Losers of the world

The game is rigged, every decision made
into a mistake, chained
                        to debt
                        & to regrets;
the boulder becomes heavier & heavier.

No matter how we carry it
                        – in the stomach, or on our shoulders –
the weight will break our backs one day.

Violence is the only way to break the chain,
only through solidarity can we regain
the dignity they stole from us
                        before the game began.

Fear holds us back,
                        but we’re always afraid anyway, so:

Losers of the world unite!
All we have to lose are our lives.

#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,
why do you think so many of us are so 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

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?