The producer has constructed a single tower:
A bad trip barbican with book depository allusions.
A massive three dimensional obelisk,
Gemini structure, identical repetition.
a monument of mirrors reflecting
the action – the happening,
the expiration of the whole enchilada;
reality as a grotesque event, Warhols
fantastical conceptual theatre:
an entertaining atrocity.
These proceedings are projected directly onto
a jumbotron monitor, fed into the head of
Madhattan and beyond the badlands of
segregation and cold war quarantine.
Take 1: (please)
On the horizontal flush peak of the spike,
an attractive amputated actor
nonchalantly nudges a glass snowdrome.
an ornament depicting a frenzied ritual;
darkest ebony troopers disco and exudate,
their naked musculature sheens
in the contained storm of speed:
out of shot a medicine man
orchestrates the hysterical
amphetamine reckoning.
Shaman conductor,
a cultural soothsayer
pop witchdoctor;
Andy was a visionary
the postmodern oracle
of 15 minutes of misery.
the villagers of the pod are ignorant of
their confinement and their fate:
they dance.
(they play their part)
The Actor shunts this baby auditorium headlong,
using his corporate sponsored penis
(*think Goodyear blimp revised - P L A Y S T A T I O N*),
A Sony symbol tattooed on
each testicle bulging with gameplay.
(asian eye winks ;
inching it on, four and a half at a time,
(width ways shuffle method):
Syphoning the limits of a
breached seed case,
sniping the brink,
a cross clock sprung hair
clung unlicensed lice, dear life
inexorable free fall looming vista;
times square, the root of: all evil.
a slow procession,
funnel march,
erectile precision
stiff with starch.
[pausing] on the odd occasion
to flick ash toward the windy city
and roll a cherry around the rim
of the translucent repository.
His pathway is lined with pretty,
pregnant celebrities, (past and present)
fame fuckers, attention suckers,
on either side, a parallel guard of honour,
they cross
must have items over
his obscenely wonderful head.
Actor drags his trunk along on a skateboard.
As he passes each exquisitely shaped, fat snatch
they submissively explode into vacuum packed bags,
an action akin to a smoothly violent melt,
a delicious spawning of hermetically
sealed sex and stinky, a special effect;
blades drizzle down the screen,
Actor wades thru, all the while
minding his bill board bollocks.
[Ball breaker heart acher]
I press pause, commercial interruption, I have begun to flag.
I catnap and dream of products, in this dream state city
I work a black and white, nine to five, Monday to Friday.
in the evenings I anesthetise my mind
with rich food, wine, superstar gossip
and a particular strain of pornography;
girls oiled by machines.
Fuckzilla, Intruder MK II, Sybian, The Satisfyher,
Titan, Tresspasser, Bunny Fucker, Scorpion,
The Snake, The Dragon, The Little Guy,
The Hatchet, The Fucksall, and The Octapussy,
(all available from FuckingMachines.com
)
Crashtestdummyfucker
At the weekends I shop for garments and black coffee beans,
Inject alcohol into my mouth and look louche to access
mingling (alone) in groups of comrades and outsiders alike.
I make-believe
I am a soldier, hit man – wet man, gang bang slayer etc.
wasting persons or monstrosities Via my console selector
tin man/time waster
During this interval
I am distracted (slightly) by
organised media metanarratives,
arabian springs, Iranian nuclear heaviness,
recycling second hand bikes,
the war on terrible
backward brown people
(cave dwellers/believers/warriors).
Algebra architects springing
arithmetic traps.
Zebedee rags heads
I hero worship
old skool
rascist soccer stars and ignore
that picture on the news
of the brutally assaulted pensioner,
you know the one I mean?
her brutalised visage resembles
a blueberry and blood paintball catastrophe,
it’s the picture that allows my manhood to say
give me five minutes alone with the bastard (the assailant)
I ‘ll show him rape and pain
nonces and kiddie fiddlers
whack jobs and pervs
fucking evil invaders
irritate my threadbare nerves,
stuck with a shiv,
cut a cat. C
I am a wicked man
but these perverted immigrants
are worse than me.
Oh really?
His excessively exaggerated response
prompts me to leave in search of breath.
I take a drive in my plug-in
conscience easing carriage,
It costs a small fortune,
(I have to do my bit, even in my sleep)
and Chris and Gwyneth have five a’ piece.
I’ll take anything to distract me from the bomb whole science has left
where the churches used to be – always conscious of an absence,
never able to find the time to discover what I am missing while
the adverts play on my breakdown.
Lobal warming
I wake in a cold sweat, Hudson breeze qualifying my chill.
A camera bird strafed and screeched:
Actor exterminates it, using his penis
as a promotional tool.
Madonna goes sppfff pop*)), Marilyn goes sppfff pop*)), Liz sppfff pop*)),
the other Madonna sppfff pop*)), Diana sppfff pop*)), Gwyneth goes…
Actor interrupts the succession to smash Gwyneth in the face with his bat before
she combusts into a bagged up, silky slush, of flesh for mass consumptives,
to gorge on, and chew over their tragedies, spread on raggedy ass couches,
Raquel, Winslet; all go boom, goes the last bust: home)))
and lo, behold, Gay Science (shes alive!)
My snail trail is literal
i left my legs in amongst
the mess and slime of
an Afghan vagabond beaming
freedom fighter light
into zarathustra's deaf and uncaring
market place,
Spake up: Have you seen him!?
I am incontinent, my guts
decorate destiny and Saharan
death scapes continued.
At the precipice point
I piss as the planetarium
glass drops into the abyss.
the final icon French kisses my long lost logo
and booms to bliss and beyond the fireworks,
fashionistas and body fascist sisters.
Bras burn,
jets flyby.
ticker tape tumbles
cheering throngs
bay for blood as the
cavalcade approaches.
[Texas bookstore massacre 2]
I score some hash
from Grassyass Noel
the Mexican weed dealer
and sit on this greasy bank.
Actor, would be assassin,
cashing in
a change is gonna come chips.
Hope collapses
children singing.
The president is dead
The president is dead
Chocks away
bouncing bombs
dams busted
reconfigure
but why when
exploding Hitler’s bladder
did they have to call
that damned dog
trigger
pulled
target
sighted
baby boomers
end
liberal daydreams
blighted
we tried progression
we tried relaxed
we gave it all away
but in parrelax
the time is now
for the contrarian
view
the death of an Actor
the rise of the Dictator
Totalitarian ruler
the despot screw.
Made in china.
