Ageism/Racism/Sexism wants this so badly...

And I'm happy to oblige.

 

 

Rotting Yellows - A Black Hole and Other Wasters

Here's to their selected Africans, Generation Jones and heirs


Crowbarred they go, into place with no ease

Happily. And so easily they get the OK

Teeth and eyes stand out like piano keys

Like the race cards they're ready to play


Their high chairs beside the maiming rings

Are handed out by jealous, hysterical traitors

By puppets bound and cut by their own strings

Mutated. Now they themselves mutators


This isn't a happy or strong couple

Bed-pals only through being left behind

The jealous are anything but supple

And jealous dogs - the Black Holes are almost blind


Dressed as gents, the Black Holes laugh loud

Betraying their elders, they relish babyhood

Binding themselves in its restraining shroud

Overseen by masters they've never understood


Pessimists led by pessimists into prepared fights

Seasoned by hate, they brandish secret arms

From jealous whites, to use against whites

The power of evil, in this landscape of harms


Into the world we've all seen is wrong

Group by group, by fear or seduction

Given a detour, and then they belong

Provocateurs faithfully await new instruction


In broad daylight, a scandalous contradiction

Is pumped in to enslave the masses

Taking deep root - a guilt-making depiction

And over so many heads it passes


Reality depiction, describing the purest form

A vague apology pinned to the innocent

Unthinking Whites take it and conform

Here too, graciousness employed in detriment


The claim to essence, on pedestals sky high

Simple mindedness, feelings in perfect time

Betrayal of emotion, in a most blatant lie

Russian Roulette. Enslaved by rhythm and rhyme


And the Colour, can be called as some proof

As White can be said to be blank

Empty is it? And jealous? Is it aloof?

All was con-cockted by the think tank


A counter charge meanwhile is primed

While Black Holes collect when nothing is owed

Enslavement of Whites, this outrage is timed

Exposing that... is when Whites will explode

 

----------

 

Preparing his learned Alzheimer-pretence

And smoothing his hair like his face

His trained memory flagged with nonsense,

A Black Hole mentally destroys his workplace


The learning needed has raised his contempt

Like a White!! Mixed feelings churn his brain

The fantasy of supremacy he's only dreamt...

He fears that king will never reign


In consolation he thinks of his friend, a martyr

One who's learning the other subject...

Finance, business... strategy and barter...

And saying to himself, animals are real and direct


He sees substance, his target. And counts down

Should I drive away the specimen, the vermin?

He'd stretch out, wearing an imaginary crown

Mister-rep... Misrepresenting among undeserving kin


Food spills and crumbs heighten the contrast

What-you-get after What-you-thought

Clown. What any team would outcast

When needing to keep the chain taut


Would it be the ultimate accolade?

Heroic picture, sun, crowds cheering in adoration!

The latest champion buffoon to get made!

Send the White packing and paying compensation!


Perverted accomplices in gangster-agent mode

Play by ear, guide the target along

Read rubbish... demon, vampire and pirate code

Euphoric with miserable sayings and mysterious song


Prepared for business, in walks the target

Cautiously. He knows when it will unfold

Not how. Not much though he could place a bet

Is it Black Hole's story that will be told?


Black Hole needs dis-ease. Of that he's sure

But would deny he's Scum of the Earth

Target cannot live with it. Far more pure

And judges by what he's really worth


Black Hole recognises him. That much he'll give

- It's too much work, to deny the target that

Otherwise, he switches to fully negative

Only stopping short of combat

 

Making no more sense than he believes

He draws the target toward fate

Poisoned dead-end trails are the web he weaves

Showing his real darkness. Turning trust to hate


At each turn the target feels helpless

As futile as Black Hole's prescribed life

Like filling a drug addict's mindlessness,

Black Hole butchers at 'British' without a knife


To cast someone adrift

When they'd struggled ashore...

He's stranding himself beside a rift

Thinking he's settling an old score

 

Proudly gibbering like an ape

All civilised thoughts dissolve in a blur

Though he enjoys blood-red tape

And Mugabe or someone, interrupts his slur


Anti-cohesive, and as if waving a banner

He declares territory he does not own

Conduct, obstructive words and manner

Perverse idleness and cancer full blown


Vividly, happily imagining tying a knot,

The target struggles to stay awake

Then forgetting the cheese-wire garotte

He puzzles over a cure for the headache

 

----------


Black Hole draws a frame on a window

Around his reflection in the dust.

