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Saturday, April 28, 2007

MyTextBeboSpaceFrothHead

She is a MyTextBeboSpaceFrothHead:
Her life is in a mess
And she is only sixteen,
Stoned silly,
Zonked-out
And smashed
By social networking.

No time for sleep,
No time for rest,
No time for reflection,
No time for being herself
On her own
Quiet and free,
No time for the trees
And the fields,
No time for the birds
And the butterflies,
No time for fresh air or sun,
No time to play
On the planet
Which is her home,
No time for her family,
No time for her schoolwork,
No time for her diet
No time for her looks
No time for her personal space
Or her personal dignity,
No time for living,
No time to enjoy the opportunity
Of becoming Human.

She has time only
For the invasion of her space
By machine-controlled others.

She has time only
For the matrix machines
Whose slave she is:
The phone,
The computer
And the ear-smashing iPod.

The machine speaks:
She obeys.

She is a MyTextBeboSpaceFrothHead:
Her life is in a mess
And she is only sixteen.



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Fat slag spirituality

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