#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…”

Here, there, everywhere*

When meaning twists & coils
over & over again, &
becomes the slain god-monsters of
our ancient ancestors;

when the specific, the particular
is devoured by this monster
        the other
            ceases breathing
& becomes deserving of sacrifice
        to the mess
            we’ve made:

        this is our fate,
neither a bang nor a whimper

        but a mass-psychosis

            with an ironic posture.

* Here, there, everywhere – Sam Kriss

Bipolarity in Post-Modernity

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,
& so many of you are depressed too.

This ‘condition’ though; the flame forever
either roaring or falling so low
that it almost gives up the heat
            permanently:

the Accursed Share* tearing me apart,
sometimes corrupts so intensely
            that thinking about tomorrow
is more than I can bear..

                & then there is the voice,
I’m sure you’ve 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.

There’s only one decision to be made
if we’re ever going to change,
only one choice to make:

“Revolution or suicide”**

* The Accursed Share – Georges Bataille
** Guy Debord

A New Year: Part ii

A New Year: Part i

This year violently begins
            & our eyes
                open again.

Winter now literally keeps us warm:
Spring heat
            – 20 degree February

Last night,
            I had a dream,
that poetry still mattered &
you presented me
            with lilacs as
                    behind you
the crowd demanded answers, but
we calmed them with elegant words.

Then I awoke,
                to this world
where desire is just another
        commodity,
            identity
                is money
        & the roots of memory
are concrete foundations;

the old bones of Moloch
who has long since claimed the dead land,
as
    every day
        more bodies
            pile up in the streets.

So wide-awake, or still
stubbornly clinging to sleep,
            we divide
along well-worn lines:

            the only lilacs
I’ve ever seen in this city,
are those you once showed me
beneath a cracked screen,

in a world run by cunts,
where the terrifying truth
is that our very existence
makes us all complicit
with a system
    built upon suffering
        & destruction.

This year,
    the seasons
       have rejected our measurements,
& forced our predictions
        to confront us.

Now is the time for new values,
    now is the time to choose:

            Which side are you on, &
                what is to be done?