Stuff

Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs, your anti-christs and anarchiests. Stuff your false idols up your ****. Stuff your regenerative ramblings; the spiel of a million others spilt in diluted misunderstanding. The generic rhetoric of another blank generation. Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly. Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow of TV screens and neon lights. Suckled by the fast food empires and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses. Supping the milk of human blindness with the blood of fallen beasts. Schooled in paranoia and conformity through magazines and film. Body over brain! Body over brain! Don't feed either if you want to fit in to society or size sixteen jeans. Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all. We are over-looked and yet watched over; Monitored through cameras and stolen information, watched on screens by perverts and bigots watched for signs of difference and dissent: word gets around and gets arrested. Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out. I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers. Spayed to the point of mental impotence: no longer threatening. Hope is dead. Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks, working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours: ownership as proof of existence. I consume therefore I am. Ownership of possessions and of people. Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents. Mate Spawn and Die. Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences. There is safety for us all in our collective clichés. The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused through labour and labour saving devices then drowned in alcohol and soap. Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape: Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy. Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams. Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes an alternative repressive ownership, punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick. All grow old and sick together having furthered the species and the empire, return to the organic matter from whence we came or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed