Here I’m alive; a mediocre, twice-
writing unremarkable poetry,
failing to be
Homo Economicus, but
I’m not the only one
this system fucks us all,
why do you think so many of us are depressed?
There is the voice,
have you heard it too?
it’s all your fault,
– worthless piece of shit,
can’t just get on with it.
You’ve got so much privilege:
just look at how much you can get when
half the world lives on less than
you earn in an hour.
Don’t be so pathetic: you don’t deserve it –
Sometimes, I think the voice is right.
I realise what it really is:
the propaganda of our disgusting society
that’s wormed its way inside of my psyche.
& yet knowing this doesn’t help
this mind of mine can’t find
the featherweight consolation
of ironic distance.
the romance of defiance;
all or nothing.
When Politics fought Art it ended
with a bullet in Mayakovsky’s heart,
for stamping on the throat of his own song;
when Art met Capital it ended
with Johnny Rotten complaining about homeless people
spoiling the view from his fucking disgusting L.A. mansion…
& when Politics starts fighting Capital,
that’s the sound of the revolution starting.
So now we have a choice to make:
“Revolution or suicide”**
* The Accursed Share – Georges Bataille
** Guy Debord
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