Naked and spectacular

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I am not impressed

I am not one of you.
I am not of this place.
I am not a sterile alien
in an environment mediated
for my comfort and convenience.

I am not impressed
by your pretentious stateliness,
your hollow decadent sobriety,
your cluttered simplification,
your demonic rationality,
your psychopathic paranoid security,
your technological connected isolation,
your nihilistic self-conscious alienation,
your incomprehensible layers
of ironic PC cynicism,
your empty distracted busyness,
your guarded defensive attempts at socialisation,
your beautiful plastic carcasses
taunting my desperate loneliness,
your sterile industrial filth,
your abstracted categorised scheduled
attempts at spontaneity and joyous expression,
your reactionary self-justifying
fear of anything remotely different,
your angry ancient humiliated defeat,
your opinions,
borrowed from deformed malignant celebrities,
your offence,
reeking of violent disgust,

Your pleasures of the flesh
are merely self-abuse and delusion.
Your freedom
is selfish irresponsible isolation.
Your democracy
is entertainment.
Your consumer capitalism
is just a flurry of hysterical advertisements,
shamelessly manipulative,
to justify emptying the earth
and filling it back up again.

Your entire wretched civilisation
disgusts me,
makes me want to gouge out my eyes,
castrate myself in hopeless horniness,
harden my heart with bitter cynicism,
or run away into the wilderness.
(I choose the latter.)

I see through your pretense.
I don't believe you.
I see you,
trying to be fake,
painfully real,
painfully feeling, noticing,
undermining your own observations.
I see your brittle tender humanity
tucked inside your personalised
plastic packaging.

But I haven't been paying attention
to the hype, the cultural conversation.
How am I supposed to be talking now?
Am I naive or offensive?
I don't understand.
I have stepped away too many times.
I'm too far gone.
I'm not like you anymore.
I'm not a part of your futile games.
I'm just a confused beast
just self-conscious enough to look normal
most of the time.

But messy silly fun in the wilderness
is obscene and illegal in the city;
and I cannot reconcile that
with my need to not wall myself
in a private garden of despair.

But right now
I love you.
It hurts me
but I love you
and I want us to travel together
in the forest, up the beach,
into each other's hearts and trust.

Somehow I still have faith
in your ability to break through.
I possess precious memories of
moments of mutual discovery
that are more real to me
than your robotic role-playing.

I am merely human, transforming,
amorphous, ignorant, intuitive, emotional.
I need love, intimacy, mutual respect,
honesty and purpose.
I refuse to imprison myself in
a suffocating private paradise.

I want to sleep under the stars
or in my tent,
on the earth,
wrapped up warm
with you, in embrace,
without thought,
deep sleep
deep wake
into a vivid morning
transcendent in the new day,
no tendrils spreading me around the world,
unwaveringly present,
flowing through a simple beautiful life.

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