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It screams at you
Buy that machine ,that will cook and clean
Buy your time to dream!
When you've bought your leisure time
they tell you what to do
Buy a sweatsuit; instant breakfasts; an anorexic outlook
Brand new joggers, too!
Get your body in shape
Be a beautiful one
'Course there's time on your hands
(They're cunning, they're clever, secure in the fact that you're safe as one of a group!)
You measure yourselves by the victims
and aimless like you.
They feed on your need to be led
Like a lamb to the slaughter
the sacrificial altar of greed.
Possessions are power, money is god
The need must be watered and fed
If you're not "with it" or "got it" or "know where it's at"
You're consumeristically dead.
In the consumer circle, global and listed,
greedy and wide
There's no time to think,
take it all in your stride.
Get some money and plastic Thirty days, easy terms
Full of FateI accepted the cup that destiny had bestowed on me and drank, not with reverence, but in big fat and ugly burning gulps They knew every reflection of my skin , had disembowelled me and torn through my gills with the hooks of their technology. I relaxed into an exquisitely loud and odious belch and lay on the worn rag of a carpet square, happy to await my fate.
Well, I wonder why that child cries in that far away country?
Come, tiny one. Your mother dies now and we shall not look, for you shall know enough sorrow if you live. Yours is the beaten country that can never win.
On your little wars feed the large and hungry, for such is the way of man.
I walk in the rim of a cyclone on Back Beach with the horizon higher than my eyes, and waves level with my knees. It seems that one tiny planetary tilt would change this coastline irrevocably, right before my eyes .The wind pushes every stitch of clothing fabric into every fold of skin, every private part of me hard, impersonal sucking at my skin.
The stalwart little willy wagtail which follows me like a faithful speech balloon is trying to fly. A valiant scrap tossed and twitched in the fingernails of the wind.
Where is the sound? I am deaf to the roar of the churning surf, of the swishing trees and the busy insect families.
Suddenly, soaring from
I thought... Love
I thought I knew love
When I heard your first cry
Was it love that I felt when
the sun lit the sky?
Such a small word,,,
And sometimes abused.
I hold my love dear
close to my chest
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More