Wednesday, October 24, 2007

And ther's a hand, my trusty friend, And gie's a hand o' thine

One day a rain came,
but it didn't wash
all the scum
off the streets,
it rained a river,
and all that was
right in the world
sailed not
east, west,
or south or north,
but instead all the
right and
real -
sailed a new direction,
where nothing and no one
could follow.

What was left was you
and me,
just a touch of dragon,
and more than a handful
of rat, tooth and claw,
fur and fist,
and what was called:
a curse reversed,
for they who lack such,
the whale,
the bird,
the otter,
the bear,
the fish,
the tiger;
they who lack this
Intelligence are
truly happy,
where as WE,
the people,
believe that in the games,
the sport, the races,
the status, the friends,
the riches, the glory,
we may yet find the truth.

The truth is, we're all
a bunch of blind moles,
suckered in by so much
Temptation, that our
lack of Intelligence
is painfully fucking obvious
to the cow who stands in a
green meadow, staring at the sky,
and listening to the wind,
as it brings him the latest news from afar.

What's that you say? the cow asks.
Oh, really?
Well, good luck to 'em,
I'm staying right fucking here,
I have the sun, the rain,
the grass, the view,
and I'm far, far, away
from that fucking pack of cunts.

Here's a Cow Tip for you,
If you're going to lust, destroy,
consume, control, satire,
cheat, desire, repent, repeat...

Then fucking own up to it.
Don't pretend to be superior.
Don't pretend that "left" is better than "right".
Don't win by wanting someone else to lose.
Don't destroy, telling yourself that you are creating.

At least, do us a favour.
At least, be honest about who you are.

Say it:
We're a fucking pack of cunts,
doomed to bring you all down with us.
We're a fucking pack of selfish cunts.
And we're gonna take this whole place down with us.

What about Art & Music & Literature, Cow?
What about this Holy Trinity of Humanity?
You judge us on our deficiencies,
yet do not see, the unique beauty of humanity,
that our fear of death itself,
gives life,
precious hope,
fear drives our ambition,
fear of death, sends us further
and fuels our need to create.
Music, Cow.
Art, Cow.
What say you now, Cow?

I say Turner was an artist,
Mozart a musician,
and you pack of pretenders
have confused books
with literature for so long,
you no longer have any idea,
of which is which. I say you
must read the thoughts of another,
before you can decide whether you
liked and loved, and you need to be told,

I say Human Endeavor is Dead,
and your race instead is all for
who the person next to them is
listening to, or reading, or talking about.
I say you don't have a fucking trace of
inspiration left in you, and instead
reward the Instant, and Inane, and
the Ovine. I sir, say you are a fool.

And I say this, in all knowledge of the fact,
that though I stand here before you,
and utterly vituperate your very existence,
I am still sir, yes sir I am,
I am still sir, quite optimistic,
that one of you will still

Now fuck off,
and leave me to my meadow.

Very well, Cow.
But you will see.
One day a rain's gonna come.

One day a rain's gonna come.


I turn up Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Really, really, really fucking loud.
Because, hey, what'r ya gonna do but FEEL.

1 comment: