Pretending to Be…


Back to the Future…
November 7, 2008, 11:01 pm
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet, Pretending to be a Writer | Tags: , , ,

In the future men will wear t-shirts displaying a picture of their cock and salary.

Women will come in twos, for the monogamous women will have long been bred out of nature in favor of the ménage á trios kind, so that finally, manly hunters can indulge in Miller Lite Fantasies and proudly gather their 15 seconds of commercialized ejaculation.

Light from stars will shine through atmospheric cut outs of corporate slogans, beaming onto Earth great advertisements from the sky.

Metal will erect into the clouds. You will stroke the building, riding it floor to floor, inserting yourself completely. You will let it warm you and feed you, nourishing insulation, fuck your Mother.

Serial TV will be wired throughout your skull, and you will shut your eyes to internally display the good ol’ pastime for your vicarious mind.

Everything will exist outside ourselves as ends, and through there will be means to everything, these means will be owned and assumed. As flies stuck in the web, we will be born as we are caught, our dreams the last measure of freedom we would have sought.

Life will be an ant farm.

Numbers will bleed from the sky- philosophy splashed with rhetoric and rationalism, churchmongers choking on faith pills.

Music will be reduced to one simple tone, perfectly balanced, the ultimate hook, impossible to forget and intrinsically unchallengeable.

Children will virtually kill each other virtually.

Politicians will set up lemonade stands.

Oceans will be drained for real estate and land owners will display souvenirs of Coke cans found littered in their sand yards.

Pornography will ascend to glamorous photos of shiny cars and you will jerk off to such aspirations.

Yin and Yang will go to war.

Physically defective people will be quarantined to parks where families vacation to feel better about functionality.

There will be no place for error.

And here now, I sit around perplexed, a stale pesticide.

In the past, I was a poet, full of diction and intellectual jargon, in love with wordy ideas and mesmerizing language, verbose for the sake of…

I hardly try anymore,

In the future, I never existed.


by Steve Morgan
as excerpted from ADBusters magazine
November.December 2008 issue #80
Volume 16 Number 6

steve_morgan _poem
click for full size

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2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

I have looked over your blog a few times and I love it.

Comment by Top Real Estates

i’ve caught up on ur blog….and i am ready for ur arrival.

Comment by jess




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