Smiling like a psychopathic anti-hero

The Evil Sloth... he scribes above the bust


With other obscenities he assembles in the gloom

Their false lives begin to tingle and pulse

They plan their deceit, their spells of hurt and doom

Insane alter-egos shriek and spit and convulse


Veiled in secret in their spirit acid mist

Their purpose becomes one and above everyone

Vengeful slaves, a battering ram or slamming fist

A binding charisma to be fazed by none


Except for, not irrelevantly - the super-heroes

Those chances were snatched aboard Noah's Ark

For alter-egos, so it nearly always goes,

Those inner 'selves' see only in dark

 

--------------


They place barriers, a wall of senility

Around their target, their scapegoat

Implying a conditional tranquility,

Holding a knife against his throat


He sees through the barriers, the fraud

He sees how all the goalposts move

But one against the maligned horde...

He has everything to prove and reprove


Always the obsessive, in between attacks

Black Hole appears, to survey and guide

Laying stones and smoothing cracks

Adjusting for the next broadside


The Black Hole lives in the same den

As Target. And so... first for the cheese wire...

It's fantasies all round. Hate charade again

Let's see now... How they should expire...


Flames or stones, for Thoroughbred Thief

In public. Disembowelling for Top Secret Hoax

Hung, drawn and quarter for Backhander in Chief

An ingenious haunting, for Full of Old Jokes


They've gambled. Pseudo-sophisticated scene

And taken away Target's other choices

Their other-side fantasy, fixed like a gene

Arranged. Vaguely, surely, by passing voices


----------

----------


After World War II is when it began

The excuse was there, there needed to be control

So, an unavoidable commotion was the great plan

Compulsory joy, and 'evil communism' the other pole


But it wasn't without unease and resent

Or rebellion against the overseas crushing wars

Farewells began for the Lady and the Gent

'Real life' boasted from behind new unlocked doors


Few could ever use those, it turned out

Vanity was the main thing for the rest

A misguided civilisation made devout

Fearing isolation, obliged to act out zest


Phase Two. The sheep were herded into a putrid beck

Dismay, and formidable force left the youngest dazed

Terrible wildcards had been turned in the deck

Over the raised drawbridge, the lucky ones grazed


Profits let the empowered meet any cost

Given away were the public's money and stock

Prophets were corrupted and held up for the lost

Marketed. Fake idols, monsters, drugs and Punk Rock


The beck was dammed and diluted over time

But it carried the stain and a promise of doom

The lucky showed they were ever in their prime

Blessing themselves, damming others to their tomb


The sheep went on like robots for a while

Operating markets of drudgery and wonder

Eventually the first, worst hit began to smile

Reaching the promised pasture, prepared to plunder

 

But the green pasture was almost empty of life

- Elders defied, destroyed with a celebration of greed

Descendants unaware, under aware, now under a knife

And the marauders, ever ready to make stones bleed


They'd taken their kids to the promised land

Where aged, bloated ones still stayed together free

Now, Insanity and Jealousy were in command

Of the hordes. For those in real power to oversee


The colourless Jealous began to look elsewhere

Magic. Perpetual Motion. Blood from Stone.

They allied with African men, too in jealous despair

In want of power and ingenuity. Violence-prone


Now the African dogs wait to be let loose

Their masters tell them who to hate

Happily uncivilized again, aloof in a role of abuse

Inferiority kept - instead something to masturbate


While the big begging efforts take and distract

This is another dismal rot in our nation

The seething commotion, of forcing act and react,

Is the right wing and religious, greedy goal of animation


----------


The first plots hatch. Rehearsed middle-class

Displays of dirty work, warped pretences.

Later they convene in their black mass

Renaming, their vendetta officially commences


In daylight, in public, none is far out of place

Observing, itself ends up in a special box

Even hiding, itself is forgotten without trace

And goodwill somehow fits in the stocks


"Who made this coin one sided?

Why let them create a lair?"

(Another trail blindfolded and guided

Another mystery outing going nowhere)


They march with banner high, singing loud

"We're the chosen brats, full of shyte and abuse"

More old children, more sheep join the crowd

"Godfather auditions today! Use any excuse!"


"So here we go, our Sloth...

Our pact once again renews

The light can burn this pestersome moth

Winners, survivors - are to do as we choose


You have your reason

We have ours. And the common one.

No others done, this or last season

And we'll celebrate oh yes, when he's gone"


They disband in long-forgotten vigour

Heavy mist wisps into a trace of grime

Each with finger pulling an unseen trigger

Crooked devotion, promised with real crime


Their narrow horizons are suddenly wide

Complete. Their aching bent fits... a bend

Redundant purpose, supplied as specified

Relief, and sordid ideals at last their friend


"Is Sloth going back to his bin?

