March 8th, 2003

alone on a swing

BAD SIGNAL: Supertracks (Sat, 8 Mar 2003 09:58:58 EST)

bad signal

Drinky Bill, who drank until the front
of his brain died and wears grey 1978
slacks with shitstains on the arse,
is standing in the middle of the pub
with an Iceland Frozen Foods carrier
bag. It reads: "We've banned all
artificial colours and flavours." The
draught lager in his other hand
glints a funny yellow in the weak

There's a move in the US to make it
so goods labelled organic don't
actually have to be organic. A factory-
farm chicken company is reportedly
behind it.

Rebellion is only part of the system
because it's allowed to be. The sk8er
boy rocks up MTV only because his
video is deemed straight and
disinfected enough for the masses;
he's allowed a career and is programmed
to fall in love because it gives him
something to lose. Instructions on
how to grow up in a SafePersona and
know your station in life.

Big geezer with cuts all over his face
and scabby knuckles nods demurely
and looks at his feet as the cops
talk to him outside on the junction.
This is how FightPersona works; giving
it some and keeping people on his
patch scared until Blue Daddy tells
him enough.

People move around the junction
in prescribed paths -- the alleys
no-one takes,the shops no-one
stops at, the people no-one pause
for. Lagrange supertracks, trails
of low gravity, the tides they travel.
A shitfaced man in a bad baseball
cap lays half in, half out of the road,
deep in his own gravity well,
everything skipping past his sphere
of influence.

The cogs of the world go crunch.