Once everybody knows

Once everybody knows, does the poison fade or grow? Where do the pumped-up paranoia and the daft denial go?

Does common knowledge get a welcome in the hillsides and the streets? Enough that moderation wakes to see and win the light of day? Does forgiveness and a sense of humour meet and greet the anger and embarrassment half way? So that vitriol and vengeance dissipate? Does it sweeten up the atmosphere? Does superstition disappear? And do the floodgates spring apart to send a purifying tide to heavy head and fizzy heart or make the distance side to side become a roiling sea? Does the constant churn return us, endlessly, back to the start, where faith and proof demand to function separately? Does some truth unite the factions or divide to further fractions? Will it eat us up or will it set us free?

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When is enough?

When is enough enough?
When will it give?
When ornamental plans
And the dead hand of hubris
Berate the precipice?
When is too much?
When the State is who hates?
When fake is the real news
And theocracy an economic startup?
When the individual and collective
Are mutually exclusive?
When is enough enough?
When Overton is the squeaky wheel
And emotion is its grease?
When it takes police with guns
to protect Democracy? And Gina
To remind us who and what it is for?
When the greater mass has barest weight
Yet bears it all
And snake-oil is imposed as fate?
When the coiled springs
Of claustrophobic souls take leap?
Too late.

got rote right down

wash, rinse, repeat
time and rhyme
our story beats

got rote right down
in lines
in rounds

the past unlearned
returns to reach

tomorrow bound
the earworms burn our dancing feet

 

 

We’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned revival, folks.

base-mood

What if arithmetic were underpinned by the base-mood system:
if its virtues were no more than the sum of
popular feelings, mischievous algorithms and smoke-filled echo chambers?

Did you get the memorandum?

Did you get the memorandum?
Truth is not a referendum
That’s reflected in a ballot,
In accordance with our palate.
An opinion doesn’t mean you’re right
And blackmail is a pretty risky
Filthy way to start a fight
And bleeding hearted populists,
So expert in promotion,
By exploiting our emotions:
They well know it.
And it shows if you try looking
At the mess they’re busy cooking,
That they haven’t got a frigging clue
Beyond what they told us to do
And if you think about it, nor may you.
For a better understanding,
Take a gander at the chaos
Of the dross with which
They play us.
Do you know which face is speaking?
Can you count the fakes and spot the spin
In all the lines they’re tweaking?
Have you looked around the back for strings?
Seen the cracks within the shite?
Checked your confirmation bias
And that lazy soundbite?
Do not pander to post-truth.
Don’t misunderstand a purpose
Where agenda can usurp us;
Have a pref’rence for some proof.
Stop pretending white is black,
Cease meandering around the facts
And open wide those glassy eyes,
Unglue the ears and hear the guile
And change the dismal diet,
For at least a little while.

into 2017

Leaders blamed all the wrong things
to hide their shortcomings
and a lot of very silly people met them

because,
when yet more silly people blamed
all the wrong things, again,
the same lazy leaders went and let them.

It was an age of outrage,
wasted by the justified.
Others were just keen.

And here we are,
leaning in
to twenty seventeen:
Year of the Audacity of Arrogance
– an age sold to fools,
told by idiots.