Sunday, 13 November 2016

The Mad

In better times they killed the mad

Before they dragged them out into the muddy places that markets dared not invade
To watch them commute with that real essence that was being left behind

But then they tried to cure the mad
And that was evil, that was mad
And now they spread it everywhere, behind every sign there is a mad man waiting to take your face

Today we have relearned that medieval joy of walking past the mad
She stands there in the summer heat, dressed in layers of winter clothing
Drinking a peanut butter jar of hpiss
Hissing that there are murders lurking the corners
which there are
and Oh My God, I have to rush to make my bus
Cups of coffee waiting for me in the office needing to be drunk
Google waiting to be asked something

Google is mad
Ask it a question, and it rants off some utterly senseless mass or words
And have you ever listened to the TV
I mean listen to it as you flip for channel to channel
You must be mad to know to use it
I have forgotten how to use the TV
When I see one it’s a mad woman hissing in piss breath about rats and cunts.

But you are sane, you and I are sane
That is our happy curse you know
we are the ones without the freedom of the new mass
we are the ones who don't hear the voices everywhere
In better times tribes of humans killed the mad before moving on to other camps
In better times the mad were seen as evil
But now they are running the network, hell they are in the White House
They are forming referendums
They are coding their gibberish into tweets
They are masturbating all the same fantasy
They say everything
No one has a secret anymore
But you and I, we un-mad humans
We are cursed

Help me, I am trying to keep the camp together
I am trying to remember the actual words to the song
I am trying to look up at a night sky and know that stars exist

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