Foto do artista Crass

10 Notes On A Summer's Day


Touch me with normality,
A childhood I never had.
I too might have stood aryan
In the seeding grasses
Applauded by the bigots,
Who sneer at the sight of me.
Age is no comfort,
Indeed the options narrow.
The prison door is closed.
Locked by their prejudice
And my simple desire
To live, in a different way.
We cannot conform,
Indeed the options narrow.

In the academy we sat,
Learned, like fools.
We read predictability as if it were wisdom.
My head bows,
I see sunlight glint
Across the wooden panels.
"If only we were free."
Such a timid, whisper against the scratch of pen.
Two thousand years these histories have been documented.
Equation and formula.
Static laws.
I turn from my books, volumes lay empty
And so too is the academy.
Whatever life there might have been within,
Has slipped away, into the sunlight.

Petulance is a pretty girl
Dabbling on the river's bank.
Alice holds posies,
Sensual rosaries.
The daisy chain,
The daisy chain,
Hunger child and lazy brain.
Petulance is a pretty girl.
Dawdling by the river's bank
She squashes cold matter from the head of a tiny newt.
What is that if it is not grey?

Darkness is a game we lazily play.
We suck on paradise as we would the peach stone...
All is extracted but the life.
Childhood dreams cursed with the filthy garbage
Of realization.
So clean in imagination.
Clear as memory,
So clean in imagination.
We hide in the gaps as if their use as shitholes was
Unknown to us.

Oh how we laughed at awkwardness and inability.
Stabs in the back of consciousness.
We saw the pigs stranglehold our comrades
And ran sickened from the scene.
Some remained to share.
Nausea. Nausea.
We were invited to the cocktail party
And suffered loathsome toasts.
We tasted the melancholy
And the awful empty laugh of the socialize.
Get back. Get back.
Get back. Get back.
Tasteful slants of teacup,
Finely pointed fingers,
Is this a warning?

And if on my blood you created this free society, what then?
Would your stupid petty prejudice still push you into
Isn't the earth already at peace?
Are not we, as separate personalities, the only
Warning faction?
I suggest togetherness.
Proclaiming my love and compassion.
Will you make that into commodity,
Asset and possession?

We trained in the art of tragedy.
Taking sidelines, consumed by its ethic.
Consumed, oh consumed.
We announced amnesty.
Saw ourselves as reflections.
Oh my military boy.
Swathed in darkness and death.
We searched out each others name
In the horrid graveyard.
Consumed, oh consumed.

If you stop (me) and ask, "what now? Where now?"
Do you really expect an answer?
Is it not simply your own conscience from which you seek
A reply?
I can only say this or that,
And hope that we might strike a common chord.
Meanwhile we learn more of ourselves
And parts of each other.

We ate vanity pancakes
Amused by our self-image.
Who'd have thought it possible
That the chimps could brew their own tea?

Those dark shadows move as if guided by some hand.
Where the sea beats mercilessly on the shore.
There is the security of the land.
At the sea's deepest point there is often a strange calm.

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