By Lucy Hilton
I see a generation of
Weakened and dreaming
from unrelenting undulation,
Caught between destruction and distraction.
Conditioned by the screen
and watched over by machines
of loving grace.
Connected but never seeing.
Swimming in dubious data pools,
Their new age appetite
demanding instant enlightenment.
Too bored and blundering to boycott
Apple is their Clairvoyant
Demonstrating the presence of spirits in the room.
Ringing bells, levitating objects, performing the rites of passage
Coming of age in the technological rocket ship
and moving freely through unutterable margins
Infiltrating the co-operations,
Sidestepping the protocol.
Power to the hijacker,
The twinkle of his phantom eye
Stills behind their webcams.
No where is unseen
Though the pilgrim screams.
He can’t escape
Absent Father we always dreamt of.
You must draw the line
There comes a point
Between truth seeking and obsession.
Answers can lead to utopia
So make a choice
In permeable membranes,
spindly fringes of the hive
Work a nine to five
Or reach the limits of what you can cognize.
How can the artist survive?
Eccentrics receive only a free bus pass in this culture
Aloof and exempt
Over saturated and shattered
By broken promises of salvation
And arts council cuts due to inflation
The pool of inner peace,
Your true nature is a
The future is transcendence.
Return to mother
When comes the day to fade away,
When this life in Babylon is done,
Don’t fear decay, you couldn’t possibly stay
Mother will reunite us to the One.
We’re so out of whack
we can’t see that
This earth’s just another sack
And vaginas are portholes to other astral planes.
Or as Freud explains
a black hole to the unknown.
Before I was born I was
When we sleep we return back
And recharge in the black.
And in the dreams of the unmanifested
These babies know exactly which path they’re choosing
Which passage to slide towards grooving
Because the opening appears
as earth rises after thousands of years
over an purple arid desert
Where crowds are waiting for the concert.
The horizon beyond words massive
And coldly arid
Crazy alive yet static.
And moody blue cyclones
Dance across Davy Jones
Falling out great clouds of glitter sand
Pointing to the promised land.
Its time for the birthing,
The unmoved mover is surfing.
Singing ancient charms
Sliding over waving arms
Exulted and paraded
Worshiped and elated.
Like canals scattered with leaves
pushed by the breeze
Its time to believe
Time for the big squeeze.
Blast off and touch down in another level, the journey so long and traumatic we forgot it all and are wiped clean
Compressed and asphyxiated
And spat out
Onto the shores of a new world.