded,
I bare the odd bruise,
my colour might be faded,
but I still see myself as a toy for all ages,
despite my rusty springs
I house no dial or gauges,
I require no manual with
a thousand pointless pages
 
you can confide in me and I’ll listen,
I’ll help you to handle your own decisions,
until that fateful day
when you condemn me gone,
I guess nothing ‘old’ in this new age
ever lasts that long,
and with this comes the journey,
the part I hate the most, 
I’m tossed away like junk,
thrown from pillar to post,
it’s as if I can hear my tin heart crumble
as you sentence me to the ‘death row’ jumble,
I am a clockwork toy, a broken boy,
a resemblance of youth
that adolescence forgot,
forever resigned to the bargain bin
in your local charity shop, 
tick toc, tic toc, tic toc

Communication 133

hype

the depth within your heart
is removed and replaced
with a shallow form or art
that no longer relates
to the reasons why you chose
to try to create in the first place,
you can’t wipe the slate clean
once you’ve sold yourself to the dream,
your mind is no longer your own,
you’ll be squeezed
and squished like plasticine,
poked and prodded
then placed in a box,
it’s one hell of a ride
until the hype wears off
and the sales start to drop

Communication 132

death of an Englishman

decaying, the last child breathes in hollowed dust,
the death of an Englishman ripe within its tissue-paper mind,
yet to think freely, no new born deserves such malformation,
the Focke-Wulf rumbled overhead, waking a god so authoritarian
a million confessions couldn’t sway his aggression,
from land to cinder, cinder to ash, you’ll never be forgotten,
within arched soil you now rest
under the dead skin of the rose,
each petal a passenger of an uncertain wind,
once, beneath my feet, an Englishmen stood fighting,
through your death, honour and sacrifice
we give you our hearts and our lives,
Major, Lieutenant, Colonel, Cadet,
“lest we forget”
“we will never forget”
there are no hero’s left
anymore

Communication 131

a view from the moon – a view from the earth

a view from the moon
no such concept as intercourse,
no such nonsense as the loss
of one’s virginity, 
a lost sleepless sanctuary,
drifting in the sea of tranquillity,
I resonate harmoniously, 
eclipsed by an apathy
I’ve carried with me since my inception,
a view from the moon
no ignorance in man’s physiology
no sweeping statements of pseudo philosophy
all wrapped up in an idea of me
that doesn’t explain my frailty,
a view from the moon,
no contention with vanity
no such nonsense as teenage pregnancy,
there’s no protocol or compliance
to diagnose any idea of insanity,
don’t cage your mind through Christianity,
a view from the moon,  
void of engineered systemics,
or playing god through the use of eugenics,
there’s no space to replace
the genetically sick with a master race,
a view from the moon,
no calculated genocide
no blond hair and blue eyes,
there’s no Jews left to demonize,
a view from the moon,
no such evil as bull fights,
no loop hole known as human rights,
a view from the earth,
we’re killing ourselves just to survive,
we’re boiling dogs alive,
we’re wasting our time picking sides,
whilst the pendulum’s already swung,
the young live by the knife,
and die by the gun,
our necks are in a noose,
the institutionalized child abuse,
the victims, all so conveniently muted,
persecuted, undisputed, corruption
so deeply rooted,
I just don’t know where I stand,
I’m lost amid a wasteland,
view from the earth,
it’s been this way since birth,
only now have my eyes
opened wide enough to see
we live in an infected reality,
and no one holds the key to the cure 

Communication 130

just ignore it

when crisis comes just turn off the light,
shut the door and leave them for the night,
things might get better on their own,
turn the television up if you hear them moan,
if nothing’s changed come the morning,
just ignore the fact they’re withdrawing,
cover the scars if they’re self-harming,
at no point have you stopped to think
exactly what pushed them to the brink,
you were too busy installing fears
and drowning yourself in drink
stick by stick, brick by brick, the person
you built has cracked and fractured,
you just don’t understand the complexity,
happiness can’t be manufactured
or installed in the mind with a microchip,
if I told you just how bad I feel,
you couldn’t begin to comprehend it,
you see me as you see fit,
whilst all the while you live in denial,
unwilling to face the facts,
that you’re just as ill as me,
the difference is that you don’t see
the damage being done, it all happens gradually,
we’re designed this way genetically,
as all insecurities are past from you to me,
I guess it’s always going to be this way,
there’s an inherent glitch in our DNA

