There is a robot that lives in my brain*

Warped
        the shape & sound of thoughts
contort as they rise & fall

in the darkness.

I cannot catch them all.

So now pure instinct reigns supreme
& the Will relents
to every whim
of this self-destructing machine:

object
not a subject;
the It
& not the I.

Or is that just one more excuse?

When tomorrow becomes today,
perhaps it all will change

or stay the same.

*No Future Part 111 – Titus Andronicus

The Madness of Crowds

The talk,
        the talk goes on forever;

unfocused, the tumult of noises sounds
like the symptom of a fever.

I pick out one voice after another,
disappointed as each
seems to me to be a foreign language
I cannot speak.

It’s the silent ones I can understand,
shrouded in loneliness or pensive thoughts
        or maybe just nothing at all.

Are they, like me,
        bewildered
                as to how the past
can blend
from Spring into Winter
so swiftly?

As the noise, the
        noise goes on forever…

All of this is temporary*

The City swells with life
& I,
                        insignificant,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the utter lack of meaning
overwhelmed by purpose:

one must stay busy.

Smoke dances the in rain
                        framed
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the street lights:
sentry post for every building.

They are trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended,

but I don’t know what it is
                        any more than they do.

So I flee to the nearest breath of green
& living things;

I tilt my head back,
as I lay down upon the the grass,
& stare at the immense & ancient darkness of

                        the sky…

*“Emnacipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessay and inevitable to be a mere contigency, just as it must make what was previpusly deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher

Alienation

Fleeting insights
                like
cinders drifting into the night,
reclaimed by the hive-mind
blind to the mantic fury of the lost
                futures
buried beneath the crumbling tomb of history;

with no future,
the past becomes a desert &
the desert grows
moving toward us with the slow
creeping of midnight mist…

If I started to scream,
would you believe it came
from both pleasure & pain;

can you believe
               in anything

beyond the pleasure principle,
where something waits,
                impatient,
for the machines to fulfil their purpose?

But that question came to me in a dream
                so ignore it:

because
                this isn’t poetry

                just alienation.

The World Outside…

From the window of my room I watch as
the surrounding houses begin to glow;
little photographs of light develop
in the night & again I wonder why
I’m doing this, wasting my existence
observing
            at the expense of action…

Into the distance
            the sodium heather
of suburban plains
            sprawl out forever,
                    & to the East
the city tries to reach
        ever further toward the sky:

this world to which we all belong does not
belong to me;
            a comforting lie,
a lullaby
to soothe fears crowding behind these eyes
that receive the light
            & gives it to a mind
capable of doubting its own perception.

Tonight,
I’m watching from the window of my room
as my neighbours continue with their lives,
wondering what they are doing, & if
they could, or ever would
            want to understand mine…