problems of the revolutionary poet in modern times - a paper

[peaccenicked]

http://www.pemmicanpress.com/Revolutionary.html
Another problem pointed out by Sasoon the first world war poet was in the choice of subject matter. If you are in the middle of the most horrendous war. He claimed it was your duty to write about it.
The problem I find with the so-called post-modern era is summed up by a Star Trek
made up condition. Nihilphobia. The fear of being swamped up by an all consuming living death brought on by mediocrity of
commercialised culture and the drift towards cynicism and miserablism in modern bourgeois culture.



(Edited by peaccenicked at 5:34 am on June 26, 2002)

[Supermodel]

Nihilphobia

A post-materialist poem by supermodel
(ahem)


The fear of being swamped up
by an all consuming living death
brought on by mediocrity of
commercialised culture
and the drift towards cynicism and miserablism
in modern bourgeois culture.

The living death you speak of
Is lined with carpets new
No matter how cynical the carpet
It's soft on toes and knees, too.

The living death is nothing more
Than spending summer days
With a computer mouse manipulated
In revolutionary ways

No harm is brought by Commercialized culture
The boob job is my choice
I decided not to have it
They're just fine say the boys.

Now miserablism is to be found
Not on TV commercials so blah
But in aimlessly walking shopping aisles
In search of the perfect bra

The bra that I want is a "Wonder"
It promises tits round and perk
Mediocrity isn't my thing, comrades
And you assured me that damn bra would work

It is not bourgeois to have lingerie
It's the endless search at the stores
It spends the time I could be parenting
Or posting or carpeting floors.

If modern bourgeois culture
Is the opposite of WWI
Then I'm not gonna be cynical or miserable
No matter how mediocre possessions become

So we agree that more stuff's not the answer
Why the hell do they advertise it at all
What's cynical is to assume they affect us
We need to ignore the market's call.

So don't start a war or revolution
Just to stop me from bra shopping trips
I'll make do with the ones I already have
Give me peace, and may I suffer no rips.

[peaccenicked]

A little trip in nihilphobia

Return the golden age where aristocrats roamed
the earth in search of lost chivalry
looking down on the monied class
as the rising rich descended.
The ancient greeks and Shakespeare too
reserrected nobility
And not price reccomended.

All that glitters not being gold
All those souls that on tinsel sold.
while world poverty witnesses silence.
Here to you a singing bomb
Here to you a freedom loving song
''I am not so innocent''

Trucks and convoys roam the desert
more guns than food
but that dont make the news
Dont want those pacifist views mucking up the airwaves.
Hey lets get in the mood
Robocop is good
Duck, here comes another serial killer movie

Now for some slick comedy
Homer strangles Bart
funnier than a fart,
Lets the mass hysteria rip
Just like when it comes to migrant labour.

Every DJ and anchorman is competing with Howard Stern
to gloat at our immunity to human sensitivity

Now here we have a little rap and listen to the words that are by are no means crap.
I am me.
Everybody can see.
And I dig Nirvana more than anyone
and I dont talk to you if you dont like fun.

This is showtime
We ve got money and we have got it good
If you dont understand. Well. You know you should.
Spend a little time in computer land
graphic visuals, you get the better hand.

We are all doing good
with charity
A little bit of hilarity.

Lets sing about love
it sells.
Pay atenttention to the way it spells
BREAD

All that I want is a little beauty.
Now lets go back to the romantic keats,
He 's a lot like Shelley. He is a lot like Yeats
I am here to break every rule
This is the ethos of every fool.

I am making it out now,
away on the big league
away from the small look up.
The turned over and the rattled,
losers in the small towns.
Those women up to the high dose
And the kid in the padded cells

I am really out there.
You dont need that sympathy in more.
You can walk into a whore house with pride
You dont have to hide

You just need to know the score
It does not matter anymore.
The books were cooked long before you were born

And dont mess with reality.
It is not everybodies cup of tea
Unless it is a soap opera.

You test yourself to see if you can stand the pain
Then you do it all over again
And every bloody night
Till all you see is night.
There is no horror that will fright.

It is all empty

You look around for for a little clue
Everybody makes decisions for you.
Everywhere is noise pollution
Demos about all sorts of radiation
Everywhere is light polution
Sometimes I scream for a night in the police station

All those plastic bars
everybody shows emotional scars
obssessed about the gutter.
Who wants to see the stars?





(Edited by peaccenicked at 2:41 am on June 27, 2002)

[Supermodel]

Nihilism part 2
Poem by Supermodel (Ahem)

But who's in charge of the world we have?
Not military leaders, they're whores
They only act as told to
By a far worse form of whores.

Not political champs, they lack vision
Their stay in power the only aim
Who cares what people want or need?
I'll make them want what I claim.

And our champions of industry so rich
Not enough fields on paystubs to note amount
How many homes, cars, horses, wives
Show the rest of us, at least those who can count?

Intellectuals, poor underpaid philosophers
If lucky end up tenured babysitters
Their thoughts published in circles of smaller diameter
Real action, well then they may be quitters

Fire fighters, now simple in goal
They hear the bell ring and they go
they chop down the door and grab you
while from hoses the foam and water flow.

An honorable mission, nursing, building
holding infants too small to survive
growing food for a lonely planet
they wait for what, "success" to arrive?

Success, how I wish it had matter
We argue about what it means
For the infant it's one more breath taken
For the CEO, another million beans

Nihilism is the opposite of success
Success is not coming to us
We can only live in hopes eternal
That when it rains, hey, here comes our bus.

[peaccenicked]

From Joachim
To David Diop, Lines 1-12

and it is true we are wounded
at the lowest point of hope
but hope in us has never beaten its wing
it rises on our human horizons
like a fresh unfolding bud
there lives in us unconquerable hope
snapping at the heels of freedom
in due course it hunts down the dawn with huge supplies
of stones
against the wall that will crack in the end
for we will not leave the smallest scrap
to the demons of despair