Communication 129

trigger

there’s something
useless inside,
I can’t deny
I’ve tried
hard to fight it
to find a reason
to seek exile,
I’m afraid
if I confess
I’ll be met
with denial,
triggering
a downward spiral,
to distances
only traveled
in nautical miles,
bound to
a paralysis
felt only in
the silent hours,
when others
gently pilot
their dreams,
guiding them
beautifully
by the
kite strings,
resting
releasing,
giving
birth to
a new
articulated
version
of clarity,
then
opening
their eyes
to the
new day

my eyes
haven’t closed
for weeks,
I long for
the shelter
of sleep,
to dream
indefinitely,
never to wake,
I don’t care
what I have
to take,
please
just let
me rest,
there’s
a poison
I need
to syphon
out my head,
there’s
a corruption
in my
stomach,
my hearts
pumping lead,
there’s a
mystery
running through
every vein
and artery,
I don’t know
what’s wrong
with me

Communication 128

virtual machine

we erased ourselves so long ago,

I can’t deny we’ve tried hard to survive,

but so much of us has died,

there’s no truth within their lie,

it’s undeniable, but alas,

us humans are spectacularly pliable,

moulded by the hidden hand

with such nuance and dexterity,

I’ve lost myself, I feel unclean

having resigned my mind

to a virtual machine,

I now witness my feelings flowing

from the prison of my bed,

with a thousand tiny wires

stitched deep inside my head,

body after body,

a corpse of devolution,

genocide, a nuclear tide,

strategic persecution,

it makes no difference

who’s running the show

there’s an inherent glitch

in the wires they stitch,

I’ve lost myself, I feel unclean

let those who suffer

try the virtual machine,

you’ll soon learn to forget

just put on our headset,

if you like what you see

you can take the next step,

we’ll attached these tiny wires

deep inside your head,

you won’t hurt anymore

or perceive a true emotion,

you won’t challenge or question

the purpose of this creation

Communication 127

tell me why

there’s a disorder in you my friend,
a misdemeanour, a gradual osmosis,
a theft of a person through quiet hypnosis,
you’ve been reshaped and reformed,
you now claim to be reborn,
through a faith so baseless,
you’re forced to confess
thought-crimes that don’t align perfectly
with your masters teaching,
there’s no substance
to the fairytale he’s preaching, 
there’s a shroud,
a vale,
years upon years of untold betrayal,
such conditioning needs erasing
forget the fiction you’ve been perusing,
or the children your masters been abusing

I want the facts, give it to me straight,
nothing from ‘the good book’
helps me relate
to the hatred that I’m seeing,
or the anger that I’m feeling,
tell me why I’m watching the injured crawling,
men, woman and children falling,
limbs torn apart by the bombs they’re dropping,
tell me why such violence is
paraded through the streets,
bound and gagged, shackled hands,
dragged along like meat by the feet,
in the name of your ‘GOD’ it all
appears condoned, forced to kneel
then savagely stoned
to death,
whilst rabid animals dance and chant,
you can’t tell me this is ‘GODS’ will,
as they cut off the head
and set fire to the rest

Communication 126

to cast a line

bodies, they come
lives, they go,
many leave
with nothing to show,
alone forever,
dying of boredom
wandering directionless,
victims of an emptiness,
it’s hard to define
the need to cast a line,
into a void of a thousand
questions, sail forth now
without apprehension,
release the doubt
and contention,
we’re here to learn,
to make a connection,
to expand our mind
and perception,
we embrace a path,
so often obscured
by the many
who have fallen
overboard,
but me and you,
we’re self-assured,
we know why
we’ve been chosen,
the angler in us
never dies,
however hard one tries
we know,
it’s the water
where the answer lies

