Anarchism
How can I justify anything that I say without the
mere justification of just wanting to say it? And by this very premise I cannot
stand by my words as sentiments of wholeheartedness, more can I give in to
their dispersion's as elements of discontent. To what effect do my words
resound? Do they serve then just to act as the beat of my drum to which only I
must march? Affected by all that has passed and filled with dread of what’s to
come I cringe in my vanity of wanting to change a thing! The ‘hue and cry’
before they ‘sling me up’, “he did it” they shall cry, “he said it” they shall
cry. What was the crime then? Was it one that had entered into this very world
with my person, one that was so vaguely planted as a seed within my coloured
dreams, a tantalizing glance of the “don’t
be silly will you!” And a sickly shot of the ‘what the hell are you going on about?’ Far away from ‘the din of the machine that is perpetually
thrusting’ just as it has always done, filled with a driving motion that cuts
through the still of the night and clings on to the eddies of wind that blow
the smoke from the end of my fag, away with any resolutions to change. Change
is a word of the past when the ‘din of the machine that is perpetually
thrusting’ takes over once again. A ‘how’s
a bit of that then’ to off-balance the ‘din’
by way of means a recompense that was given to me by the attraction and
wonderment that went with ‘that neon sign’ that pointed me over
there. And so from that funfair, sharp stimulating noises, bellowed across the
dewy trodden pathway, bellowed resoundingly, bellowed that laugh, that
excitement, that ‘quick before its gone
merriment’ belligerence, love, spite
‘in spite of it all’ the lardy ‘tucked in’ ‘war painted’ (she’s) that are clinging
on to the ‘smoke filled’ ‘leather handed’ ‘make the world go round’ (he’s).
‘Twas not them though, no, for they were not the instillers of discontent, they
were the darting brown in a stream, the ‘crayoned drawing of a child’
magnetised to the cold white metal of the master’s ‘food keep-freshener’. Twas
the ‘lads on the gate’ them that brimmed with ‘the ways of the world’. “I’ll
stop you here and just say to you, if it’s a good time you’re looking for then you've come to the right place” kind of attitude. ‘Quick but thick’ and with
the gaudiness of ‘thick-sett moronic nothingness’ but all at once full of it,
full of the world, and shouting to try and be overheard because of the ‘din of
the machine that is perpetually thrusting just as it has always done.’ It is
not too much for them though, it just unfortunately aids them in shouting over
each other to try and be heard! “Take my money then lads” they quickly fold it
into their dirty back pockets that are stained from the ‘machine’ wipe their
hands on their comrades, and gesticulate to draw my eyes towards the ‘commemorate the jokes for the sake of
jokes’ moment that just passed, “What do you want to abstract from me you
pathetic miner?” was the thought but from
my corner I did not ‘let out’ the ‘counter-joke featherweight with the glass
jaw’, for it seemed like the vegan in the carnivore’s party, and it was because
of this abstention humility was lost,
just ‘a child’s helium filled balloon’ skyward bound and heart sunken, a sad
dot on the horizon. I’m just at the gates though and all the fun seems to be
‘booming past me’ if I opened my mouth wide enough I might be able to ingest it.
The funfair has leveled all the personalities that used to give me a friendly
hello and even those that I know, who know of my existence but refuse to acknowledge it
with any familiarity are lost in the evocative sound. Everyone is competing to
have fun, they try hard, and the sharp dressers can be seen over the noise,
those ‘of the cloth that is not dapper’
have to shout enthusiastically and 'vein-poppingly' over the ‘din of the you
know what’, because their clothes do not speak volumes. Some hold on to claims
of knowing how the ‘machine works’ but
mostly no one cares in their ‘gaze of wonderment’ that half looks like a
startled wood-pigeons who possesses those ‘skittish eyes in front of a farmers
smoking gun’, lest lust become an ugly matter then, that that is unsaid, just
uttered what thoughts were thinking! The funfair has lost its fun-part by now;
It’s more of an unfunfair now! One that can’t be comprehended, I look at the
people and they’re still incessantly
laughing, disembodied sounds that sound like, well, well, well like ‘they never
had an owner!’ Mimicry at the behest of some kind of wizardry! A throw back
even, to a distant memory, but still they churn it out. I find no place in the
lonely crowd, no! The crowd is not lonely though, for they find solace in the pretense of perpetual laughter, you know, to drown out the ‘the din of the
machine that does the, you know what all the bleeding time!’ I could chip into
the chirpiness and ‘chirp up!’ Resolutely there seems no viable attribution
that I can cling on to; “How’s it going then, this is just what we need isn’t
it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it ‘ad nausea ’ I
had repeated the phrasing until I got the pitch ‘just right’, in between I
swayed as a blurred world added to my confusion. My mouth dry from chattering
that clanged empty sound, aching with the laughter that ensued. For one brief
moment though the machine struggled, it seemed like it was on the brink of running out of fuel, the engine almost
idling, but not quite, It was then and suddenly that I could hear my thoughts
again! I just told them what I had realised all at once, and shoutedly blasted
out “I just want what you all want” and with this dispersal of my thoughts came
the onslaught! “What do you mean boy?” I tried to tell them, “I know a place
where we could be happy, without us pretending to laugh all the time because of
the noise of the machine, but it’s up to you!” They regarded me for a short
while and then they all begged “please tell us where it is?” I was just about
to tell them that they didn't have to go far to find it
when……………………………………………………………………………………… ”The ‘lads on the gate’ had greased the
machine to get her going again and the ‘din’ of the ‘you know what’ had drowned
me out!
