Wolf and the Owl
Poetry, Lyrics, Translations
and Musings by Alex Etchart

Simmering Shimmering

By on Saturday 4th October, 2014

Listen…
…do you hear it?
Its the sound of simmering rage,
The upset stomach of the communal consciousness,
There’s a simmering anger,
Primal fury building in pressure
Hiddenly forbiddenly ferally festering
With the occasional burst!

…in the form of a high school massacre.

And anger towards each other
Is anger at ourselves,
The boss but also the worker,
The glamour models but also the person next to you on the bus,
The customer
The consumer
The expecter spectre,
Its no longer the boss enslaving Us
Its each other, the user
Perpetuators of the system

Go into the shop
Get snarky snide stares
At asking for something
More than a beep of the till
Other than a quick fix
Customer Service? Or servitude you mean
Give me a pint, a bottle, 2 or 10
Can I get that in red
Can I get that in blue
A pretty one a fluffy one
Burger please! Burger please!
Thank you have a nice day
No eye contact
No need for metal robots
Metamorphosis!

…of the flesh into a keyboard for the screen

Theres TOO MANY PEOPLE
NOT ENOUGH FOOD
You might have done biology in school, right?
The bacterial population graph of our race is peaking

TOO MANY PEOPLE
NOT ENOUGH TIME
The conveyor belt is already full speed
The chainsaws revving
The drills a fracking
Futile to run against the tide

TOO MANY PEOPLE
NOT ENOUGH LOVE
For love is time…
…time is money
So love is money
And you know the rest

And we cling tighter to our clans
Clamber over the bodies
Jumping on chests of the fallen
Groping at the hamster feed

You
Are no longer a citizen
Equally oppressed sharing in my plight
You
Are a nuisance, an obstacle, competition
For my seat on the bus
Taking too long in the queue, on the loo
Take care to spare only your portion of air

Mine, I want it, you got it, cant have it, I’m hungry, I work hard, harder than you, longer than her, you claim benefits, you stole food, you got promoted, he’s got a limp, you play golf, she started it, he caused it, they killed it, them bombed it

STOOOOOOOP!
Babies please!
And I count myself a baby too
Can we take a moment
Breathe in together

(Breath in. Breath out.)

Well I’m a baby too
And I hand my hand to you
And say

Number 1.
We have a right to be angry
Spit out your fire you dragons
How dare we be forced to face such hardship
We ourselves didn’t create
Nor our parents nor their parents parents –
For the simple crime of being interdimensional cocktails of stardust

To some extent we have more luxury and commodity and life expectancy than any age in history
To some extent we have the greatest global doom and gloom apocalyptic burden to bear in mystery

ROAAAAAR!
Fuck the ancestors and their lousy inheritance
Fuck the first king to put on a crown and say
Peasants should die to defend his gown
Fuck the sweatshop market
Fuck the need to own a slave labour iphone to answer emails in the mountains to be a viable 21st century professional

Fuck the boss, fuck the worker, fuck the union, fuck the transport, fuck the logo fuck the brand

Fuck the man, fuck the woman, fuck the screaming child in the corner

Fuck the need to be grown up and adult about impending doom
Fuck all these masks

Number 2.
No one chose this. No one I know at least.
The syrian refugee, the single mum, the somali family relocated to East London to escape civil war the UK govt contracts create
The working boy who joins the army, the yummy mummy in Hampstead or Stroud
The loved the hated the hungry the sated the privileged the fated
No one deserves this.
This mmmangled mmmolten mmmess.

We can call it systemic oppression

Translation:
We’ve all been being fucked from before we were born
So its quite expected to act like douches and blame each other
Very normal behaviour under traumatic conditions.
And if we were born into these conditions
And feel like we’ve had little agency
Then:

Number 3.
Even the people doing the fucking think they have no choice
Born into a class or status, or earned their way to the top so feel they deserve it
They’re speaking the language they’ve been given, or the language that gave them life
Too comfortable to want or need to innovate and risk their security
And who of us can blame them?
Wouldn’t you do the same given the chance?
A safe deckchair floating over the lake
From which to watch the hurtling firestorm

Number 4.
Breathe
Shed
Honour
Cry
Giggle

Tense your shoulders, tense them harder, really hard, squeeze your fists
Keep tensing, keep tensing, tense the hardest………

Now Relax

Float…

Wooow!
Woooooow!
Look!
You’re so beautiful!
Such hardship, such a strange odd world
So much chaos, so many ropes, ties, shackles, pressures, pains, blames, shames

You are sooooo imperfect
And beautifully so
Every time you cry and shout, inside and out its stunning
Real sexy, suits you
Your body coping, so strong and inspiring
Every failure being learning, every slip of the mask in yearning

Perfect in its imperfection
Absolutely what it needs to be
An awkward mass trying to negotiate the queerest of circumstances with a fools grace

Let me share with you a secret:
Billions of years of stardust supernovae forming nuclear fusion to evolve mitochondria to this moment
For you to open the cupboard and smash your flatmates favourite mug

For you to…
Number 5.
Admit we’re scared, terrified!
Yeah I say all these long lovely words but fuck if I’m going to tell you I know what next – what we need to do to wade through this celestial goo

So first things first
Baby steps
Hold your hand out to a stranger
Give it a little squeeze
And admit “I’m scared”

We’re all terrified we don’t know how to unplug from consumer capitalism
How to bring about utopia
Because the one in our mind’s eye can never exist
Especially so long as it remains a lifeless plaque on our dream walls

Our utopia starts by holding hands and raising fists
It’s grimy and grotty, dirt in our hair, shit in the compost loo
And gallons and gallons of toxic waste to abate

But if we keep hiding behind masks
Putting on a brave face
And saying ‘it’ll probably be all right’
Or ‘It’s THEM’
‘It’s THEIR FAULT’
‘I can do nothing’

To the point where the proverbial masterminds we are blaming
Are just putting theirs fingers in their ears and sing
‘Lalala I cant heaaaar youuuuu’
Because no one has a grown up way of dealing with everyone turning on you to say the meaning of your existence is a lie
No one can process the idea that they are a malicious evil person causing the world more harm

We ALL become oppressors when we taboo saying
“OH MY GOD THE WORLD IS ON FIRE AND WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE AND I NEVER WANTED THIS AND I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO”

So our steps have been
Honour our anger
Recognise our pain
Realise that we are all the same
Remember our beauty
Acknowledge our fear
And reach out to validate others’ tears

From here on through
Its over to you
So back to work
Theres plenty to do!

Listen…
…do you hear it?
It’s the sound of us
Shimmering.

Blog owner, singing/strumming person, word speaker, community arts make-happen-er, eco-baby.

Comments

  1. Muntu MaaKheru Ani
    Saturday 4th October, 2014

    Leave a Reply

    This was a decent encapsulation of the scabrous mis-rationz and the self-alienation that plaguez Us in this anatomy of hatred. I call it the “Mechanicz Of Modern Powa” – the collective personality of a singularly diseazed ridden citizonry. This is all-inclusive. Nobody successfully escapez the scrapez and scarz of this damnable dilemma. I like this thought. I can relate.

Leave a Reply


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

*