Author Information
Sunshine and Moonshine
0 my factory
0 Coffee!
0 Espresso!
0 Caffe Latte!
0! Cappucino!
0 My morning flavoured beany cup of joy!
I am awakened!
0fficially!
Initially an Angel, I am now a commuter!
I met grey five-thirty with teeths of resent ment!
O breakfast, I am elevated, ambivalent!
Icicle Screams, I never lived 'til I laboured!
I rarely get angry, tho children annoy me!
Industries should quieten them with tasks of production!
O Factory, break their indolent fingers!
I got my smarts from the University of Life! They didn't! Cunts!
Insects are detestable! Worse than a child!
Idling in baths and dying of starvation!
Inevitably never quite figuring
0ut what the fuck was going on!
Open thy doors bus'y! Let me in!
Into thy chassis; the grey air --
I can hardly see it for the buildings! Hahaha! Joke!
O Bus'y deliver me to my Factory doors, gorgeous leviathan
Of symmetry...
0, my Factory!
0 beautiful digital Binary splendour!
Industry! 0il-cans!Ident.s! 0blivion!
0, one, one, F, nine, three-'aught!
0 my eyeless work-mates, my soul, beautiful and benign!
Imagine, I misremembered Factory lingo!
I thought a 'Tote' was a 'Kit-Job'! They laughed for a morning!
0 my actual spare-dick inertia!
0ld Tommy there died of natural causes!
In his bed with his wife, his heart just exploded!
On his birthday he joked, the First Twenty Years are the hardest!
On Fridays they give us free bacon sandwiches!
I live for the sweat of a canteen sandwich!
I am safe in the shadow of a monolith hulk!
I open my eyes when the wheel starts turning!
I rarely miss a deadline!
On the bus I subliminate to darkness and rainfall!
Onsets of visions of Holy Wars, Taj Mahals,
Or visions of oily tools of Practicality!
Infinite Machinery! Electrical Rain!
Idol, 0 my Factory! Uniform and arrogant!
0 heavy, groaning veteran, my
Invalid of suburbia!
I must go home! They're sending me away!
0ne-nine-A! Terrible apartments!
Inside, a heavy chamber of
Iradescent though! An
Inescapable monolgue!
I tried to drown in rum, but I could never afford enough!
I tried to drown in the television and a drowning dead man saved me!
I tried to drown in automobiles but
I was barely moved and saw shocking pictures
Idiots in cow-boy suits
I'm drunk
I am heading towards sleep, motionless
0blivion, our supreme derilection
I am not expecting to have a good time, I
0pen my eyes and see nothing, the
0rdinary air of humanity
Is anethama to me.
0ur cogs and spindles motor on
Inside the darkness of every dream.
Sleep
They want you to come in for the dreams
to draw you in on a line of vivid technicolour, thru the eyes of the soul they slam the shutters they hand out pamphlets at the door
They want you to come in for the dreams
into vast odessies where factories no longer obliterate the sky-line, and dolphins swim in indoor pools
They want you to come in for the dreams
and see through the eyes of everything the screaming atoms of the minutae of the dullness of consciousness
They want you to come in for the dreams
Where you fly to the Congo in the car of a stranger met in the dark, or trade shoes in a motel room in America and yawn with boredom
They want you to come in for the dreams; they have vending machines -- they do not want you to know who they are.
They know you and tattoo themselves on your peace.
They want you to come in for the dreams
Tho they search your pockets on the way out and only dust and fragments escape the skull
They want you to come in for the dreams
the real world is saturated in dimension, it goes south a thousand miles, north equally much so and My God! it goes up and down and the universe is so infinitely round but I receive my package on the way in
I find the universe in the barcode of a machine-part in a factory
You are wanted. They think us entitled to believe in dragons and starlight and childhood.
In hooded doorways they scream thru lamplight,
'Peace! Pirates! Mortality! True you do not decide to enter nor in what to partake -- you make a mockery of our images.
True -- though -- you make little decisions in consciousness though daylight adds shades of hope to your arbitrary valiant acts
True we offer little. Our illusions are not roads, the are foxtrots and quicksteps which go nowhere but dance an ellipse around the soul
We are limited
We sometimes draw you into a sleep so deep that your heart slows in an ecstacy of peace and the alarm clock train wreck of reality cuts the line of technicolour drawing you back to 0630 and groans.
