In this Developed Nation, a 19 year old woman sleeps in a bag in a door way.
In this Developed Nation, a working family of four relies on the local food bank.
In this Developed Nation, grandmothers live on a pittance and die lonely.
In this Developed Nation, my friends use drugs to fill a spiritual chasm.
In this Developed Nation, stateless refugees are kept in cages while processed.
In this Developed Nation, slave labour is abolished, but persists.
In this Developed Nation, the media patronizes and panders to the lowest common denominator.
In this Developed Nation, the unscrupulous employers bulldoze workers rights.
In this Developed Nation, the population is kept divided and ineffective.
In this Developed Nation, ‘I’m not a racist...but...’
In this Developed Nation, black people are stop/searched nine times more than whites.
In this Developed Nation, under four percent of **** reports end in conviction.
In this Developed Nation, seventeen percent of adults take anti-depressants.
In this Developed Nation, suicide is the biggest killer of men under fifty.
In this Developed Nation, children cut themselves to relieve pain.
In this Developed Nation, I’m a snowflake if I care.

What has this Nation Developed into?

Penyair itu melangkahi pengemis pincang yang lelap itu.
Kasurnya adalah trotoar dan mimpinya ntah apa.
Jangan bahas mimpi jadi jutawan dengan kemeja dasi rambut klimis.
Mimpi basah saja harus sembunyi sembunyi.
Kan takut toh masturbasi di pinggir kali ?

Soalnya guys,
coli itu pun harus pake tangan kanan
selain soal tekanannya yang konstan ..

KALAU TANGAN KIRI KIRI KIRI,
Disangka PKI !
Ini perihal dosa Illahi saudara saudari!

—

Lalu pengemis itu Menatap angannya setinggi bintang di lantai 53 menara menara ibu kota.
Mengelus ngelus perut kurusnya.
Alhamdullilah, hari ini bisa santap sisa paha ayam dari restoran kebarat baratan itu.

Mungkin baginya, Tuhan menjelma dalam bentuk tempat sampah.
Menyediakan pangan sisa sisa umat kesayangan-Nya.
Dan dia, umat yang lupa ia punya.

Pagi datang.
Ia terus berjalan tanpa alas kaki.
Sekelibat melihat lamborgini, berkawal polisi.
Presiden mungkin ah?
Nomor satu, atau duah?

Dia tidak pernah berharap pada Tuhan.
Atau presiden.
Mungkin ia harus tetap berjalan saja.
Atau mungkin ia harus berharap pada ratu adil.
Entah kapan ia munculnya.

Apa ketika jari-jari kakinya lepas.
Hingga tidak bisa melangkah lagi.
Atau lelah menguasai tubuh.
Hingga enggan melangkah lagi.
Atau seluruh kakinya patah
Pun ia tidak peduli lagi?

Apa ratu adil sedang sibuk memasang konde besarnya
Takut takut tidak terlihat cantik saat hadir sebagai pahlawan kesiangan.
Atau ratu adil sedang sibuk
Memutuskan hukuman adil untuk penyair ini yang mempertanyakan kuasa Ilahi dia punya?
Atau mungkin ratu adil berhati dingin.
Seharusnya iya karena mana mungkin beliau yang welas asih membiarkan hambanya pontang panting,
malah sibuk mengurus penyair mengkritik program kerja-Nya tahun ini.

Yah ..

Memperhatikan pengemis itu terpincang-pincang lebih asyik daripada mengurus Tuhan.
Presiden. Atau ratu adil.

Apakah Mas Aristoteles meramalkan distopia pada nusantara?

I know that when I am older, I will no longer be able to throw the harsh truth of reality at ones such as my grandchildren.

Too them, I will live till I’m 105. Standing as the essence of immortality that they strive to experience. This of course is a lie. But, I can longer take it upon myself to destroy the dreams and quash the creativity of the young in a world of Grey.  

Walk with me through this verdant street I am going to tell you a story about a strange place...

In this strange place, instead of colour splashing itself against any and every object there only seems to be shades of grey. And in this Grey world, each generation of children receives a red balloon. The red balloon constantly engages the youth with its seemingly magical properties of levitation. But this engagement can only last for so long. Eventually the floating ball of rosa can no longer captivate and mystify. At the crucial point of demystification, the children are deemed “ready” to face the world.

So the children do the only thing left to do to join the rest of society…they let go of that slight bit of that small, rose-colored rubber which, with the help of the wind and its abundant hydrogen molecules floats off to meet the sky.

I am proud to present to you, the saddest moment our society has to offer. The loss of the inner child to the vast machine of the demiurge.

****** of the greatest caliber carried out in the name of growing up and becoming part of "real" world.

But hey,
on the bright-side, the sky gets to play with a balloon

for a few minutes before it throws it back, without magic, without life, and without its marveling child.

So, I beseech you, the reader to forever hold onto that red balloon. Hold on till your knuckles turn white because it’s that tiny, 3 cent, red balloon is the most special item in this infectious process we call Human Society.

Guess you gotta be wealthy to be healthy this world ain't healthy blue eyes tell lies genetic defect reptiles in disguises Chem trails in the sky explotin diamond African minds watch out for them suit and ties

There’s a guy I know
Who’s into spirits,
And not the liquid kind.
He stares sidelong at the world,
Twists his head from side to side.
Imagine what he might find.

Vampires drink wine in Soho,
Sipping from fluted necks
In late night **** stores.
Werewolves run Hyde park ragged,
Robed in riches turned to rags,
If only in the lunar mind.

Police pigs snuffling
Through street trash,
Hunting for him shaped treats.
Televisions watching
His living room and recording
Names and faces of all his kind.

The media he scorns,
Puppet masters pulling strings
For their puppet masters.
The government and the media
Are in it together he opines,
Waving a rag with that in mind.

Aliens control the government,
Sinking sinuous senses
Through simian skulls;
Prodding, poking, pulling
Political factions to provoke
A return of the fleet they left behind.

Codes in hoods hide in churches,
Linking mathematical shapes
To chain centuries of history;
Statues wink and leer at
Myopic armchair men and women
Hunting for the doom of mankind.

Millions of rubes bought over
Shop counters using nonesuch
To sell their souls for trinkets;
Illuminati design adverts,
Flashing commercials;
****** for the public in mind.

Big name pharmaceutical
Selling death at a point
For the sake of profit over parent;
Buying stats to lie to the mass,
Doctors demanding dummies
Despite the way the stars aligned.

Taken for a ride,
We queue with tickets in hand
Waiting for our turn on the rails.

Lie on lie on lie.

He sleeps with one eye on the sky.

Tracking cameras on a road sign.

This guy I know,
He thinks too much.
I don’t mind.

A badge without condition bought cheap, from a thrift store
Lies with brass medals and plastic ribbon, from uncaring hands.

A paid add on the paper floor, claps on the back from glad-hands,
Claps for marrying poor, she’s worth it, all her rotten core.

You walk with conceit, when the army stamped it’s boot,
A doctor’s note, before the sarge could break your seat.

Readies from your parent’s purse, a hand-out on the brew.
You queue for ****** on the roads in a pimped-out hearse.

Slurred words drawl from the dark, blood spit on the street,
Fistfights punctuate grammar like an exclamation mark.

You clone another you, spat from the womb cold;
A mother’s love wrapped in smoke of cozened blue.

There is no end to your ambition.