HIGH

Thyra Hilden & Pio Diaz, ’Kirche im Feuer’ (Video Installation), Katharinenkirche, Frankfurt Rhein-Main, Germany, 2008 (2)

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on midnight strolls where trolls like hunkered demons in the shadow of their own lost souls hide in blasphemous alleyways unseen.

High on helium and gasses that glow; street lamps making the whole cities cement skin, dark, unfathomable and obscene.

High on voyeur of the young souls spoilt on wealth’s elixirs of passing youths, pissing out bladders on sidewalks new; waiting for taxis to usher these newbies with pregnancy and rotting false dreams as old as brand new.

High on dark rain that falls and falls listening to cars that scars my hearing with their redundant carbon monoxide obnoxious screams.

 

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on the dizzying heights of a career only to find that all that glittered was fool’s gold that society took away from you.

High on politics, democracy and freedom while living in debt bondage in a royal plutocracy kept in control by extreme means.

High on money, coke and good times, only to find yourself alone in a pool of lost years – diseased and mean.

High on what you thought yourself to be but there it is a Dorian Grey’s prophecy fulfilled, as the ambulance takes you from the sidewalk to the grave, the NHS thanks you.

 

High on all that education and where the fuck did that get you?

 

 

High, high, high! Do you know how high and far away I can get?

Nowhere near far enough away from all of you.

 

High on insomnia, masturbation and butyl nitrate. Pornography, entertainment, ego-tripping-gobsmacked-media-whores, surrounds you from flat screen devices.

High on modern love, charged by MasterCard only makes you feel like a rent boy who takes a butt plug from a client whore who is all used out.

High on woman’s rights and how did that work out? No more good men, and half salary raise and a loss of motherhood but a gain in bitchy sterility will that suit you?

High on café’s serving coffees with cow’s pus entrenched milk to fill the need that dead veal and you feel now.

 

High on modern life it’s all just too fucking great.

 

High, high, high, how high do I need to get away from all of you?

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