Your Attention, Please

Girls, Boys, Robots…  Mister ALAN MOORE…

“Yeah, what’s up? Off in the unpacked suitcase of the night there’s Doppler sirens skittering like beads of panicked mercury through dark and distant plasterboarded streets, maybe a hammering an overdose a tower-block fire, electric curlew voices shrilling at the gloom pretending that there’s something to be done meanwhile somewhere a disembodied twelve-year old romantic courts that wafer-thin girl in his year by sending links to sites that specialise in anal object-rape as touching as a single rose ah bless, bless all the land-ice and the holiday chalets as they go slithering in a quaint avalanche down to the pirate-haunted seas bless all the City bonus-monkeys on their island fenced by gold barbed wire shrieking and wiping their distended purple baboon arses with your repossession notice bless every star-studded spearmint-breathing AIDS evangelist in Africa for handing out engagement rings instead of condoms bless all genocidal former victims of attempted genocide when after all it’s only fair that they should get a turn bless every last Creationist and Jihad-jockey for making their deities appear to be such likeable intelligent and reasonable blokes and while you’re at it bless the Hitler Youth for giving us a Pope with warm and kindly eyes bless all the climate-change deniers on the Exxon payroll and the jazz trombone born on a sewage-torrent through downtown New Orleans bless the toxic mortgage property tycoons of Baltimore for leaving us all stranded in a subplot of The Wire and oh yeah bless reality TV for making round-the-clock surveillance seem like something normal seem like such a sexy proposition bless the government who based our target-oriented health and education systems on the Charlie-don’t-surf gook-kill policies that served America so well during that war in Viet Nam where they came second bless us all for letting culture slip so far around the S-bend before anybody thought to make a grab for it bless us for not making a fuss at the dismantling of the Working Class bless everyone who thought it was a good idea to bring up the next generation in a pastel-tinted Tellytubby abattoir bless the torn unintelligible map we stand on because seriously how the fuck are we supposed to live like this how are we meant to sleep on mattresses stuffed with discarded pensioners how is it that we have to chose electorally between a smirking cartoon toff or a bipolar cyclops and whoever said we had to go along with spending our one go-round on the painted horses of this world in doing something that we don’t like and we don’t find meaningful in order to secure a comfortable and happy future which looks more unlikely to arrive with each new headline every passing moment I mean frankly if our all-but unelected leaders are entitled to bail out white collar bank-robbers by crippling us and our unborn kids with debt for generations then I don’t know maybe I’ve completely misconstrued the situation but I would have thought they should be doing something really lovely for us in return like giving us all personalised hovercrafts made out of diamonds isn’t that the give-and-take way these things usually work unless you’re trying to negotiate a give-and-take relationship with tapeworms but I see I’ve answered my own question yeah okay so I suppose that if we really don’t have anything resembling a useful government then we should work at governing ourselves and personally taking care of all the things we care about as its becoming painfully apparent that neither the Smurfs or Iron Man will come along to take care of them for us who knows we might even find we’re having fun and it’s hard to imagine how we could do a worse job or even how a Petri dish of syphilis could do a worse job for that matter so wake up and smell the fairground ozone have a candyfloss and hook a duck welcome to DODGEM LOGIC.”

What, you ask, is DODGEM LOGIC? Go and see.


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