Haunted, Mostly…

I’m a sceptical believer. Sceptical of my beliefs.
I’m a sceptical believer, and have a slight obsession with my feet.
I try to hoard facts which I attempt to retain
by associating them to my emotional refrain.
They’re so ignorantly formed and irrationally ingested
over time and experiences that I can’t forget, its
just the way I am, it’s the way that I roll.
I am an excusable human after all.

And here you come along with your social conjecture
about all these weird things that no one can measure.
Is it possible that you may misconstrued,
all the things you allude in order to delude the irrelevant few
in the time allocated to you for posturing your theory
of how and why and who is making the noises in the back loo:
the ghost of your auntie all covered in poo?

Affirmation is your virtue, you line them up one by one,
then flick them at me so that I become one
of your sceptical believers, and I will go where I’m led
because it is so available at the front of my head.
You paint the picture, all purple and blue and then all I believe
will have a slightly bluish hue
like a blueberry who wants to be pink;
he really does believe it; he’s not willing to rethink.

You’re not biased, your scientific,
based on everything you find that is specific
to what you’re promoting to me because you want to be on TV
and it all helps if I believe just one more thing you conceive
to be actual fact, somewhat in tact.
Cos we only see what happens to be contained in a book
rather conveniently.
A little fact that you found whilst messing around
in your 200 foot lounge trying to scrounge
a bit of expert virility that proves your worthability,
nominally, for a small fee.

And obviously, in light of your theory,
I think your halo is great and that maybe just really
you are like me, and you want to believe,
but the problem, you see, is that really
YOU – HAVE – TO!

in order to please your friends and colleagues,
all the amature-you’s who firmly agree
with every bit of your jist, so they fit on your list,
maybe stalk you a bit, and have a sniff of your shit,
back up what you feel when you say that it’s real, accepted
and somewhat enjoyabeel.

I would like to discern, if someone could confirm,
the bit that is not, the bit you forgot.
Like the negative line on the other side,
the one that doesn’t involve kissing your behind.
Like the big picture we see in reality,
the positively contradictory.
It’s not that I’m opposed, and it’s not that I’m hostile,
I just want to establish if it’s really worthwhile
my time in pursuit of all the things that you do,
that everyone says is true who works on the crew.
I don’t want a new t-shirt with your face down the crease,
with a statement of merit from your deepest crevieece.
I just want to be inspired that you’re not irregular or biased,
self affirming or in denial or just a bit of a liar.
I want you to prove it too but not with a medium, a historian
and some super-natural-glue.

Because the trouble is, see, there is so much pressure on screen
to prove that you are just so unequivocally
correct, that you can’t even give yourself chance
to get past your self-importance and ever think you’re talking pants!
And then there is me, relatively able to be significantly
unifiable in my post of the defyable, in my un-notifiable deliberee.
A squashed fly in the book of sub-reality.

My relative loss is undersized compared to you,
Less people will care if I change my point of view
Lesser people will despair if I dare to ablude
and it won’t affect my pension or my end of programme doo.
You have everything to believe for, like all the above.
You have so much invested in this advert that you love
for your new DVD, with clips from ’93,
that they wouldn’t show on TV, irrationally.

I suppose it’s a lazy belief, just to fill time,
for entertainment’s sake to fill in our mundane lives.
A short term TV filler, a socially conforming thriller
relieving all our inner boredom for a while
like the arsonist, the killer, filling five minutes before dinner
or the pathological committer of a petty crime.
We entertain your entertainment purely by arrangement
so please stop with the derangement and let us see a sign!

Greatness is relative to mediocrity,
and there’s not much else on BBC3,
so bring on the arsonists of rationality,
and let’s watch it burn unconditionally.

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