Doubt


So bored of throwing stones
around the glass house of consciousness;
of exalting or bemoaning
        existence.

Too many words already written &
even more waiting to arrive,
so why continue to
        write?

Is it only to kill the time,
or find some way to bridge
the vast divide
        between us all?

Or maybe a failed attempt to deny
that the Rise is really the Fall;
there will never be a way to
        escape alive.

& the words will continue regardless,
unmoved by constant confusion & doubt.

Questions


Is belief in
the sentiment of love & of
revolution

a contradiction between
singular & universal:

must one sacrifice the other
            or
is the distinction no more than
a mistaken understanding?

To what extent
are the things that we say & do
beyond our control?

Even though
            the choice to say “No”
is always present,
            radical freedom
co-exists with
profound dependency upon others*,

how can biological compulsion
override the tide of cause & effect:

how can the immaterial
change the course of material consequence?

& do these simple questions
really matter,
            because
ultimately

we are forced to exist.





* Simone de Beauvoir – Pyrrhus and Cinéas

Ni patrie, Ni Patron

I am a person
    dislocated
from my creative capacity;

                        alienated

from my species-being;

labouring only to survive
& increase the size of someone else’s
already obscene amount of wealth.

I need to break,
        need to escape
from the endless imposition
of regulation upon my body;

remorselessly repetitive demands
always controlling
        quantifying
        valuing my life
according to the demands
of profit.

Time is alive & so am I,
& we both deserve our freedom.

I don’t want to trade my daylight
just to create surplus value,
I want to waste time on my own terms;

I want to waste my time
        with you…

So when the moment arrives I’ll be there;
        burning cars
        joining riots
& joyfully destroying
what should always have been ours,
before the perversions of power &
history
stole it from us.

Then as the old world dies & the new one is born,

I will scream:

“Ni patrie, Ni Patron!”

Fight

Collective suicide; walk hand-in-hand
with the death-drive
toward to the end-times.

This is this it.

Only some receive what they deserve &
the rest of us must suffer the
consequences.

This is it.

Nothing left now but to rebel
or lay down and die…
so decide, will you fight or not?

This is it.

Dare to demand the impossible
that was always possible
& still it.

This is it:

            we have nothing left to lose.