Here I’m alive; a mediocre, twice-
failed suicide,
                hypomanic
in hyperreality
writing unremarkable poetry,
failing to be
               Homo Economicus, but
I’m not the only one

I know;
        this system fucks us all,
why do you think so many of us are depressed?

                There is the voice,
have you heard it too?
                Telling you
it’s all your fault,
a flaw,
a weakness:
            
                – 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.

Sometimes,
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

because
        this mind of mine can’t find
meaning in
the featherweight consolation
       of ironic distance.
I need
the romance of defiance;
I need
        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