Money is as innocent as the Sun (Part 3)


salivating .. in the sea …just, salivating .. in the sea …

money is as innocent as the sun,

light given appearance, taken as a reflection,

for the of equivalence, one,

money, paying for the disappearance, of worth,

the abduction, of that incommensurable throng, the qualities of life’s song, sung,

and the ransom demand, that we keep stum, that we keep our selves to ourselves, that we play dumb,”

we know your in there, we have the bank surrounded,

release the hostage unharmed, and you can walk free,”

‘what, money roaming the streets of our community, free, steady!,’

at no point in our history, has there been such a urgency, for worth, to be returned to our hands, but how on earth, can we agree, to these demands,

a bit of catch 22 like hostage negotiation, when the ransom is the hostage and the hostage is the ransom,

cause worth is our intelligence, our belonging, our expression,

the more than the parts of any sum, any sum of money deal,

any sum of money that can congeal,

in to prices with a compulsion to steal,

to feed money’s habit,cause money’s gotta to have it,

money’s gotta have it so fucking bad its unreal,

prices steal, each mouthful of a parent’s denied skipped meal,

‘I eat something earlier, where’s your plate?, don’t be cheeky’

prices steal, light by which to learn, to read,

prices steal, food, seed by seed, by seed,

a systematic kleptomania, disembodied greed,

the price of money; “the best money, the fantastic money, super money money fro ever, money for real …”

more so it would appear than our response ability is to maintain this homes earthly feel,

degree by degree, money so real, price as consequence,

in the head lights of the present tense, frozen,

in a token,

casting a shadow puppet adherence,

a kin to the cave wall experience,

the Platonic one,

a forlorn abstraction,

prices just a reaction, to the reaction of prices … reaction!,

reactionary money, the price is, what ever suffices, boom or crisis,

it suffices, prices without consciences, justifications pricked, by obligations, that contradict,

those measures being taken,

as those precious given treasures are being forsaken, for money,

to be made, ‘made’ money, with a Cosa Nostra like code of silence,

to conceal,

the everyday depleting polluting, dirty violence, extracted,

for our consuming compliance, to feel,

relieved by numbers, a buleamic like urge that overcomes us,

to converge in the loneliest numbers,

appearance money, money appearance,

appearance by the light of money,

prices, of which life is, an expendable spendable sum,

in this money power power money conundrum,

no one is owed a life, if no ones owed a living, lives are debts and

debts are lives for collection, our epochal deception,

a tale, sold by idiot numbers, empty of sound and fury,

signifying everything,

everything under the sun, going going going …

neither with a bang nor a whimper, but a peel, of bells rung,

to call back our pasts, which to kneel, among,

and to wish, and to wish, and to wish that it was real,

the carbon fundamentalist denial, the capitalist, zeal,

degree by degree, the earth is loosing, the earth is loosing its homely feel,,

for this innocence, which has all the spinning confidence,

of a blindfolded auction,

could you please join me in putting on your blindfolds?,

unless your afraid of the dark of course, then just close your eyes,

‘this is a once in a life time opportunity to be the owner of this … this …

who would like to start the bidding for this … this … priceless life, of a time of … an opportunity? with a reserve price of … money …do I hear ? (pause) more more, (pause) more going once, more, going twice, going, going, going, going, gone… sold for less, to ‘extinction plc, corporation’,

money, is as innocent as the sun,

as an accumulating fusion, it takes the qualities of experience, the light from appearance,

and puts them against your head like a gun,

money’s will, will be,

day light robbery, the robbery of day light,

which has plunged us into this twilight of the obligations,

to those generations, that will be done,

feel that cold ring, that nothing, at the end of a gun?,

money’s will will be done,

a sensation, of such hypnotic persuasion,

your eyelids are feeling so heavy, your not seeing anything, understand,

the finger on the trigger belongs to the invisible hand,

has some one been making money in the bank of Eng-land?, when the lights aren’t on,

don’t try and answer that question, your feeling so drowsy,

your loosing a sense of reality,

some one has been making money, in the Bank of England,

and they’ve left a note, and it looks like its been written by your hand,

an IOU forged, a UOI?,

a debt to ourselves sold?,

surely, that’s not something we would buy,

that would be like, a jury, found guilty,

and facing a sentence,

for reaching a verdict using their reason and conscience,

instead of just tossing a coin, ‘would it?, kind of …

ok it would be like,

taking the stand to testify, on behalf of the person who picked your pocket, as their alibi, they were with me at that time,

it would be like, the Bank of This-land,

instructed by governments,

to create ‘public financial instruments’,

‘people’s shares’, for want of a better phrase,

and them being sold on the financial markets to raise,

money that pays, off the debts,

of private commercial banking, for want of a better phrase,

and these People’s shares, with which the option to redeem,

blames lives, claims lives, through money’s benefit scheme,

Qualitative Squeezing, seizing, the qualities from lives, that then have to be lived,

sieved, through the pain of loneliness, the loneliness of pain,

with its the struggle to sustain, a sense of self regarding presence,

Qualitative Squeezing, the seizing of assets,

needed to begin and to end a day,

I know I shouldn’t ask, but could you stay, a bit longer today?

anguish masked like a blocked drain,

could you stay?,

time passing like a missed train,

could you stay? you could make yourself another cup of tea,

the disdain, of money, making money, financing finance,

eye lids bowed so heavy in this trance, like shame,

that we have not yet risen to dance, in the streets against this illegitimate claim,

the austerity, same old same old by another name, poll taxing,

poleaxing the disabled, the poor, the vulnerable,

and the young, from day to day, strung out, strung up to pay,

money’s debts behind and before our very eyes,

wide shut with an incredulity, that denies,

money’s will, does not have to be, done,

on earth as if it was some kind of eternity, spun,

speculation, for accumulation, incineration, for consumption,

for GDP, to infinity,

this innocence, it does not convince,

so let it be said,

pull the fucking trigger money, go on, cause if this is some kind of eternity then we’re already dead,