#First World Problems

Swept along by the causal tide,
riding the waves of time

or

if the numbers cease to speak
& the edifice crumbles,
revealing only a single peace-
full temporal ontology,

what then?

How do we end
or continue, or begin to
make sense of it all without stories we
can now only read
            but never believe?

I think a 12-hour shift
constantly on your feet,
making pointless shit for foreigners you
will never meet

could answer that question:

“I don’t care anymore.
All I want is to feed my family
& sleep beneath a roof & between 4 walls…”

Do’s & Don’ts

Pay no attention to the world outside of your city,
or the sunlight bleeding across the sky.

Don’t look at the photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson,
or allow yourself to cry.

Do not listen to the Gymnopédies everyday for a month,
while taking commuter trains;

don’t look at single-platform stations as you pass them by,
or aimlessly observe the detritus trying to hide
 
in the fringes of everything. Never create, only consume
but don’t drink alone so much that you

begin to loose your mind…

***

Listen to teachers & parents & always do as you’re told,
exercise regularly & deny you’re growing old.

Listen to Spotify playlists & buy the latest clothes,
have faith in reason & that technology will save us all.

Always assume a community is just a collection of potential enemies
waiting to steal everything that you own.

Believe that you are where you are through merit alone,
& drink only in moderation.

Ignore the homeless, have faith in the government
& believe that you are free.

Teach your children to respect authority
& do the same yourself.

Use razor-blades only to remove hair,
not to mutilate yourself.

Learn to accept your place…

***

Choose pleasure over meaning, close
your eyes & let advertising
do your dreaming for you.

Ask no questions, you’ll hear no lies:

it’s the only way to survive.

Broken corollas

For D

Pressing flowers between the pages of
stolen poetry books,
                    not knowing
or caring
how long the process took,

if it would work or just cover us
in the evanescing colours
of broken corollas…

Gladly wasting away the day
we’d discussed stolen poetry books &
                    plucked flowers;
distinctions & equivalence;
the thrill of transgression,
the ambiguity of possession.

Currents of nuance ran through us
as consequence of curvatures
            in time;
of our spines &
            invisible lines

where the light bends, blends & divides.

When the flowers faded &
                    dried,
we knew wasted time is not a wasted life,
only
that our ideas about true beauty
make it hard to live…

but if you promise to stay
I'll promise not to leave.

“I remember when we were young”*

“With rebellion, awareness is born.” – Albert Camus

When we were young
They told us
“Never look directly at the Sun”.

& for a while we didn’t.

Not from deference
to the authority of parents,
but out of reverence
                for the warmth:

It was the animal – the It
& not the I – that compelled us
to wear the warm veil of our eyelids
when we dared to approach the source
of all light & benevolent warmth…

…but we’re not young anymore, so
we looked & what we saw
changed us forever.

                Now
we stand before ancient energy,
a violence our gaze can never meet,
as small animals
                lost
in a fatal & final ecstasy
of rebellion:

to close our eyes,
stunned & waiting
for the after-image to fade

Afraid of what will come after.

“But I remember
                when we were young”.

*Insight – Joy Division

The Gaze

“That which is light looks at me,
and by means of that light in the depths of my eye,
something is painted.”
– Jacques Lacan

The gaze contains a curse & a gift, it
turns us into an object yet
confirms that we exist.

The vision of the other can either
become a prison, a figment
of our imagination, or
the one & only means of escape:

take your pick, because either way
it's not what you think;

the light decides
between a painting or a stain,
between pleasure or pain…

everywhere & nowhere but
                always outside,
it will eat us alive
from the inside:
                a black hole
into which we sink
as comprehending apperception
& thoughts of what the others think,
twist the thread
again & again…

                …until the light fights back,
& unties the knots:

                there is not (yet)
an answer, only the fantasy of two dancers
moving slowly then faster,
both tragic & absurd,
as an audience laughs
& cries as they turn.