17 Jan 2005

game over – insert quarter to continue

I don't mind so much being a loser except for the loser stigma. It's a shame projected by society, a society that interprets Darwin’s theories to mean that the survival of the fittest members is a moral victory. I can't seem to escape that platform.

It's something that's probably psychologically inseparable from even a sophisticated primate, 99% of our DNA screaming to us through every nerve with every inhalation and heartbeat of our place in the hierarchy, and are we winning or losing the game? It’s an instinct both Jamie Lewis and Mung the Chimp can relate to.

It's a vital organ of the phantom beast they call "dignity", sometimes becoming the ego in a vile rampage. The fifty year old boys from secret fraternities are indeed controlling what we see and do from ivory towers, giving us guidelines, issuing edicts, propagating what is "acceptable" and what is "sensible" and what constitutes success.

Because, don't the parallels to nature's losers stare you in the face every day, in the pathetic faces of obese, cancerous european races? The evolutionary cul-de-sac approaches with greater and greater speed as the technocrats put the pedal to the metal and hope the rocket thruster they installed under the car lifts us above the suburban homes and off into space before impact.

"Loserdom" is a state of mind but also a shard of reality within the framework of contests and gauntlets that are shared utilities and institutions and corrals for vast sections of my species. More than that, they are gut feelings, awareness of how the sociopathic elite provoke your ire while striking such fear into your heart as well, so that you keep your distance and hardly dare comprehend their intricate systems of dominance in day to day affairs, as well as long ongoing games.

I didn’t know I was supposed to feel indignity at having achieved my current level of income and nothing else professionally. Being a loser in this society adds insult to the injury of being poor, and it's worse than the poverty: it’s a demoralizing life-spoiler, a deadening. Perhaps the answer is not to wave my finger at what I call “society” but rather inhabit a new, easily available reality, partially fashioned by me. Find the alternatives in or out of the system, alternative ethos, independent underground. I know I’ve already found a good portion of it.

2 Jan 2005

Tsunami’s Surplus Sutra

We’re rebuilding after the flood like we always do
but people aren’t special anymore

We are masses
and most of us are surplus
unique, like everybody else
statistics, not tragedies
notes, not melodies
in demographic symphonies
someone’s got us pegged

They work us in their factories
work us in their offices
sell us things to keep us working
broadcast in our homes
herd us through the mall corrals
put us out to pasture
buried under short-cut cemetery lawn

Talking monkeys
Earth’s greatest magic act turned into a housing tract

Crammed into holes
for lack of opportunities
be sure to buy some ointment for your
poor sore pegs of jagged genetic defection

Mammalian epidemic
food for the next thirty generations of germs
aptitude test said: worm’s meat for the skull orchard
influenza, smallpox, one step ahead, two steps, four steps, eight
malevolent mitosis, cancer, the revenge of synthetic matter

We think we’re hot shit with technology
nothing can stop us, we’ll disappear into silicon
as soon as we get the infrastructure up, as soon as we pay off the national debt
as soon as we get our guys in office, as soon as we get our shit together
it’s a new year’s resolution, resolve to make one next year

Cheap Life
the product of the 20th century
Cheap Bullets for Cheap Life
Industrial Munitions, Zyklon B
cheap food, cheap gas, cheap labour

Live out low cost life in economy class
slave to the flux of the marketplace
in a closet apartment, dying out the paradigm
dying out with the old college drop-out try
dying in debt, trying and dying while the water dries up

Abort the struggle with anesthetic death
reach for the pills or the pistol
cause those poor folks on the coast had no warning
but you do, and who needs the chills of the heat death?

America voted to do another line
keep the binge going, a second term is fine!
Make an amazon donation to the starving hordes
and eat popcorn to disaster porn

Me unique, you unique, like everybody else
like ashflakes of nuclear winter, dental records fossilized
and I think that death is in the tide
but one day the culling will be done
and the herd back in balance
or spaced out in space colonies, no thanks to me
fat grub, eating facts of life for breakfast
shitting them out as rich cream filling
recycling my waste for efficient malnutrition
and unwilling to be the first of gaia’s raid victims
let the brown drown, the hordes who couldn’t find higher ground
the hut-people on the other side of the planet, damnit
let them bear the brunt of the purge like they always do
they’re used to catastrophe, they can take it
thick-skinned holy mass of messiahs, god bless 'em!

No, don’t look at me! I’m weak, I admit it, happily
I don’t make a good martyr, I’m a product
of the new line of genes, the next model, haven’t you seen?
They’re CK genes and they’re all the rage now
my genetic specs support vast sensation at the cost of
delicate nerves, they’re destined for the
microchip mothership we’ll escape this planet with some millennium.

But that’s several steps in evolution away, sucks for me
my cloned ancestors of better breeding get to reap the benefits
and nuance continues to squirm, divide, split hairs deep inside
the wrinkles of my folded-upon-itself cerebral cortex
nuance to prop up hypocrisy
 to justify racism
 to cultivate cynicism
 metaphysical egotism
 to disconnect –
me from reality, declare myself a solipsistic being of an abstract plurality

Viruses mutating
natural intelligence
casually bandied-about apocalypse
like a sci-fi premise
   a rusty eschatology
      shallow sutra
         string-bean poetry

all washed up on wreck beach, tsunami-surplus