Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Ode On A Distant Prospect Of The Future or It's Not Folly To Be Wise

Following on from a conversation with Matt Panesh The Monkey Poet

Scene: The not-too-distant future.
The last clever people on Earth are trapped
In a maze of their own devising.
Nine of us are left, just nine,
Like Muses, or Ringwraiths,
Or stitches saved by the timely.
No needlework can save us now,
For we are doomed, doomed to die -
Again, a bit like Ringwraiths.

We quiver quietly, await our fate,
And ponder our survival rate.
Not zombies, wolves, or orcs we fear
But the horde of fuckwits drawing near.

We happily co-existed, not so long ago.
We got lost in libraries, they had football
And fighting, and fake tits,
And other things that real men like.
But while we were reading,
They were breeding.
While we were pleading with our girlfriends
For some environmentally-friendly anal sex,
They were filling four-by-fours with
Fat kids and gasoline,
Until we became an endangered minority,
Like Polar Bears, or Tigers,
Or the Irish.
And when the gas stations ran dry,
And they were forced to think for themselves,
They'd forgotten how to do it.
And they turned on us,
Desperate for someone to blame
And to make their kettles work.

They turned with fury unrestrained,
They hunted us 'til few remained.
Relentless, like a rising tide,
The horde of fuckwits just outside.

In the name of God and Clarkson they march,
Under a Hogwarts banner.
Destroying what they don't, or won't, understand.
Like Pollock's paintings
“Coulda bin done by a four-year-old!”
Or Cage's compositions
“Four and a half minutes of silence my arse!”
Or the idea that anything good might exist outside London.
Egged on by politicians who parade their piety
While legislating the loss of liberty,
With money mad marketing men
Singing the theme to Hollyoaks and chanting
Ignorance is Bliss!
Ignorance is Bliss
Britain's Got Talent!
Ignorance is Bliss!

With Gray in his grave, slowly revolving,
Humans chose to stop evolving.
The result of which – we can be sure -
The horde of fuckwits at the door

For a while we kept them at bay.
The outer defences sliding doors
That said 'Push' and 'Pull' on them,
Signs that pointed left, and said 'Keep Right'.
Inside those, tables, strewn with
Packets of nuts with nuts inside,
Scalding hot, warning-free coffee,
And a knife that was guaranteed suicide-proof -
We figured they'd see that as a challenge.
But there were so many of them.
On they came, like Soviet soldiers at Stalingrad,
Only with warmer, puffier coats.
On they came, past the Paris Hilton exhibition,
Ignoring the Rubik's Cubes and Slinkies littering their path,
Past the astrology readings that said
“With Scorpio in the ascendant,
Treat yourself to some KFC and X-Factor”
On they came, determined to crush the last remnants of
The smart-arse, clever-dick, big-word-using,
Poetry-reading, faggot world we represented.
They're just outside now.
I still refuse to pray.

We hear the knuckles scraping floor,
As foreheads seek to smash the door.
Our fearful fingers scratching skin:
There's a horde of fuckwits breaking in

But this is the future, it isn't set -
There's time to change this vision yet!
Ignore the rumours that you've heard:
Intelligence isn't a dirty word.
Think for yourself, wonder, question,
Try to cleanse the doors of perception.
Be proud of your learning, proud of your smarts,
(And stop them from slashing the funds for the arts!)
Reduce population in the simplest way:
Try to stop fucking, just for a day,
Teach your children to think straight from birth,
Before all these fuckwits take over the earth.

                     Intellectuals of the world unite!
                     You have nothing to lose but your brains.

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