Politicians, without connection to the rally of everyday people,
Which is only achieved by offering people true deals of dignity,
And by interacting in their messy streams of consciousness,
Will reveal themselves to be useless charlatans during crisis.
For they will have no means to stop the popular intoxication,
No army of labour to unleash stomping for life’s renewal way,
No voices to sing hopeful songs that ward off evil wordplay,
No popularity to call upon to gain the growing momentum.
This last century has been the first ebb of our ‘system’,
That click of numbers seeking quantification of all matter,
The process that has been birthing a planetary civilization,
Learning first lesson of containment, the assembly of body.
For we exponentialed within a century,
And from it, the system added a body:
The timing clock of industrial workers,
The welfare regiments marching wars,
The manufacture of market consumers,
The essentialization of the inner mind,
The knowledge of integrated production,
The cultural metros of a spacey society,
The expressions of a liberated individual.
And now, at this tipping point, where earthen body is fast spent,
This system will switch to learn its second major lesson with us,
For it has our body in its need, as it has this planet by its greed,
And will now find its pathways to inners of mental containment.
The environment requiring we breathe it,
The laws a political social is restrained for,
The corps growing for a planetary exodus,
The transformation of mind upon a body,
The memory of a past cultural dispersion,
The networks watching every connection,
The cloud mind orchestrating a revolution.
In ancient times...
There were philosophers rationalizing reality into geometry, mathematics, dialectics and gritty politics,
And others of elemental forces, personal astrology, oracular hallucination, precession and perfect forms,
And further still, living entirely different lifestyles traversing a clustered mental moment to last as imagery.
Hmm, I wonder which distinguished category this shoddy blogwork will write itself into?
Lets hope my bibles turn out far better, they’re bound to be a famous scientific misread.
I’m ever the fearful optimist of this life, oh yes, for sure indeedy - or at least, I think so too.
But, we all get this is personal fiction, right? My kitty-brained personality running dumb on loose.
Yet, give me some credit, I’m a bit more astute than a starry-eyed precessional miscalculation,
A bit more scientific than the astrologically distorted history I'm peddling into a tale of our time,
And, I think, more aware than to believe I'm a savior come for a thousand-year new age religion.
But hang me on a cross if you must,
Cause as I die, I'll part fierce shade!
And hey, if you wanna believe craze, it's there on the page, waiting for the lamb-brains to lick up eager!
Perhaps I should gather my followers like a hairy deacon of psychedelic swirl, out bathing folks in rivers,
Soon to start roaming deserts till I starve mass audiences, then charge into cities upon the hee-ha asses.
But faith my love, soon you'll ordain as Pope of the dopiest religion spread across a green planet,
And then, before too long, get to asking for richest 'tithes, tithes, tithes' to build my tempilic palace.
Goodness, let the money flow - who needs honest love when a coin purse can clang a cult round!
From there, let my golden age begin - cause it's a scientificy star thing, look how the lights all spin.