Communication 125

the limpet parade

all eyes on the minute hand
a conscience countdown collectively shared,
team building, bribes and brokering,
you ain’t winning unless you’ve been drinking,
it’s all in the lines they’re snorting,
it’s all in the cufflinks he’s sporting,
getting paid then getting laid,
you’re a fully fledged member of the limpet parade,
they all start spawning come five o’clock,
dressed in their strides and matching tops,
clean shaven sides, a quick trip to the barbershop,
it’s Friday night - “lets party till we drop”
nine pints in, you ain’t winning unless you’re bingeing,
I can’t take it seriously,
there’s no truth in the pills he’s taking,
forget about the details, it’s all just booty shaking,
“hang on a minute a mate” – that’s my girl you're groping,
that’s my mate he’s dissing,
that’s my wife he’s grabbing and kissing,
that’s a glass you’re smashing, with one wild swing,
that’s my face you’re slashing,
I’m slumping to the floor,
that’s my skull you’re kicking,
it’s my blood that’s dripping,
the night’s already gone a little too far,
so lets move onto the next bar,
the streets are sprawling battle grounds,
it’s the same old story in every town,
until the Sunday night ‘comedown’,
but we’ve got a good few days to go,
you only live once so grab a girl,
force her to dance,
ply her full of booze and drugs,
if you can’t pull,
slip a single Rohypnol
into her glass, when she’s distracted
take her home before she’s reacted,
keep it quiet, keep it clean
she won’t remember a thing,
it’s a one night stand,
a meaningless fling,
a great story to tell
come Monday morning

Communication 124

high-horse positioning

it's all too easy when you're functioning
to fine-tune your high-horse positioning
"you've got to pull yourself together boy,
start acting like a man"
it all appears so simple
when your life’s gone according to plan,
those of us who've shattered inside
and can no longer be identified,
are left to rot inside a cage
and then over time, quietly erased
through electroshock
and prescribed medication,
followed by your stigmatization

let me tell you about the fear,
the anguish that comes at night,
the white rooms, long corridors
the flickering of the light,
you can shout all you want,
demand your consultation,
“you have to remember you’re here
solely for observation, now sit down
and shut the fuck up”, here
take your medication,
an hour or so as the pills kick in,
the ‘specialists’ come circling,
they quietly start their scribbling,
a clipboard per patient,
a wild eyed diagnosis 

"Mr Warren it appears you’ve got an acute psychosis, 
you may not agree with this specific stance,
so we’ll keep you sedated in a pharmaceutical trance, 
your senses will suffer, you may wish you’d never been born,
unfortunately, you gave yourself to us
the moment you signed the consent form"

Communication 123

my country

I held your hand tight through the night,
listened closely to your stories,
I placed my fingers on your pulse
until I couldn’t feel it anymore,
what’s the point?
I couldn’t have saved you if I'd tried,
truth be told,
it’s been years since you died,
gasping for air,
falling by the wayside,
those of us who’ve
given our love and life for you
have bitten the dust,
nothing we have is strong enough
to survive the stampede,
I wish I could say I’d bleed for you,
resurrect the remains
of a land I once called home,
but all my hope has been used,
and my morals have been abused,
religion and diversity
will never make us free

I’m so tired of such violence,
there’s a murmur in my heart
that still feels your defiance,
but when your truth
is censored,
your voice is silenced,
what chance do we have?
I want my country back,
I’d like to hope, one day
you, like me, will find a place
to call home again,
but I fear it might be
far too late,
you’re being raped
by a fascist super-state,
and all I can do
is sit back and watch

Communication 122

telekinetic messaging

perforated sky
from under which
telegrams skim
thoughts
against the tidal flow,
ten thousand opinions,
are yet to take
such treacherous journeys,
rightful owners
write to reply,
each letter
twined to its sender,
ink is wasted
on paperless communication
the scholar
waits for his words to arrive

Communication 121

gentle persuasion

the school bell signals end of play,
the malleable are forced into lines,
smarten your dress, center your ties,
let us now continue to learn the lies
teacher
preacher
manipulator
enforcer of a ‘lefty’ agenda,
your parental guidance ends at the gate,
your children belong to the system and state,
don’t kid yourself in thinking you have any say,
put one foot wrong and they’ll get taken away

 

