Snap, Crackle, Poetry...

Luminescent billboards soaked and
cigarette smoke screened views
of people I’ll never see again,
let alone talk to.
They don’t stop,
don’t speak or soak in the scenery.
They simply participate in
the busy bodied rush to get back
to no one and nothing
but the safety of indoors
and violent loneliness.
Hundreds of souls, me included,
who from above resemble insects,
rushing, scurrying back to a life
which we will dampen with television and cheap wine
until we pass put and
awaken only to repeat, repeat, repeat.
Gleaming eyes, glazed and absent,
devoid of life but bright and watering
from reflected images of perceived perfection.
Ah, modern living,
So thoughtless and incomplete.
The bombardment of advertising which
assesses us and barks requests and orders,
tips for our improvement.
What to wear, eat, drink, watch.
How to Nip/tuck, medicate
No need to live,
we just sedate impulses,
null them into non existence.
Whilst our rampant desires are…
Well, lets just say suppressed.

The revolution had best be televised.
Broadcast worldwide and
starring beautiful tanned people
who have no concept of reality.
Otherwise most will miss it completely.
The revelation had best be televised.

I have a plan to reclaim our opinions
and actions,
to invert the meanings
of advertising slogans and
imagine irony and invent sarcasm
in place of their intended
...perversion.
I will not buy
or enjoy your product,
I will not alter my appearance.
I will not improve.
In place of neon lights:
a metropolis of candles.
Poetry in place of slogans,
The future is not orange,
I am not refreshed or energized.
This is not generation shaped.
This is high in salt,
fat, calories and extremely bad for
your heart and health.
Please consume in moderation.
Or simply to your own content.