Orwellian gaffe

1984 was so pathetic 
it was hilarious, it was 
so wrong. Except for 

"Jump" and perhaps 
the snippet of "Jamie's 
Crying" that later made it
into "Funky Cold Medina," 
making its bid for immorality 
and immortality at once. Score! 

But where George (Sir George!) 
(Not the one with the beetled 
unibrow, the author of such 
sweet rewards he lost them all 
in a ridiculously civil suit - those
epaulets! By George, that was
badly done) went wrong was

In any setup with cameras 
so omnipresent and widely
-available, most of them (and 
the only important ones really)

Will end up in public hands! Vastly
and surely repurposed towards
more a Beasties-esque ethos 
of fighting partly for order and partly
for one's rights. Party on
loosely! Bogus,
as we are all
about to
so richly see

- is the main dish!

Ours to spot, catch, skewer and serve 
in a sauce drawn straight from the public
sewer we caught it in. Achoo and puke. 
Trust me, here's something you will hate 
to see, and it will outrage you for more 
than your share of revenge. Justice's 
tarted-up little assistant, occasionally 
risque and teetering a bit in titters 
and bold tats, thrown off course 
by the huge hunch these things 
go always and only by. 

What can the cameras in the hired 
help's hands hope to prove, in the deluge 
of what's going on, caught on tape? 
America's Home! Funniest videos 
you'd spit bile and fire upon first view, 
and find nor sense nor reason in 
no matter how hard you justify
(or whisper softly). 

I speak, of course, with faith 
in humanity - not excluding 
those decent and public sevants
bent on naively doing our will, 
not circumventing it up to some 
"greater good" (not ours) that they 
cooked up in the room
where so many chefs 
ruin their trust. 

I mean, those peeps 
exist, and they're cool.
Not perfect,

but. 

Nor do I turn my vigilant butterfly eye 
blind by winking in semaphore code, 
missing all the clowns who do pervert 
their oaths to such bald and fat aims, 
like loons. Those stooges, fools, and indeed, 
stools 

can go 

Take a flying piss into the nearest abyss!
(there is always one, if you look), and be sure,
we are there, watching. Taping it with a
reflective all-sass chuckle as they lose
balance, find perspective and their ass,
with both hands, diminishes in vanishing
pointlessness, falling into the abhorrent
place they chose: to void their bladders, 
then selves 
into.

They chose every step
by such bounder's leaps 
by days and weeks,  
and moons also.
The abyss.

Moons also. 

We'll slap it up without a laugh-track, 
slipped into a You-Tube Oops compilation
of government's latest atrocious hits
in a crass play for the approval.

We know what comes of this.

The ridiculous 
(which all authority
is, when it demands
respect 
instead
of compelling it)
is always fulfilled
not by miracle,

but in ridicule. 

If that's not enough warning sign, 
then when the revolution comes 
(continues, rather: vintage '76 
and finer than ever with such 
ripe young age), I'll be the first one. 

Up against the prophesied wall!

Like a standup comic, back to the
stereotypical brick, mic dangling
casually, insouciant by hand,
awaiting the inevitable cliché
drop, meanwhile

declining a cigar with airy wave,
and a last wish:
aim for the heart.

And with it.  

It's your only shot, and the only chance 
there is. Plus all you've got. 

So it is, all of ours, so
the question we have
to ask
is:

Did we fire six shots? 

Or only one. 

Rewind, let's check. Mister, 
I gots to know. 

Fool disclosure on the book: report is,
never read it. Nineteen-Eighty-Four. It
was assigned on or about that actual year,
for the "summer reading list" (repugnant
concept, I thought), but I was too busy
listening to Van Halen at the moment, 

if you can imagine,

and I chose instead to ace
the multiple-choice test, in lieu of it.
I wasn't reading that thing. I'd heard
enough about it, and sufficient to puke. 
I'd already had quite enough Brave New
World to tide me over, thanks. I was still
hot
from throwing it 
at the wall.

Jus' kidding, Aldous. 

At the doors.