Communication 120

long gone

the place I call home has long gone, 
those that I held close are ghosts,
the hideouts we ran to have overgrown,
the cock on the block has flown,
his disciples, now looking twice their age,
working dead-end jobs, 
barley making minimum wage,
being the ‘local hero’ just wasn’t my style, 
I’d rather suffer to serve my dreams
than live a ‘straight life’ in denial,
it takes a certain kind of bravery to
leave a sheltered stay, 
but nothings learnt without courage,
I had to do things my own way

I’ve forgiven all those wasted nights spent
chasing after you, walking the streets until first light,
trying so hard to make sense of what was right,
it only seems to get harder with time, 
some of us find ourselves searching forever,
whilst others were born to walk the line,
and with every year that goes by
the young at heart refuse to let
the myth of old age be the reason they decay,
I see nothing of those I thought I knew,
I had to do things my own way

"I felt my life reaching far more than just a mile 
I felt my heart rooting for a new nourished soil"
 
I’m confused, worn out and stuck in a loop,
caged like a tiger in a chicken coop,
my wild desires will burn this town down,
I’ve got nothing left without you around,
I’m forever rehashing memories
that just don’t represent the past,
Oh, how I wish it was all so simple,
like burning photographs,
or pincering the thoughts
clean outside of my head,
it’s those moments in the silent
hours, I mouth the words I never said

nothing ever lasts, you can try to hold on,
but those girls that pulled your heart out,
have long gone, your first love has aged
she became so painfully ordinary,
a single mother who didn’t marry
she’s forgotten you and changed her shape,
looking back now, it was a lucky escape,
now these streets are full with strangers,
new faces haunt the hunting ground,
I’ve got nothing left without you around,
it just doesn’t feel the same
I don’t want to feel trapped anymore,
remembering for memories sake
makes my tired heart ache,
the place I call home has long gone, 
those that I held close are ghosts,
the hideouts we ran to have overgrown,
the cock on the block has flown
and I’m still here on my own

Communication 119

Digital Fix 

your dopamine will thrill you,
the addiction will kill you,
you’ll never feel emancipation
with a constant need for validation,
new forms of media,
infringements on reality,
perfectly presented meaningless,
resistance is a fallacy,
all these connections enhance
your co-dependence,
sounds bites, click bait
a digital binge or debate,
resist the need or temptation
to bare your soul through application,
shackled to your smart phone
your mind is locked inside a tome
put it down and disengage
free yourself from your digital cage

Communication 118

man-kind?

I have no faith in mankind,
I don’t believe we’re civilised,
our evolution is an intrusion
on all that we touch,
we hate,
we kill,
there’s a stain
on our hands
from the blood
that we spill,
it’s a work of fiction,
the scale of extinction

those creatures who
once walked the earth
will never live again,
there’s a price on our head,
a debt,
an infraction,
a multigenerational
chain reaction,
once the match is struck,
the flame will spread like wildfire,
may we all burn in hell
for this god awful mess,
I wish I could give an identity
to such meaningless

we are heartless, careless,
designed never to prosper,
we breed,
and feed,
expel
and consume,
to the cradle
from the womb,
we bleed
and seed,
suck our host dry,
idly observe
as mother earth dies,
we multiply, harvest,
recycle the dead,
rearrange foreign policy
as a tool to rule
through bloodshed

Communication 117

electromagnetic 

a frequency sauna slowly
massaging your senses,
a silent weapon
breaking down your defences
a sensory resonance
untraceable from source,
prolonged exposure,
readjusts your composure,
perspective is dulled
through post processing
enhancement,
military grade application,
quiet war advancement,
electromagnetic,
inhibiting brain function,
nervous system paralysis,
through voiceless instruction

Communication 116

dysphoria

I can see the stars above,
but I cannot feel the night,
I can see the new day rising
but I cannot feel its light,
the heat on my face,
the warmth on my skin,
such a beautiful affinity
my senses won’t let in,
I’ve lost the art,
to understand my heart,
I can feel it beating,
but it’s just a spare part,
there’s a disconnect,
a lack of sensation
a chronic state of
derealization

Communication 115

regular viewer

there’s nothing to see here,
I have no questions, no inquiry,
I understand and believe what you see fit,
hand me the transcript
and I’ll recite it,
sell me the lie and I’ll buy it,
I have no intention to mention
the holes in your investigation
or the pitfalls of such legalisation,
just leave me the scraps
and I’ll welcomely devour,
I won’t fight back,
as you sit in your ivory tower,
choreographing the next citation,
misdirecting retaliation,
just hand me the transcript
and I’ll memorize it,
sell me the lie and I’ll buy it,
the rats have infested
the parliamentary sewer,
don’t mind me,
I’m just your regular viewer 

Communication 114

collateral damage

I don’t know why I’m here,
it remains a mystery
I wasn’t designed for such
mind numbing monotony,
the same old faces
haunt the same places,
monotone conversation
blunts my concentration
what’s it all about?

