We’re up to our knees in pornfat.
Remember the birds, remember the bees?
Memories are sliding, society is slipping
In pornfat. When your daily bread is dry as toast,
Rub some on your goal post or when you
Need to go the distance in 2 minutes flat,
You can get it, spread it on nice and thick;
Pornfat. Its there to satisfy when you shave off
Some privacy for some pornfat that comes
In bright square jars; you need to unscrew,
Lift a lid and paw out the succulent stars
And dunk your eyes deep into them, into that;
That lovely, juicy pornfat. Pornfat is smeared
All over our screens. It drips down over newspapers,
Magazines; an emotional lubricant from your teens
Congealed into habits; pornfat greases up old routines
In a world of aspiration, pornfat is compensation.
It shows another world where we’re at it like rabbits.
From the teats of the porn fattened media cow,
Marbled in its meat, mixed in its milk; porn fat oozes.
You can ignore it but after awhile something in you chooses.
Why have sex cotton when you can have sex silk?
Celebrity candles, thin as wicks burn lurid colours over oil slicks.
We flutter around, get drawn in, we buy into the chat
And slip and slide and give into that, that porn fat.
Its pumping into our societies; saturating senses,
Fattening up feelings, love with lust: in everything,
A trace of it; smears and bleary ideas-
What was it that used to turn us on? Before we turned
To turning on to turn us on and in our nests and our hives
A new diet for the old format; let’s do it.
Let’s fall in polyunsaturated pornfat.
Monthly Archives: January 2013
Filling Your Kettle
‘Physical media is dead’ the man-on-the street said with a shrug,
Now, he means, everything comes through the plug,
But while grabbing goods from the airwaves, we’ve pulled the rug
On the high street that has become like a smile of pulled teeth
And its chipped veneer hints at disease beneath.
Lesser brands occupying the gaps left like transient market stalls;
Major brands embed themselves in the suspended reality and numbing neutrality of shopping malls.
The middleman is dead. Long live the middleman.
Now we sign in to our illuminated mirrors
And tap out signals to the world
Every heart beat a flashing cursor,
I want that. Bring it to me.
And the world jumps.
The tight spiral of the modern world is
A consumer led communication network and
The Internet is to the computer what the genie is to the lamp.
Life is a memory stamped on your brain.
Poised physically; a living projection,
I am memory in form;
I am everything I can carry.
How much noise and colour and information can you squeeze into the digital universe?
If physical media is dead then surely ownership of media is dead?
Or are we back to radio? But now its a one man show;
You are both the transmitter and the radio.
Like filling your kettle: information, music, films, books..
And ‘everything for the home’ straight from the warehoused stock piles of Google.
So fill it up and never be full.
My Deerboy 