Did you notice the crisis going on outside,
It’s terrible really they’re trying to hide
Atrocities behind a wall of big lies
The badness of this is incredibly sized.

So get out and help, you useless ****,
Shout and whisper you absolute schmuck,
March and stamp and tiptoe around red tape,
Call it ****** harassment, but I wouldn’t call it ****,
Donate and berate but most of all-

**** THE GOVERNMENT,

(Tenderly, like a lover, to not upset the way of things of course.)

Why aren’t you looking for missing kids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saying what Russia forbids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you aching from every pore
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saving all of the ******
Why aren’t you crying at the dead bodies
Why aren’t you giving your money to us?
Why, aren’t you someone the people can trust?

Did you notice the crisis going on within,
It’s terrible really, a huge massive din
Is crashing and smashing alone in your head
You can’t ever stop, unless you are dead.

Oh wait, you posted a brightly coloured infographic on your instagram story?
You’re good, never mind.

So much to do, my mind is buzzing. My fingers are dancing with perverted excitement as my lips form words with more syllables than letters. I feel as though I were a more capable Atlas. May the world rely on me, I shall hold it higher than an aeroplane as it soars through the sky. Our skies.

A testament to the ingenuity of man the turrets, ******* the weak, and credit God; the asexual ****** he is.

This is no song for the hipsters to play as their ringtones as they feel for each other through their LCD screens. They search for other brazen articles of humanity trapped within their social networks, a web of faces, **** smiles, faces and words with us wherever we we go. An inextricable mass that haunts like schizophrenic vocals droning out the real life. But there is no real life. We are all just like Him.

*****. Not natural. Filthy. Unclean.

Today, I grabbed a handful of sand just to see if I could feel it. Ten years ago, I would have felt every grain as it passed through my fingers; crisp, sharp, invigorating. Now, it’s dull. Blunt, rounded, indistinguishable. *****. Not natural. Filthy. Unclean. Nothing for our worshipped deviant to see.

My life is pornographic; an infographic of my exquisite taste in infectious lies, in the slaughter of old days, in the times immemorial. A map of things that don’t relate to me. A chart of things I don’t care about. I have too much to do, so much to write about! To write about...me.

*****. Not natural. Filthy. Unclean.

My mind is buzzing.

Until the next day, when my bones fall sluggish and my mind thinks plainly of its singular desire: Sleep…*****, sleep...filthy, sleep. But I can’t.

So now...I work. I am alive, alive, alive a lively beat of my heart as blood runs like an inmate from the bars of confinement. From my body: a testament to the ingenuity of *******. My body. Where my heart is beaten.

Beat, beat.

Sleep, sleep.

Fly high.

Regret
It's one of those things
Get under your skin
Splinter-like
As ******* as getting them
old-broomstick style
Aggravatingly , not
Because they're there
But rather from how you got them
Poor. Life. Decisions.
7pm blackout in the scheme of things.
******* off, or on, maybe.
And the worst part
always being
That
You
Can
Do
Everything
In your own ******* right mind
To forget, or to move on
You can change your attitude
Your view on life
To reflect the "new-and-improved"
You.
But it will always be there,
Regret.

I’m…
Sitting in my flat,
To my couch I am thatched,
Kyle’s yelling,
He keeps telling,
Me to,
Get a job,
Like walk straight into one,
I get slightly indignant,
That it’s easier said than done,
He points it out,
So his main demographic
Don’t switch off en-masse,
Ending his quasi-infographic
Combination of hot air and bad gas
Mr. Kyle’s relatable,
He makes an effort
So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves,
He’s not hateable.

SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C,
The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me
The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery
Through way of a work programme
How he has decided that I need to experience real life life,
Through legislation and universal credit,
Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it

SO my rhyming thought full of tangents
Must now come to end
As the tangent I have accomplished
Is impossible to defend.

You need to stack some cash
And stop xscrollingx all the time
You gotta think about your attention as a commodity. They can buy it for nothing, or you can focus it on benefitting you: into your art or work or literally anything else.

- those are two really solid points. Like there's no response. You really broke it down.

[He steps outside to smoke the cigarette he's been holding, waving around as He spoke, for at least a few minutes, if not five- or even ten. He Sits and places his phone face down with intention, but his mind begins to spin again. Thoughts come swirling like autumn leaves twirling down an empty lane, upon an errant whirlwind blustering through a quiet evening, stirring just enough to sell you a memory of some absent something you want to need. But this is a painting; the thoughts actually came like a Tasman Devil cartoonish chaotic violent spiting and ******. Dusting up the place and tipping things over, then leaving out again the way he came. These thoughts of war and wage enslavement, or prison camps and violent ends, are prosaic-prophecies he believes, and he can't help but fear saying "I told you so." It's less fun when it was a warning.

And as his thoughts turn to the channels of control and the algorithms running things- he had a brief of how it ended; wat if they win; and he reached automatically for the distraction box with the screen.

Automatically he opened Facebook and flicked the screen to do thing. And would you believe, the first box thought digitally ingested was a infographic of dubious providence describing approval ratings of socialism / communism among the 19-29 year old demographic, in meme format. Its heading said, "18-39? Ok. Who's teaching this to our kids?" Then at the bottom a response was pinned:

You are. When people said, "Maybe people shouldnt have to take on astronomical debt to receive medical care." You said, "That's socialism!" When people said, "We shouldn't be burdening young adults who want to get an education with predatory loans" you cries, "Socialism!"

"You're the best marketing Socialism ever had."

This elicited a gut reaction of snide peace and arrogant delight; "thank god they get it" he felt as his stress level reset, "Things are gonna be alright."

His second thought was, "*******!They are good. This ******* thing was listening the whole time." He realised the algorithm (algorithms?) had fed him dopamine right on time and calmed him back from a frenzied thought parade that was marching slowly to a workable solution to the social ills of the day. And out of self-preservation it had interrupted that line of thought intentionally by ringing the bell of an ideological echo chamber, reinforcing a delusion of socialist paradise just on the other side of the horizon line at the other end of another sunny day, yet to dawn but coming inevitably. It's on its way;

we just have to wait.

He steps back in to share his revelation with his only friend who won't call him insane.

"The algorithms heard us stressing lol.

this stupid post it fed me out the gate done got me. straight up calmed me down before I even knew it was. They know exactly how to manipulate us all.

They've got so much information on our profiles now they can predict our thoughts before we have them. They just keep micro dosing control signals and inceptioning our day to day.

This ****** fed it to me to distract my mood from the indignation at the stress
Around me and the world of problems it's creating in order to keep us down

When are we gonna get mad enough. We're not mad enough yet and I can't understand why or how. We need someone who can reach the middle and show them that the powers that be don't give a **** about you and no one wins from what they're doing now.
But what if it's all too late. They're gonna make it so ha rd for us to just keep up that we won't have the time to chant them down.

What if we can't defeat the sycophantic garbage dead set on running the ship aground. It seems to me there gonna win. At least for a while. We haveto suffer it for it to sink in that this was a stupid path to take. Also the weapons of war at there disposal are so sophisticated now that black mirror seems tame. (Also: come on guys, did they really need a hint about that particular one, you think? Like for real, ****** drones? Jesus Christ, if they didn't have em already they sure as hell  have em now...)