I just need my space,
without the fear of acid
being thrown in my face,
or a knife forced through my skin,
it’s all so overwhelming
where did it all go wrong?
what’s happening to me?
there’s a defect in the root
of our society

such a lack of opportunity
breeds a beast we can’t control,
austerity, a slight of hand
that continues to take its toll,
cuts to public services,
a chance to drain the swamp,
a bigger slice of pie
for the politicians to chomp

hold tight now
my sisters and brothers,
I know your hearts are aching,
something big is coming,
there’s a collision in the making,
a scripted execution
‘Problem, Reaction, Solution’
I’ve had about as much
as I can manage
your life, my life,
we’re just
collateral damage

Communication 113

Consumer-ism

I’m tired of such saturation
your heart’s been removed
through commercialization,
the meaning’s lost under
rising cost,
a trend
transaction
an impulse reaction

pressed,
printed,
produced,
there’s just no getting
away from it,
cut,
pressed,
and made to fit
the ever growing
deficit

a car,
Rolex
or private jet,
the ego’s fed
your spiraling debt,
an addiction, a vice,
a roll of the dice,
just one more spin
for the big win

Communication 112

Puppet ‘my malfunction’

it’s waking up, I can feel it rising
dangling fourth in the cutting line,
I count the chops as the bodies drop,
dormant, my malfunction
is a fault in my construction,
there are times when I fall,
I just can’t get up
as if my puppet strings
were cut,
there are times I freeze,
as if my bearings seize
so I’m forced to face this disease
head on, there is no guidance,
no puppeteer to help me balance,
self-taught, my train of thought
is as tangled as the strings that bind me,
my diagnosis is a fallacy,
filled with one liners,
and punch drunk antidotes, 
I’m about a ‘section’ away from
the men in white coats

Communication 111

The Working Man – I’m With Him

the rising sun over cheap housing
streets turn to dust as the city wakes up,
body after body, pressed and dressed,
tightly tucked lines, shuffling behind,
packed like cattle, nose to nose
toes to toes, no rest for the working man,
fighting every day, every minute,
poverty or prosperity,
there ain’t much in it,
his efforts go unrewarded
You Want A Home?
you can’t afford it,
You Want A Leg Up?
your face doesn’t fit
let it go, forget about it,
the animals file the isles
and on through the turnstiles, 
point driven financial divisions
bring the system to its knees,
it’s up to me to foot the bill
for someone else’s greed,
your city is a dirty hole,
if you don’t make the grade
‘you ain’t gonna’ get paid,
still the bankers get rich
through ‘insider trade’,
the directors get picked
to marginalize and fix,
pushing up the price of bricks,
there’s a glitch in our autonomy,
your megalomania
is truly beyond me,
you can choke on your money,
us working class folk
may appear so vile to your average
yuppie, but it’s plain to see
where my penny falls,
I’ve got to fight,
when you ain’t got the balls
to pull yourself up when life gets cruel
I don’t give way, I never give in,
it takes more than a ‘car salesman smile’
to make my living,
but you wouldn’t know that
you spend too much time
chewing the fat, strutting around
like an aristocrat,
so dishevelled by the dispossessed,
you feel so depressed,
they don’t fit the mould
of the politically correct,
your ‘pay-check’ suggests
you’re better than the rest,
but here lies the great misnomer,
a man isn’t measured
by the size of his wallet,
or the cheap tat he buys with an expensive
tag on it, the man isn’t measured
by his style or class,
having been born with
a silver spoon up his arse,
the true measure comes
when the shit hits the fan
when each problem solved
makes you naturally evolve
into a better person 
than you were before,
like those veterans who return from war,
missing limbs, missing their minds,
but still they fight to claw back their life,
making sure their condition
doesn’t define,
doesn’t outshine
the person hidden under their skin,
the working man takes life on the chin,
with a country divided
“I’m with him” 

