Wake The Town And Tell The People


Did you find peace and solace in floppy fringed
synth chords of gauche New Romantics

Or ran puking through solvent beat parks
of Eighties calypso regrets

Did you shield your eyes from snarling neon signs
that spelled out Macdonald’s and Gap

On reluctant Brit-pop streets

Did you feel the flames of failed NASA space shuttle
wrecks and knew it as a sign of ancient Hopi truths,

A judgement on the Earth whispered softly through
the ages by a thousand desert tears

Did you look your mother in the eye and swear you’d
never taken drugs

But had crossed your fingers secretly behind your back
clutching half-gramme wraps

And piezo-electric trips

Did you raise the siren cry to warn the world
of bonkers la-la Reaganomics

Then built your mind a crystal shield
with a graveyard orchestra of tuning forks

And a lightning crown of stolen Chernobyl fire

Did the Nineties feel like a chance
to start again renewed

But ended wearily like a useless fractured
lung dreaming of the perfect breath

Did you rave to Acid House, to Drum ‘n Bass,
insane samples and twisted beats

Of perfect understanding on dance floors
patrolled  by disco midnight policemen

And marijuana whores

Were you seduced by shallow yuppie dreams,
of stone-eyed city slickers,

Ludicrous designer stubble, a lifestyle
that would not weep a single tear of sacred joy

Did you sit in countless dralon lounges,
a child of the moonshot generation

Dreaming of zany Fleegle theme park visits
to glam rock gigs of debauched pursuits

Did you sleep through those cold Thatcher
years, refusing to perform

In imported karaoke bars of chrome
and shameless naked kissogram deceits

Were you there when Microsoft injected the world
with junk yard holograms of doomsday cyber lies

Or the bastard sons of EMI when they first
unveiled their shocking blueprint of androgyne love

Did you discover a portal in the Middle East
leading to inter-dimensional tears,

A stargate of human fear,
weeping with the blood of stolen jihad children

Did you hustle through desperate wannabe cries
of, ‘Look at me!’

Only to piss on their grasping sargassum hands,
fame junkies begging at the gates of media heaven

Did you strut your stuff to The Village People,
to The Birdy Song, snippets of Abba,

Jokey throwaway tunes played way too loud
by the DJ with the big holy cigarette

Did you harbour escapist thoughts of northern
industrial towns of manufactured ruin,

Then joined the teeming masses of the great
unemployed dressed in long dark indie macs

And burning new wave hair

Were you saved by a vision of carcinogenic
micro-scooters, weeping tenement ghosts,

Warm fatal injections that sold a lifestyle of porn
and midnight dealers in freezing hip-hop streets

Did you flash your tits on burning party islands,
got drunk on sunset scenes of communal bliss,

Then waded out to fake nylon shores,
yelling all is dream

Did you spurn the hand of god through a soma
haze of wounded stars

That burnt a hole through mortal time
like blood on flaming lips

Were you affected by twilight humble prayers
whispered mutely across ragged, starving fields

Where children lay dying like sunless autumn days
of violent tombstone ruin

Did you stand in cold, unfeeling railway stations,
in automatic doorways,

Dumb exits of soulless shopping cities, selling
commuter time copies of the Daily Fix

For opium needles and unmade beds

Did you cry out, sacrilege! at joyless hour Tweenie
rhymes popcorned bluntly into childrens’ heads

By hanging overlords of electro creeds
and belladonna infra-red

Did you see through the scam before dropping out,
a malcontent who set up camp on the edge of town

And who lit his fires at night to purge his
spirit of the mendacious urban mind

Did you speak to friends on bewildered mobile
phones, watching twin tower peaks

Ritualistically burn on perfect flat screen sets

Did you offer hope to those with nothing left
but aching dreams of humble endgame days of HIV

Did you condemn all fast food as recycled waste,
then scour unsung streets

For the ultimate buzz on gasoline rye

Did you resonate at the required frequency,
quickened every sleeping cell and nerve,

So you could stare into atom hearted kachina jars
of germless electric worlds

Did you travel along drunken A-road halls
of winking nihilistic flesh,

A god on assignment, aching with lust
and craving the dead bouquet of sweet tourist sex

Did you pervert the course of history
by corrupting your luminous genetic code,

By borrowing from time a shock-wave diamond
weapon of sacred sagarmatha seeds

Did you find the Blue Fairy smashed up and dying,
a crash victim, coughing up blood

You held her until she breathed her final breath,
then fled from there

Screaming, murder on the yellow brick road!

Did you condemn those who were drowning
in materialism,

Generations who would not listen
because they had poured liquid silicon

Inside their breasts and ears

Did you try to burn down the Hotel of the
Five Senses, warning of future excess

A bitter, isolated figure with strobing shock-art
hair and whirling cinevision eyes

Did you deliberately disconnect from the world
to bring back the two lost hippie seals

Of Peace & Love, vowing never again
to alter their frequency

Or to misrepresent their universal message

Did you rebel against the norm

Did you stand up to be counted

Were you offered cheap narcotic imprints,
bright flashing logos of pure consumer lust

Shuddering, explosive 4-hour  trips
dipped in the semen of Corporate Man

Did you read the message contained in the crop
circle, recognising it as the ultimate head fuck:

Religion for the masses, leading us through
the ages into a prison of the mind

Did you wander in dead hot summer streets,
in rusting jubilee parks,

Getting pissed with the automatic hordes
to celebrate blue-blooded sham images

Of royal wedded bliss, knowing that years later,
those same hyper-manipulated hordes

Would once more return to obsequiously faux lament
at stone-hearted palace gates


Homer Simpson, it wasn’t me who took the car
and didn’t bother to replace it

It wasn’t me who screwed the arse off it
running from the cops

Now it’s come back wrecked and it doesn’t go,
and it’s so fucked up, we’re gonna have to dump it

Fucked up! Like snarling system failure men & women

Fucked up! Like ants scuttling across dealing room floors

Fucked up! Like Watergate, like Thalydamide,
Bhopal, like 20 million lying dead in Africa from AIDS

Fucked up! Like a new born baby screaming out
for its first toke of crack cocaine

Fucked up! Like a V-sign to god after a lifetime
of prayers

Fucked up! Like a world choking beneath a funeral pyre
of deadly CO² exhausts

Fucked up! Like a child demanding instantaneous
satellite fame

Fucked up! Like the Holocaust, like Pol Pot, like all
20th Century death

Fucked up! Like the grinding, cancerous meta scourge
of weeping ghetto poverty

Fucked up! Like SUV nail bombs mutilating innocent
market day flesh

Fucked up! Like ugly electric rhythms and silent
digital atrocities

Fucked up! Like volcano scabs on the lush lips
of desire

Fucked up! Like the pounding machinery
of mind controlled commuters

Fucked up! With too many shape shifting drugs

Fucked up! With cities that speak only in suffering,
with incessant heartache and misery,

With days that beat relentlessly with rain

Fucked up! Like a gamelan winter of cold-hearted
human fire

Fucked up! Like unsolved murder on the yellow brick road


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