Rather Than Twiddle Your Thumbs, Write A Poem...

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
Random rant from my iPhone notes full of flaws and contradictions, imperfections and probably shit but I’m sharing it here

Western Gods


Stars, freedom, attainment of the destination,

Where all crystallises into perfection.

Needs are met, wants satiated and dreams fulfilled.


It is out there.


The minds eye, films, music, fame

Money - all the money, all of it. is out there.


We have been promised the dream, the dream drives the machine - you could have it all.


It. is . out. there.


Haunting every day, feeding anxiety through endless comparison to an inaccessible proposition.

Endless images of what is possible compared to that which is.


Fed directly into your cerebral cortex. Knowingly.


The anxiety drives the machine.


There has always been a few living in luxury, being special just wasn’t presented to you as the expected outcome of being in the gaze of another.


Now it’s a given. Because your worth it - be true to yourself.


Not poverty - not dysfunction.

Our reference points remain fixed and our gaze always at the stars.


It is not what we have, it’s what we haven’t got.


jealousy drives the machine.


Not the stars above but those among us,

Glorified and deified.

Condemned in the same breath but immediately forgiven.

Because somewhere in enough of us we desire to occupy their hallowed state, space and ascension.


billionaires,

Products of a flawed system.

grotesque symbols of unbelievable excess, greed and political failure.

we simultaneously loathe and long towards their Gravity defying state of economic redemption.


It’s a free market, the choice is yours.


competition drives the machine.


We work hard and judge the lazy,

And at the first opportunity to show off the luxury of choice - develop a new way to look down.


With a convenient set of new justifications.

We want the freedom to do nothing but meet our endless whims,

Manufactured lifestyles of vague spiritual and ethical intent marketed to fill the void like a leaky bucket.

So is hard work noble? Or the past time of life’s losers. Depends where you’re at.


Boredom drives the machine.


We criticise the system but want its rewards,

We try to find moral high ground but our values shift with personal circumstance.

we mistake the preservation of narcissistic egos for integrity.


already wealthy beyond our dreams even on the most average of wage,

what we want is to be a god.

Not only to find our personal heaven,

We want to be adored and worshipped and teach others how to get there.

Presenting this publicly as an altruistic act, offering the opportunity to join the cult of the free individual. You could just bathe in your golden indulgence?


Corruption drives the machine.


A lonely lonely cult if ever there was one.

The individual.


Full of neuroses, anxiety, depression, obesity, self harm, anorexia, OCD, ADHD, fear, anger, confusion, etc etc.


Debt. In debt to you. To who? To you? Who would put these individuals in their rightful place. Free market rules. I got here because I deserve it, ordained by the survival of the fittest.


Parenting, education and financial support he damned. This is the way it’s meant to be.


Self actualisation conflated with an economic pyramid of self gratification.


As if shared greed is some kind of giving back.

An act of love.


The rational economic man.


Do you want less or do you want more?
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
song yet to be arranged

Dopamine

We wanted money

We had it all

We’ve been productive

But it’s getting old

Now we want wellness

And we need meaning


Dopamine


Give us love

And fulfilment

Some excitement

Beauty too

Now we want fairness

And we need meaning


Dopamine


We’ve been distracted

Our systems hijacked

Rewired and streamed

Into content

Now we want it green

And we need meaning


Dopamine
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
More items from my phones notes, unfinished


The billionaires bunker


I am the symptom, not the disease.

In my cave, filled with artificial light.

I looked into the bucket

It was empty


needs

I only really know love

Everything else just confuses me

I’ve got Special needs

But I Certainly ain’t special


No title


I don’t want to rule the world

I want to change it

I’m in love with this life as much as I hate it


Untitled

Until, you don’t have much left to give.


I don’t have the energy to kiss you in the starlight


Infinitely falling into time that never seems to be anything but a distant hazy dream, now, before, then, when,


days that had meaning enough to make you cry with feelings made of memories


I’ve stopped looking for the biggest thing that I can find it’s greater than anything this tiny little life

Infinitely counting up the stars into a story you can tell your children to make it feel like everything’s alright


Love is just a circle that spins forever searching

making sense to only those who forget everything else isn’t worth it
 

Thehooperman

Well-Known Forumite
More items from my phones notes, unfinished


The billionaires bunker


I am the symptom, not the disease.

In my cave, filled with artificial light.

I looked into the bucket

It was empty


needs

I only really know love

Everything else just confuses me

I’ve got Special needs

But I Certainly ain’t special


No title


I don’t want to rule the world

I want to change it

I’m in love with this life as much as I hate it


Untitled

Until, you don’t have much left to give.


I don’t have the energy to kiss you in the starlight


Infinitely falling into time that never seems to be anything but a distant hazy dream, now, before, then, when,


days that had meaning enough to make you cry with feelings made of memories


I’ve stopped looking for the biggest thing that I can find it’s greater than anything this tiny little life

Infinitely counting up the stars into a story you can tell your children to make it feel like everything’s alright


Love is just a circle that spins forever searching

making sense to only those who forget everything else isn’t worth it

Utter shite on all three counts in my opinion.
 

poetsbumcheeks

Well-Known Forumite
I don’t disagree, or agree for that matter

this is good though


Writing

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that's
what it
is.
 
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