Communication 110

Pete S Martinez – Communication Transcript
 

Danny,

do you remember the war games
we’d play in the heat of the day
down on your farm?
I’d use the haystacks and barn
as cover, you’d use the silo
as a look out post,
our rifles were forged from bracken and oak,
you were sergeant, I was corporal,
through the streams and fields we’d crawl,
we were fighting for freedom,

“all for one and one for all”
when we got tired we’d go home for tea
all missions completed successfully,
and all our prisoners of war set free,

Today we set up base
on the outer reaches of Saigon,
it’s so hot, ninety degrees and rising
I am trying to forget what I’ve seen
people with the same soul as me, dying
I crave anything to dull the pain,
days and nights fueled by
amphetamine, we’re all tied by a torment,
it’s so hard to explain,
resulting to anything to keep us sane
out here I am lost, this war is no game,
me, a stranger in a foreign land
my only cover, the next man,
all that I am, is designed to kill,
forgive me for the blood that I spill
forgive me for the lives I take
I hate the decisions I’m forced to make,
but I have no choice

Danny,
do you remember when
we’d pretend to play dead?
slumped lifeless in the fields on the farm,
do you remember when we said
“we’ll stay friends forever”
if it came to it we’d die for one another,
despite my reservations,
you kept your word,
today on patrol a single
gunshot was heard,
believed to be a sniper
no one knew, there was no time
to second guess
you fell forward, a single puncture
wound to the chest

I am writing this to let you know
I broke your fall,
it was painless and quick,
you felt nothing at all,
I am writing this so people realize
you were true to your word
in a war built on lies
your last breath was gone
before you even closed your eyes,
the enemy’s determination,
we can’t match it
I can’t see a way out of this
it’s far greater than
we ever could’ve known

Danny,
we won’t be coming home

Communication 109

An Earth Synthetic – A Transhumanist Agenda

1. Under The Firmament

life under the dome
now the sun has lost its reach
we incubate in artificial heat
we cannot breed, left
to stagnate, our race
once prevalent has long
since been erased,
all thoughts are chipped,
tracked, removed from
our minds, harvested
countless times inside
of the machine
there are no memories left,
they’ve been wiped clean,
testosterone,
is siphoned for fuel,
those that can’t produce
are taken and killed,
then fed into a colossal machine
that feeds and feeds,
the human form is no longer
recognized or required,
all emotions are hardwired,
those that breathe
are mechanized, controlled
by a central mainframe,
this intelligence has no conscience,
it can’t be led astray,
there’s no way out
it holds your DNA,
it’s under your skin,
there’s no sense in fighting,
the sooner you give in
the better you’ll feel – wait and see
your synthetic will mirror
you perfectly, it will know
who you are, and what you’ve seen
having been harvested countless times
inside of the machine,
it has no off switch,
no ability to dream,
dreams are redundant,
they can’t be recreated from source,
those ‘dreamers’ who resist
will be removed by force

no one saw it coming,
all but a chosen few,
the strategy was implemented
gradually, then systematically
followed through, step by step,
covert precision was used to build a
totalitarian prison,
leading to distrust and division,
human behavior was managed
through a series of algorithms,
families were displaced,
lovers were lost in the fight,
my wife, I couldn’t save her,
all the pieces of the
transhumanist agenda
were now complete,
it was all so very simple,
starting with a handheld
device that contained
and controlled our lives,
through repeated disinformation
they were able to divide and
reprogram nations,
we’re all to blame for our
carelessness, unaware that
technology was slowly
relocating our consciousness,
it was no longer sacred,
no longer ours,
it was collected and used
to instigate wars,
I fled as soon as I had the chance,
hours before the firmament
was cast, set and secured
in place, it was the only
way to escape, up through
the jet stream and passed
the outer regions, I was
alone, determined to fight
for a meaningful existence,
my heart and mind
my only resistance,
with both still intact
I boarded the escape pod
and never looked back

