Poetry – We Service the Machine

We Service the Machine

I was thinking about how the rebels of yesterday, who made the walls of the city tremble, were bought off and incorporated into the very structures they stood against; their rebellion and anti-establishment stances becoming the icons of consumerism, their wealth buying access to the higher echelons and their posturing as trendy designer chic.

You cannot go anywhere without images of Elvis, James Dean, John Lennon and Che Guevara staring you in the face. Even Sinatra is in from the cold, Marylyn has her skirt blown in the air and Marx is the beard to wear.

The celebrity culture parades Mick Jagger as the epitome of revolutionary cool as he deploys his hairdresser and fitness trainer to prolong his marketability.

The establishment is adept at absorbing the blows and deflecting them so they are turned upon us. Johnny Lydon sells butter and the rebels become commodities to milk for profit.

There is no escape from the machine. We all service its insatiable needs as if busily gobbles up the earth we tread upon, the air we breathe and the life that sustains us.

My wails are pointless until they become exploitable.

We Service the Machine

Che is on the T-Shirt,

Lennon on the mug.

Quotes are plastered on our mouse-mats

To give our minds a hug.

But the profits from these baubles

Are siphoned to the State,

As the establishment exploits our tastes,

Our dreams, and finally our fate.

We are numbers to be deployed

In a pointless, superficial scheme

Where hypocrisy rules

As we service the machine.

Opher 2.9.2015



Consumer units

Dreaming of lottery wins

To own or not to own

But you cannot take it with you

Your body or my home

Keep off my girl

I’ll defend it with my life

Building the future

I must buy me a wife

Legalize the medicine

That takes away the pain

In front of the silver screen

Sanitizing the insane

OPHER 10.5.98

The ‘it’ does not refer to the woman – it refers to the way of lifelessness.

The population seems to drift through a haze towards inevitability. Days are full of moronic nothingness, soporific TV and narcotizing ALCOHOL. Lust fills the time in between.

Dreams and hopes are of escalation, ownership and purchasing power.

Sometimes I wonder what the average person (if there is such a one) would do with £25 million when they get bored on a rainy day? It appears to me that life is vacuous for most people and lacking in substance.

No wonder some turn to religion. It fills the gap. The trouble is that, from my perspective, it fills the gap with something unreal.

I yearn for creativity. Music was the vehicle for the raising of my sensibilities. It got me thinking and bopping.