Posts Tagged ‘Corporatism’

That sign on the hill,
That ivory chapel to fame,
What those letters represent is a fa├žade,
A corpse flanked by stage lights,
Shining and corrupt,
Sprawling yet shallow,

It’s a predator,
It has devoured countless souls,
The city sells glamour and exotic highs,
Whilst thirsting for youth and flesh,
Its alleyways are chock-full of corpses in tuxedos,
Skeletons of proteges and child stars,

It is beautiful,
The most lethal places are,
Those roads are coated in gold,
But peel those pavement stars up,
Slab by slab,
And underneath lies cancer and putrescence,

Those cityscapes hide much,
Casting couch teeth,
Vampires in directors chairs,
Narcotics around every block,
The city of angels?
An oxymoron to be sure.

Poison is everywhere,
Accepted as a necessity,
Chemicals of every dire strain,
Vile greens and eerie crimsons,
Foreboding browns and unassuming clear liquids,
Synthesized by white coats and labs,
Injected into all our feed,
They do not have baleful names,
But do you know their makeup?
I do wonder,
Is every atom reputable?
Chemistry is a risky game to play,
With far too many snake eye variables,

To you who claim your body as you own,
I ask you earnestly,
Do you truly know what you take in,
Which dire chemicals you ply?

To the fat cats,
In their heinous smoking rooms,
Life and the world are games of chess,
They are kings and queens in boardrooms,
While the bishops are no more than shills,
Preaching their version of the rules,

On this globular chessboard,
We are all teak pawns,
Serfs to faceless chess masters,
The knights have already routed,
The rooks already crumbled to dust,
Mere vestiges of fair play,

We are thrown at each other with abandon,
Smashed into atoms,
All our colours becoming red then brown,
They play for their own ends,
They play with our lives,
There is no endgame.

Living is all chemicals,
Being is all medication,
Blood and acid and sugar,
Saltpeter and alcohol and enzyme,
The flesh is merely stone without it,
We require it,
So voracious have we become,
There’s a chemical for every ill,

Have a bit of pain?
Pop a pill,
Black clouds overbearing?
Best get on that firewater,
Your brain is rebelling?
Antipsychotics have got you honey,
Stress overstimulates that tired heart?
I’ve got a light here,

Medicate that little problem,
And all of those too,
It’ll fix any issue you have,
Imagined or otherwise,
For better or for worse,
It can even offer a way out,
Tired of it all?
Here’s some Flavourade.

Rise from the crypt once more,
Auschwitz train public transport,
Punch in your life for the day,
The contract must be honoured,
Buttoned shirt chain gang,
Water cooler whispers,

To the cell again,
To the cubicle,

As the four walls bear over,
All is grey,
Stare at the cyclops,
Burn the charts and signatures into your eyes,
Assignment after assignment,
Your spirit sapped for another day,

In the cell again,
In the cubicle,

You’ll be a pension package husk,
Or at least that’s the plan,
So keep stumbling onwards,
Back to your humble crypt,
Die once more,
Do it all again tomorrow,

To the cell again,
To the cublicle.

Behold the week of work,
A recurring man-made chronology,
The one true supposed lifestyle,
Seven days,
Seven orbits,
Seven opportunities,
Seven punishments,

For some it can be less,
A day or twos respite,
But the hours grind down nonetheless,
The iron maidens in the office shall always hunger,
Your cubicle cell shall wait for you,
The pressure shall always return,
The taskmasters must have their due.

We bow to icons,
All of us,
They control us without our knowledge,
Symbols and portraits and likenesses,
Permeating influence over our cortices,

They’re shapeshifters you know,
They change to suit our ideals,
Or our vices,
Not necessarily malignant,
But still all-consuming,

To one man it could be a godful symbol,
Words from an invisible man,
Commanding words from the past,

The lady over there sees a dollar sign,
The path to prosperity,
The religion of finances and using,

This boy idolises his favourite star,
Tentatively forming a blueprint he wishes to follow,
An icon dictating his lifes path,

Another man looks up to the statue of his leader,
His eyes well with respect,
Even while his taxes rise,

These things are everywhere,
Inanimate perhaps,
But nevertheless powerful,
Billboards and cenotaphs and celebrities,
Icons hold an influence over us,
That rivals even deities.

I walk this black and gold city,
Streets lined with circuits and voltage,
Chapels and shrines to chrome,
Midas kingdoms,
I’m a cyberpunk,
A loathsome hacker,

The disquiet is choking,
It entwines with the smokestacks,
Faces become metal plates,
Emotions reduced to lucrative algorithms,
Human no more,
Flesh has become a sin,

Corporate gods,
Mechanical preaching,
The world underwent body modification,
Its soul sold to the highest bidder,
All of its life has become mineral,
All black and gold,

I’m a ghost in the machine,
A former spirit of rebellion,
My heart was coldly dead,
Even before this metallic clone,
A facsimile of a pulse,
A life,

The augmented future is bleak.

A friend once told me of a man,
A deceptive corruption of a person,
A viper,
His skin scaly as sin,
Fangs dripping from previous kills,
Gripping to the world by constriction,

He climbs a ladder of life,
To personal happiness and glory,
At the expense of others,
Each rung is another souls verve,
Innocent obstacles,
Squashing them underfoot,

Whispering lies in one ear,
Hissing threats to another,
Ravaging penniless mice,
Grounding birds of others dreams,
Each step is a test of his malevolence,
And he continues to excel himself,

To his reptilian mind,
Elitism is a virtue,
People are simply tools of advancement,
Existence is a ladder,
A cutthroat meritocracy,
And so he keeps climbing,

On and on.

You apathetic dragons,
In your boardroom hoards,
Remember us?
We little people,
The public,
The ever-hungry,

We were the ones,
You trod into the muck,
We were the ones,
You left out in the cold,
We were the ones,
You used in your schemes,

Our chump change wasn’t enough,
You had to take our homes,
And the skins off our backs,
But we’re only animals,
And when we feel cornered,
We’ll even hunt dragons,

When the resources expire,
And the fires burn low,
We’ll climb your piles of gold,
In our dingy rags,
On shattered limbs,
Mad hunger saliva,

You so-called elites,
You’re going down too,
Even your power won’t save you,
From the knives of the poor,
It’s the end for you too,
We’ll eat the rich.