He's obsessed, or he's got a bed there."

"He does have a bed! I've seen him climb in!

When he's snuffling, head at the top for air"


"Belongs there. Can we trap him in it?"

"No. By the rules, we need the stats

He'd be OK if we get another dimwit

Or one from the groups of White brats


He's good at the Pettiness Contradiction

And mother-stuff. Suits him to the ground

He'd like to incinerate someone with friction

His mal-directing of purpose is profound"


"He can't beat me for hate though

Ours lasts longer than our lives"

"You're gone for good when you go

And it isn't all that much to your wives"


"I pass on what God says

You're helping, so you might be saved

You'll find out at the end of your days

When he judges you among the depraved"


"Yep, you win at hate!

Totally cool. I'm best at disease

Split personality, tempt them with bait

Then betrayal, they see and go weak at the knees"


"Me too but with shocks and kicks

We're the X-People! Transcended life

Super bunch, full of deadly tricks..."

"You're for real when you've used that knife"


"I think Sloth is a Vogon in disguise!

As a human. Not much about him is clear

The contempt is real, but the calculated lies...

Disguise. Vogons don't think, feel or hear"


"That's why he's furious when thinking!

Wow! A Vogon among our ranks

Like a drunkard and without drinking

Let's hire him out to terrorist think-tanks!"


"Blasphemy! Who's this, someone tagging along?"

"Someone invisible, able and willing

And disposable if they go wrong

Odd-jobs-n-shit, nothing really thrilling


There was another. We didn't need a confession

No problem, disposed of... because... we could!

You missed last night's err... progression

There's higher yet for the brother and sisterhood


Dubbed Insult-to-Rats, and fitted the bill

Sloth wasn't happy - one of his favoured brats

No one else could resist the mindless kill!

And er... we just left him with the rats!"


"Properly wasting. In every sense of the word!

But then you woke. It was only a dream"

"No dream, our plan is to pin it on the nerd

And more. We've got too many for the team


Some are pure fake. Symbols, mindless avatars

More gangster films I said, and to come back later

They need to listen to underworld czars

And to stop standing there like a waiter"


"Sloth reckons WE'RE sloppy, it sounded like

Says we're on or near rails too much"

"I do find that, yes, I trip and take a hike

But WE aren't pets, have no pity cards as such"


"Sometimes it's nice to listen

He sometimes does glimmer some hope"

"It usually proves to be slime, more like glisten

I think it's masochism there, that helps us cope"


"Has he done the black and white woman thing?

Got one of each, as it's put about"

"Ten in the bed and... I heard him sing

Which means he'll kick them all out!"


'"Could rent him to films, he's a Wicked Witch!

He puts the Texas Chainsaw lot to shame

Eyes like glass marbles, blacker than pitch...

Make sure this time he doesn't drool over the game"


Sloth in his prime, of sloppy decomposition

Almost impossible in his honest state

Full of the blackest of beans, his chosen ambition

Their champion of the dark. A black hole incarnate


----------


"Full-of-Old-Jokes died at the mirror, rehearsing!

Not broken a sweat, not out of breath...

She said she had a new war dance, with cursing

Mirror too strong - she frightened herself to death!"


"Sloth nearly did that! A plastic mirror, couldn't smash

He was trapped there, convulsing like electrified

Gorilla rampage, smouldering, turning to ash!

He forgot it was his reflection and almost died!"


"Wow! That one could go. She's outstayed her uses

I've always seen a target on her forehead

Causes trouble, but for anything it's excuses

And she's the generation that's meant to be dead"


At best scared of the quiet, or scared of thought

The corrosive banter never seems to cease

As if they'd become gay, or a religious sort

If they ever added up, and contemplated peace


And to show any care - is for a price

It's added up, thinking help is wrong

And thinking rotten treatment is no longer vice

Dictated to plan - that it makes us strong


"However much your sort get it right

And think you've got us beaten

Dangerous dogs are behind you, day and night

It's only you that's gonna get eaten


You... are the unanimously accused!

We have a full-width carpet brush, to cover

Anything that was done to you was excused

Lines of defence and blame, one after the other"


"Bite all you want, you won't chew through steel

And feel free to wriggle - it'll improve the roast!

As you can guess... naked for your ordeal -

Your final rest is horizontal, on that post"


"Your absence will be obvious to all

It was you who took the rest

- It'll look. When they come to call"

Roast Chris? Bound, alone, and they think no contest?