Bollo Rex

I can feel the air is shaking
And the sky begins to burn
And the lonesome claxons sing to me
- and ‘the Crazy is loose’ and the tide’s on the turn
The aparatchiks bluster for the gen’ralissimo
All this is true, but if i were you
I would not SEEK to know

GORILLA SITS ANYWHERE HE WANTS HE’S GOT A SHOTGUN BABY…. SHOTGUN BABY
BOLLO TANKS THE GRID
GORILLA SITS ANYWHERE HE WANTS HE’S GOT A SHOTGUN BABY…. SHOTGUN BABY
AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN…

With an enormous effort of the will one quells…
…the cultural logic of late capitalism
The enormous anti-natural power of dead human labour stored up in our machinery..
The physical impossibility of death in the mind of anyone living..
…
The implosion of the real in a hyper-real nebula in which even the action of the medium can no longer be determined
The inexorable decline of liberal humanism…
The structural possibilities of steel and aluminium

I’LL JUST SAY - ANYTHING AT ALL I’LL BE YOUR SHOCK JOCK BABY …SHOCK JOCK BABY
…AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN
I’LL JUST SAY ANYTHING AT ALL I’LL BE YOUR SHOCK JOCK BABY
FATBERG RISING
…BOLLO SPIKES THE MOOD

Here come History, with the caps lock on
WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON

When the hypothermic shudders
In the final throes
He gets the urge to dig a hole and
Rip off all his clothes
While this is not effective
- indeed it seals his fate -
It yet will keep him occupied and busy while he waits

WE CAN ALL DO ANYTHING WE LIKE
IT’S ALL A CRAP SHOOT BABY, CRAP SHOOT BABY
BOLLO’S SPIKED THE MOOD
AND THE WILD SHALL WILD REMAIN

And when we struck the fatberg there was a long pause …
And when we struck the fatberg there was a long pause …

(………)

…and a rampant surge
As the facts emerge…
And what sinks will not converge -
What sinks will not converge…

What’s my Safe Word, baby?
What’s my Safe Word, baby?

Bring me safe to harbour.. safe to harbour

(And I have asked to be
Where no storms come)
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb
And out of the swing of the sea)

(last stanza by Gerard Manley Hopkins)