Poetry Month: The Manifesto

Look at your champions. The men and women you chose to represent you. Look at them. Well done. Thousands of years of human art have produced a society where they are your master. When the alien ambassadors arrive, they will not greet you. They will greet your leaders, not you. The aliens will not know of you or your kind. Instead, they will return to their home world with tales of vain men in suits, and of yachts, and armoured limousines. They will not notice the sub-species that served drinks and opened doors for the real men of Earth. Whose fault is this? It's your fault, and that of the revolutionaries of the past, who failed. They all failed. I ask you: which revolution had the current state of human society as its intended outcome?

Human society is inherently rotten, because human beings are inherently rotten. They are swine that observe the pearls cast around them with baleful, suspicious eyes. The libraries are deserted. No-one ventures inside. The human animal is not drawn to heaven, instead it must be forced, its face thrust against beauty like a piece of fruit forced into a pineapple slicer. Our resources are finite. If the choice is between a world choked with a swarm of mediocrity or a glowing sun lit from within by radiant beings I choose the latter.

Synonymous Mutations

The mass of humanity processes reality at the level of instinct. They are unaware that their lives are manipulated by animals slightly more shrewd than them. Even if the illusion was shattered they would be unable to act, for they do not have the weapons required to build a new world. My weapon is poetry, and with poetry I will drive a metal spike into the heart of human society. Rats will feed on the corpse, and then each other, and maggots will feed on the rats. There is no lower limit to the chain of organic parasitism.

They say that God made the human form in his own image. He also made humanity vulnerable to the viruses and fungi and cancers that kill millions every year. Our killers are our superiors, and God made them, too. If I could choose an ambassador of Earthly life to present to the alien visitors, I would choose a virus. Not a man. Human beings are grossly inefficient. Viruses are elegant. A short chain of data that kills and reproduces. Not a wobbling mass of fat and bone and flesh that drowns in water, huddles from the wind, reproduces with great expenditure of energy, consumes so much to produce so little. The human animal is not a triumph of complexity. It is a baroque aberration, an insult to the principle of economy. This is not our world.

Human society is not what was intended. It has not worked and there is nothing to be gained from its preservation. Each revolution germinates the seeds of its own destruction, for the revolutionaries are the product of the society they have overthrown. Their perceptions are ingrained, their framework outdated. To the revolutionary minds of the past I say: "this is the world you made; this is the product of your revolution". If you did not anticipate failure, what went wrong? Insufficiency of mind, or of method? Or were you betrayed from without?

Even islands in the ocean are affected by the tides, that coat the beaches in plastic waste from afar. I will sing a new song, with new words, new music, for a new race of post-human beings. The counter-revolutionaries will deny the music, and they will perish in darkness and failure. My new poetry will melt the world from within. Its aim: the total destruction of human society, and of humanity in general. Its means: I will show you.

I stand alone on the beach. Content to watch the planets rise.