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back Burn! by Peter Wilson Number of episodes: 10 Words of previous episode revealed to each author: all of story Written between 1 Apr 2005 and 7 Oct 2005 i borrowed a lot of things to get to this point of writing i held back for a while but i knew that it wasn't the process i was holding back but rather an illusion of something twice removed in the grandstand the back bleachers while my double my shadow looked for partners on the beams below. relaxation had taken over eat britain smash spain kill china in your brain words and lines, maps fill with blood bodies in marshes under smoke and mud these dermarcations dead and deal so much suffering the invisible wheel, we're cannon fodder for dead ideas the nations we sing to are idols of fear, all the wrong done in the name of us, we're unified in killing but not in love. it's clear to the bums on the street as we pass them by as a people we're just persons, a gregarious lie. in god we trust but in no-one else charity, compassion, lie unused on the shelf. oh yes we are nation! a mighty people under thumb! supporting the machinations of death-machine-control. oh now we are united, in fear in fear of life, for to be alive is to know that death is just a part of life. but give me plastic motors, but give me future pills, give me everlasting life, so i can buy more things. i need to watch my diet, i need to watch my waist, i need to be here tomorrow, to see what progress has been made. how did it make you feel? don't tell me so i care! advertise advertise don't say what you you think you ought to say! feel what you feel without looking for reception skinning for acceptance like a politician's repentance it's communication - they call it with a need to respond, a dead parasite in a wishing well pond, fluff up my ego it's a thousand years asleep, patterns in a puddle like oil-rings in the swamp all the pretty colours watch the televisions hump, automatic pilots fed from kindergarten on, to respond to life like robots, a plastic candy cane song, relating to each other reading thought police cliffs notes if you can think it, then you heard it and it's already bought and sold. they came to us with their teeth full of lies through blackmouth cavities came their crys for war. a nation to be saved! the millions, the millions a nation to be saved from it's own precious milk. like cancerous hydrocarbons wrapped up in real-fear-politik candy, the candyman came with the easter bunny wrapped in flag drag to give us all the sweets we could desire... ...bite into the chewy center, it's Mesopotamian tang will keep you going for miles and miles and miles... ah ha! cocoon head stands at microphone, wasp vanilla beside behind, "thank you my people i promise to look at things very carefully..." they're already talking about the next war about it's likelyhood or not, it's like talking about a bankrobbing killing p.p's next potential crime while the tellers lie on the marble floor, their faces smashed in by bullets, blood pissing everywhere. oh, thank you for electing these men of peace again! thank you for standing on the side of humanity against ideolog and politic! thank you my insulated slow change carthartic drama bums! a second term on the skulls of 20,000 a third term by the blood of 20,000 smile for the camera blackmouth, paper skin, squeeze the rain from your suit and let the justice begin. and so with the balance of violence expired ww1 trench wire coils around our throbbing cracking skulls and we fall back to sub-moronic sleepy bear crushing beer cans with our bleeding stumps human relations you either see or you don't, sacred human, sacred living-ness you open close the door on sanity and open the trap door on reasoning-excuse, aka politics, ideology, masked psychosis hold a life in your hand and squeeze until you meet yourself on the side of the mirror where the devil is always someone else making images of being, whatever you do, you do to yourself tricks of mind past projecting in future into future into future polly want a polly want a world warrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! i don't know whether it was me talking about English school sex scandals or jeff bragging about his 52" tv and home gym or just the air conditioning but she was standing to attention, smuggling peanuts as my flatmates used to say. jeff checked me when i said the s. word - that's how he said it, see their eyes bulge! he said (i mean they're only 26-34) can this be real? what a weird week, maybe it's the drugs, but my coworkers don't seem to be put together right, like cars with microwave ovens instead of engines, their makers new it was something vaguely mechanical, technological... i'm having a conversation with a guy from nz and it just stops, i thought we were building up a volley of talk, rapport, warming - then nothing, a plug has been pulled, the power cut. do you remember when tv / movies seemed terribly silly, terribly fake, that feeling of unmediated reality - actuality? why are all those people running around pretending to be this or that? remember when adults seemed silly, strange, fake, everyone acting as this, because of this idea, for this tomorrow, the dragging realisation that one was in quicksand of slumber too. as one slipped under the tv started to seem not so fake but like a cigarette it no longer gives you a head spin on your first puff and it's just normal to light it on in the morning to get the news nicotine. all that play action, action for some permanent tomorrow seemed to be natural and the way it always is / had been. confusion - memories are real, ideas are truth, i am tomorrow memories are truth ideas are tomorrow, tomorrow is truth is real memories truth tomorrow ideas are real truth of tomorrow - WAKE UP! tin soldier the whole world is underfoot it's not your fault we raise our glasses to you it's only a Sunday drive war a barricade in the park sandcastles caked in crimson red pink missile vengance surrogate the window drips your fractured head -filtered sun on my skin, fractured music in my ear, french girl dancing smoke rings around my heart, music in my soul- but there's no vacination that lasts so long that cures me of your cadaverous ills, the gate you wrench open the gate to hell, is wedged with my brother-sister's skulls. i won't sit silent suckling, on your milk of mind destroying lies i won't call my violence justice i won't name my evil sight. everything you touch turns to commerce, life bought and made collateral, acceptable, necessary loss, your eyes they cry no tears for them, your eyes can't see what they do not own. i wish i was on holiday not in this dead and dirty town i wish i was in sun bleached fields not in this cage under-ground i see the strings pull the planes at night i hope they do not fall down i know there's hope this side of midnight if i can just get my fingers 'round. if i can take my eyes off the trenches the mills of plastic we push uphill each day they've lined the mud with pretty paper that we collect for pay. consume all you can like the money, advantage, parties and privilege you somehow deserve. yet even if you worked for wage, studied for your place, your position is not deserved, nor are you better than anyone thanks to dumb luck or chance. meritocracy doesn't exist! one is simply born into a certain environment, gene bank, i.q, that may or not be well suited to the ruling social environmental cultural construct, the rule of exploitation, of ownership, or who is taller than who - both figuratively and literally. suck all the lies that tell you that it is natural to desire and love thyself above all, what poohah junk love is giving and clearly love given exclusively or excessively to self causes both love and self to rot. . to gore! drink up. back © All work herein copyright the stated authors. |
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