What I want wanted
Is all that I want.
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Girls - girls in Calvin Klein
Thong girls, girls in pink purple
Red Red Red lace girls
Who sit silently in cars
Your windshield
Charm hitting rhythmically the wall
Chokes
Better
Judgement
Like
Victoria Secret lace going for Thirty-Five going for Thirty-Four surely no less than Thirty-Three million lives lost in sweat shops.
Shop Girls!
Sweat Girls!
Red girls in Red shops and Red cheeks
And pretty pink bits
In their pretty pink bits
All lace and want.
You want this delicate labour.
Of skin, of Cotton.
34D and it's made just for you.
This took eighteen years.
You'll find me in my panties drawer
When you like -
Our range is extraordinary.
Have you seen the peach? The clementine?
We don't really sell the pineapple, but you can take her for a spin if you're feeling a little naughty.
Wet baskets spill like the want of your beating wallet.
Landfills filling to the brim on the regular
fast fashion flying by rising up the temperature
Few people straying, staying loyal to the brand
Equipping only cloth from the local hand
Quality over quantity I'm chic with it
Sourcing things with ethicality sweaters hand knit
See I'm mink on mink, catch him doubling the fur
Put my chain under the sink 'cause I'm doubling the brrr
This eternal fight will end one day
Before mother nature will have to pay
Mindlessly I will follow every trend.
Controlled in all I do by appetite.
Pursue it single-minded to the end.
But new things mean I cannot rest at night.
We both know there are many just like me
Who, if you don’t look close might seem alive.
Who hunger to possess all that we see.
Who think we need all things just to survive.
I search for what I want, not what I need.
And what I grasp will never be released.
There’s always more on which I long to feed.
My hunger’s such that it will never cease.
Consuming like a zombie to the core,
No matter what I have, I still want more.
Fight the algorithms
that tell us what to do,
to make us predictable,
unoriginal and bankable.
Have you witnessed how
increasingly bland and homogenous
our lives are becoming?
Choose freedom
avoid the diaries of commerce
that riff on the ubiquity of apps
resist the reductive tropes
of our published and circulated,
perspective customer identities.
Fight the algorithms
with their embedded back-lot
familiarity, built around class
and consumerism.
Try to understand the
vague, inscrutable and
purposefully circuitous.
Or stop overthinking
and embrace liberating surrender.
That’s the path I’ve chosen.
.
.
The Gates by Da Vinci's Notebook
Talk Down Dijon
BREAKING: [WEALTHY VENTURE CAPITALIST] BUYS
[PLOT OF LAND] FOR [INDUSTRIAL EXPANSION]
[CIGARETTES] AND [TYLENOL]
[TORNIQUETES] AND [ALCOHOL]
LOOPY DOOPY [LAUGHING GAS]
[COLORS] [FLAVORS] [SASSAFRAS]
FOR [FALSE SENSE OF FULFILLMENT], TRY
[ARTIFICIAL PRODUCT MARKETED TO MASSES]
[HOUSE FIRES] AND [CAR COLLISIONS]
[BURNING TIRES] [FIRST INCISION]
POKING AT YOUR [LUNGS] AND [HEART]
[PURVEYOR] TO SELL YOUR [PARTS]
[SELF MUTILATION] AND [SHEDDING SKIN]
IS ALL THE RAGE
[RUBBER HOSES] [PLASTIC GUMS]
[POWER DRILLS] AND [OIL DRUMS]
[SYNTHETIC SOLES] AND [FAT PAYCHECKS]
[POLYESTER] AND [LATEX]
LIMITED TIME SALE ON [INORGANIC BODY PARTS]
AND [FAKE IDENTITIES]
[PROSTHETICS] AND [FACTORIES]
[GASOLINE] AND [BATTERIES]
[CRACKS] AND [FISSURES] IN YOUR [SKIN]
DOUSED IN [DIRTY MEDICINE]
In shopping centres, bright and wide,
Where our dreams can fly and glide,
We wrap our hearts in things we've bought,
Forgetting stars, by city lights caught.
Yet, whispers of change might find their way,
As people stand up, by the ocean's spray.
Our Earth, they say, is worth more than play,
A future where green and blue can stay.
We must think over, our habits laid out,
With seas of plastic, and skies of doubt.
It's in our actions, clear and stout,
To choose to live, to truly shout.
To save our home, we should all band,
From dawn's light to night's last stand.