2. Relocation – The Isle Of Cheetah

it could have been days,
months,
weeks
before I woke from cryogenic sleep,
all this time in isolation
has left me weak,
with orbit reached,
the pods system disengages,
it performs healing
in three separate stages,
vital vitamins and minerals
are dispensed into my system,
after 12 hours my immunity
will fight any disease and infection,
to combat dehydration
fluid is fed through
a tube in my nose,
my nervous system
is stimulated by hundreds
of tiny little electrodes,
slowly,
now with the worst
behind me,
I look to the future free,
free from modern slavery,
free from a system that
doesn’t speak for me,
where human consciousness
pales into insignificance,
dying at the hands of
an artificial intelligence
that we cannot trust
or ever control,
I’m prepared to fight anything
to maintain my soul,
I buckle and brace
for the landing,
through the glass,
in the distance,
I see her,
the speck on the horizon
‘the isle of cheetah’,
it’s a place I’ve pictured
in my dreams,
it’s like nothing I’ve
ever seen

3. Landing

ten .. ten
nine .. nine
eight .. eight
seven .. seven
six .. six
five .. five
four .. four
three .. three
two .. two
one .. one

4. Transition

my feet sink in the soil
a cold, sterile breeze
signals it’s safe to breathe,
what stands before me?
hope in all its frailty,
ancient monuments
and monoliths
stand like rigid archetypes,
the echoes
of one thousand armies
having fallen on their sword,
it's a poignant reminder
of the truth I must reward,
I’ll work on this land
until my fingers bleed,
I’ll turn the soil and
hoe the weed,
damage my posture
just to keep my dignity,
through all this labour
what stands at the end?
maybe, someday I can love again,
there’s nothing as never-ending,
it’s the arc in the inevitable
the untruth in the fable
it will touch us only when
we’re able
to house it in our heart,
I’ll hold it dear, even though,
it might, one day, tear me apart,
the storms I’ve wept,
the oceans I’ve crawled from
have left me tired and worn
but when the seeds
have been sown
and a new life is born,
I can then finally rest my head,
knowing
there's nothing left to mourn

Communication 108

Julie

Julie never went to prom
she chose her dress
but never tried it on,
she’d keep her fears
scratched on her arm,
a constant reminder
of her self-harm,
for years she’s
kept it a secret,
if only she knew
I could help her treat it,
I know she’s scared
of intervention,
there’s been so many
times that I hoped she’d
mention, all the pain
she harbors deep inside,
but when I ask she denies,
insisting that
there’s nothing wrong,
I wish she wouldn’t
remain so strong,
there’s a bravery in honesty,
a spoken truth
I can’t define,
if only I could tell her
that everything will be fine,
three years have passed
since she gave up hope,
I found Julie hanging
from a rope,
she’d left a note
folded on her bed
“I’m sorry, I thought
I’d be better off dead’

 


 
  

Communication 107

Hit The Floor

hit the floor
narcoleptic
mask the pain,
anesthetic
locked in syndrome
catatonic
a repeat prescription
with three words on it
Mirtazapine
Quetiapine
Aripiprazole
I hate to say,
I know them well,
packed
and produced
designed to reduce
all the serpents
slivering
inside my head,
pacifying the beast
whilst keeping it fed,
somewhere
in between,
screams
my faulty gene,
each neurotransmitter
is starved
of dopamine
So how do I feel?
I just can’t tell
I use to be a person
that I knew well,
but since my ‘shrink’
upped my dose
I’ve misplaced the traits
I loved most

Communication 106

back in class

where are you now?
I can’t let my memories go
and when I think I have
they come punching back
on the attack,
a vicious blow from the past
knocks me on my arse,
and when I look up
I’m back in class – age 15
I had no concerns
of what could have been,
I was yet to carve my place
in a world that appeared
so easy to conquer, oh
but little did I know that
you rarely reap what you sow,
you’re never close to
the perfect fiction you’ve written,

and

when the wolves come calling
for the pound of flesh
they’ve continually bitten,
you wonder how the hell
you can carry on,
you didn’t realise that
life could feel so bloody long,
and there is no place to grieve
and there is no way to leave,
the conquest
was simply make-believe,
we were so young
with so many dreams,
we couldn’t fit them
all in our head
but now all those dreams
are dead

where are you now?