I am a person
dislocated
from my creative capacity;
alienated
from my species-being;
labouring only to survive
& increase the size of someone else’s
already obscene amount of wealth.
I need to break,
need to escape
from the endless imposition
of regulation upon my body;
remorselessly repetitive demands
always controlling
quantifying
valuing my life
according to the demands
of profit.
Time is alive & so am I,
& we both deserve our freedom.
I don’t want to trade my daylight
just to create surplus value,
I want to waste time on my own terms;
I want to waste my time
with you…
So when the moment arrives I’ll be there;
burning cars
joining riots
& joyfully destroying
what should always have been ours,
before the perversions of power &
history
stole it from us.
Then as the old world dies & the new one is born,
I will scream:
“Ni patrie, Ni Patron!”
Revolution
Fight
Collective suicide; walk hand-in-hand
with the death-drive
toward to the end-times.
This is this it.
Only some receive what they deserve &
the rest of us must suffer the
consequences.
This is it.
Nothing left now but to rebel
or lay down and die…
so decide, will you fight or not?
This is it.
Dare to demand the impossible
that was always possible
& still it.
This is it:
we have nothing left to lose.
What Is to Be Done?*
Another year slowly ending,
heavy eyelids
closing.
The City is freezing.
The City is everything.
No fells to see, just poisonous beasts
with pistol engine organs;
no forest or beach,
only felled trees
become cardboard boxes to meet
manufactured need.
I’ve seen Lilacs
beneath a cracked & dirty screen,
but the cruelty of April
means nothing to me
since mixing memory & desire
is now
how Capital
conspires to control us:
Data is Damyatta
& compassion
died when concrete foundations,
built over the bones of Moloch,
became home.
So wide-awake, or still
stubbornly clinging to sleep,
we divide
along newly drawn lines:
in a world run by cunts,
the terrifying truth
is that our very existence
makes us all complicit
with a system
built upon suffering
& destruction.
The years will violently begin
& our eyes must
open again.
The seasons
have 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?
*What Is to Be Done? – Vladimir Lenin
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.
All For Two, & One For All
Only those who know how to truly love
know how to hate:
we wait for them to despise us,
a prophecy possibly more fulfilling
than anything they’ve offered us before…
Life has become an idea; vapour
rising from the surface of a shrinking
lake, never to return again.
Our first fuck was a clumsy mess,
but am I wrong to see the dignity
we’ve since spent building beginning to crumble?
Who’s the most humble, the pessimist
or the optimist, & is it naive
to believe that the only worthwhile thing
is to keep giving a shit
despite the odds?
‘cos I’m all in now; no backing out:
you’ve got everything I can give.
So it’s time to ride or die, to fight or hide;
to fucking decide & then fall,
if we have to,
on the hill where
we’ve chosen to demand the impossible
& laugh at the improbable.
Words for Ghosts 