In theory these crippling scenes
should manoeuvre an undisturbed
void into an obscene, private,
nihilistic orgy of commandments...
Commanding melancholic abstinence
shall induce implausible necromancies
tedious in their puerile conformity,
intangible in their linear consequences.
Riddled with prejudice. Maudlin...
Commanding a visceral immature culture,
anxious with exhausted protocols of vicarious sacrifice.
Speeding lights, glitter and tarnished glamour
each more vacuously superficial than the last.
Haltingly hollow, damning debate as alien
artifice in a genuine democracy. Rain and concrete in
sublimating sewers. Rinsed and refreshed. Reset....
Commanding virtues be symmetrical with the banality
of Art and artist conflated in signified strings of
medicinal machinations. Of meaning and veracity.
Commodities with a half-life of unique expression.
Caustic yet uncritical when disinclined to explore the
interior of neon veins vita contemplativa.
Relinquished via mea culpa. Verisimilitude.
An open letter to Russell Brand
1 day ago