It's up to us, to lend a hand,
A fight for right, across the land.
But history's glance, so sharp and keen,
Will judge what we might have been.
In future's tale, it would be seen,
Our legacy, like a lost green dream.
Yet, it must have been right in our clasp,
To mend the breaks, to free the grasp.
And we could have chosen a kinder path,
For Earth, a haven, not aftermath.
You can only spend so many hours in labs, study groups and classrooms - under relentless, fluorescent lighting - before you start feeling life withdrawal.
When I hit that stresshold, I need to rebalance myself.
I could go to the New Haven harbor - I find the ocean endlessly relaxing - or for a quick fix, I can always rely on the warmth of multicolored product packaging.
For the last one, a grocery store will do. I’ll walk the bright, prismatic cereal aisle, and run my finger gently along the gratuitous, rainbowed variety of selections.
It’s a soothing gesture that I repeat several times. A reminder that there are still beautiful, shiny things out there, on demand, in the uncomplicated, non-academic world.
Were to go without paper
I'd never need
A pen or a ruler
of useful mead
That pencil, eraser
or stapler alike
Are ransom to all
a paper knows rike
And likened to glue
and compass that might
Encircle for hours
a drawings delight
To top with direction
and set square on site
In measure of paper
and cosmo of light
To fill in each marker
with color or sprite
And add to their flavor
a paper draws tight
In dwell of their union
each paper holds rite
To bring into stores
a paper grown sight
Were to go without paper
I'd never need
A pen or a ruler
of useful mead
That pencil, eraser
and stapler alike
Are ransom to all
a paper knows rike
And likened to glue
and compass that might
Encircle for hours
a drawings delight
To top with direction
and set square of site
And measure each paper
in cosmo of light
To fill with each marker
in color and sprite
And add to their flavor
a paper draws tight
In dwell of their union
a paper holds rite
When bringing to stores
a paper grown sight
Picturesque and simple with sweet little windows,
Tidy guestrooms beside stylish bedrooms,
A kitchen straight out of a home catalog,
All contain inside plastic walls.
Blush, copper, teal walls leading to a bathroom,
Cobalt blue hibiscus designs on matching tea sets,
Coordinating furniture in every room.
Delicate and perfect from the roof to the garden.
Impeccable ideal home, a tangible version of home.
A grounded fantasy that profoundly consumes all,
Yearning to live in a dollhouse.
as builders spend pennies
flipping profits on houses
lifestyle gurus
show us how to fold trousers
and chefs under pressure
scream out all their orders
while people in need
are labelled as hoarders
and bookies fix odds
for the afternoon races
as judges cast judgements
on bizarre family cases
and teams answer questions
to win mystery prizes
while traffic cops chase
young suicide drivers
and retirees escape
to a life on the Costas
as law firms inform us
it’s good to sue doctors
and super vets cure
lame dogs and sick horses
as folk with backstories
fail SAS courses
and dealers earn livings
from ducking and diving
while medics with agents
get judged Strictly jiving
and loan deals have small print
explaining their charges
while celebs enjoy cruising
on canals in large barges
and food critics chew
over masterful dinners
and. there. are. several. long. seconds
before we find out the winners
but when MPs dodge questions
on the numerous news’ panels
it’s proof that what bites
really sucks on our channels.
Shopping without need,
desire runs through my veins.
I shake my head ‘no’
at those things I merely want,
when some outside hold their hand-
trying, living day to day-
grateful for what they do have.
I'm constantly searching for myself –
That part which is essential, inherent.
I sense its presence, it's somewhere within
The being which echoes with infrequent shouts
Of a neglected foreigner
Who happens to live in my dwelling.
But it's a language I can't comprehend;
Only some fragments, and on rare occasions
When we're at peace, like adults
With altruistic motives.
I'm persistent in my search
So persistent that I tend to go outside
In hope of finding
The object of my pursuit.
But I'm offered a wide selection of objects
Each resembling that which I desperately seek.
I consume, yet I'm the one who's consumed,
Drained slowly, gradually
Until the essence is left to evaporate
As if its only purpose is to be absorbed
Into bountiful void.
I stuff myself with pleasures
Until I dissolve in them,
Become the object of my desire.
Then the insight and rejection.
Continuation of the search
Of the lost one.
But it is different with you, my beloved.
You contain that spark
Which will revive me.
You can fill the gap,
Complete the circle.
Only a little more;
I know I will find it.
This is what I need,
Is it not?
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