Just Seven Minutes Left Till Midnight on the Doomsday Clock, but Everything's OK

...inspired by OK Computer...

I.

The silent skies open up...
and I arrive from the ether
in a brilliant flash
of awe and fury.
Where is this place?
Who am I?
The sirens blare,
and approach.
I snap back--
sitting at the bar--
am I alright?
The guy slinging suds
plays it for laughs.
Yeah,
last night an airbag
saved my life.
"It's because you
drive too fucking fast."

The music is just
a little too loud...
can someone turn it down?
It's giving me a headache.
Maybe I shouldn't drink so much.
It's making me paranoid.
What's this?!
All these people, all these faces,
floating about like wraiths.
Can barely make them out
through the nicotine haze.
Smoking and laughing
and carrying on like clockworks.
There go the ones in the ties
poking their pinkies out
and swapping business cards.
There's one *lady* screaming
because someone spilled
a drink down her dress.
Now it's just a $300 dishrag...
God must love these kids of his.

This place could be Rome
just before the barbarians
crashed through the gates.
I wonder what'd be like
to fly out into space
and look down on all this?
Where the bigwigs and bums
all scamper like tiny ants.
How pathetic we are now--
doing our little dance
for the aliens up there,
so they can send the footage
back home to their folks.
The whole world bumbling here,
unwittingly plays it for laughs.
But somehow the war and strife
are no longer all that funny.
Or maybe I'm just too uptight.


II.

I know what'll help my mood,
her voice'll do the trick,
just dial the number and voilà!
But she's sleepy...
I really want to see her.
It's not gonna happen, however,
and we both know why.
I'm getting so tired of this.
"We can both leave--tonight."
And it begins again...
Fuck your parents,
especially your father.
I hope he fucking chokes
on his smug superiority.
She cries--I give in.
"Yeah, call me tomorrow."
Fuck her, who needs her?
Okay, I need her...
time to slouch into a booth.
This is completely fucked.

On a certain level, relationships,
ultimately useless as they are,
make a hell of a lot of sense.
Procreation is a necessary thing.
But what about the rest of it?
The jibber-jabber back and forth,
driving each other crazy,
until someone ends up leaving
and coming to a place like this.
Look at all the *happy* people,
with their shits-and-giggles
and a drink in their hand.
But how happy will they be
when the liquor runs dry?
Let down and hanging around,
trying to find someone
to take home for the night.
One day I'm gonna grow wings
and get the hell outta here.

I'm so sick of this 'culture of me'.
Self-conscious,
Self-aggrandizing,
Self-loathing,
placing themselves above all...
not realizing they're crushed
by their implicit conformity.
And now with the Internet,
they can spread it worldwide--
but they'll get theirs.
The Karma Police will appear
and commence to shut them down.
They'll wonder what happened,
of course they will,
but that's the way it goes
when you start messing with
the unseen Powers That Be.
After all, they know what's best.
Make your money, make your future.
Fitter happier, more productive.
The sum of your accomplishments
compressed into abstract data
for comparison and analysis--
oh, and retirement benefits.
No life and too much work.
You worry while they rule,
too busy to notice or care.
Welcome to the future, kids.
Hope you fucking like it.


III.

I glance over at the tele.
Hey, if it isn't
our fearless leader...
What's he saying?
Oh yeah, blah blah blah
You go forwards,
I go backwards,
and somewhere we will meet.
Tell us another one, George.
Evil-doers of the world beware!
It'd be nice to know who's who,
but plausible denial works, too.
Now why would they have this on
for a bunch of drunks
in a shitty little bar?
Ah, yes, the evening scores
for the local gladiators
are on in three minutes.
What a world this is,
when we care more for sport
than we do for our neighbors.
But we still have our leaders,
right?

The world is a disaster.
It's a wonder that anything
ever gets accomplished at all.
What a frightening place this is,
when our dimmest bulbs
are our brightest stars
and they're celebrated
simply because it's all we see.
One can hardly blame those who run--
who retreat into books and fantasies,
who jump online in search of friends,
who refuse to acknowledge the ruin
that in loose definition
is sometimes called a life.
Efficiency = Enjoyment,
and the faster things happen
the better off we are.
Fast food. Fast cars.
Fast forward to the good parts...

People like me get called a cynic,
because we remember that we have eyes
and conspicuously opt to use them--
while trying to speak the truth.
But what good is the truth
against the insight of media?
Everywhere I turn they're there,
all these dissenting voices
running around inside my thoughts.
Open up my skull and you'd see them,
raging and climbing the walls.
Sometimes even the truth
can get washed away
with all this white noise.
Or should we call them lies?
Bring down the government, one says.
Why not, they don't speak for us,
but then again (and again)
what do we ever try and say?
People don't want the truth--
they're quite content with comfort.
The news is still on over the bar,
but the sports coverage is off
and the throng is clamoring
for another station...


IV.

Another commercial comes on.
Something about some new drug
that will induce happiness
with some smiling fucking guy
heading out with his family.
What a bunch of bullshit.
But wait, isn't that paradise?
The wife and the house.
Freshly painted and furnished
with a pretty little garden
and the fractioned kids
running about out back?
Wasn't there (seriously)
supposed to be a point?
To life--To everything?
Fuck this.
I'm outta here.
Exit, stage left.
Wave to the sudsmeister.
"You're driving tonight?"
"Yeah, it's a rental."
"Take it easy, man."
Yeah, yeah.
No more surprises, please.
Stagger. Keys. Ignition.
Go!

This night won't stop me.
(Nothing's gonna slow me down)
I'm on a roll this time.
(This road won't stop me)
I'm a freaking superhero!
Watch me pull into
the gas station
at 100 miles an hour...
Whaddya know, I'm still alive?
What a glorious day!
I could be unbreakable,
but I'm probably just lucky.
Look at him on the cellphone.
Look at her on the laptop,
probably checking her stocks.
Doesn't it ever stop?
We are standing on the edge,
and hardly anyone notices.
What a sight they are--
a guy, his girl, and a Viper.
I've gotta get out of here.

They both stop long enough
to ask me where I'm going.
As if I fucking know.
I must be in a hurry.
Maybe.
Why do they care?
They return to their bliss,
and I can't help but smile.
There's no use in spite tonight,
I'm just passing through
and we're all finished anyway.
The guy from the booth
screams on the intercom,
"Hey, idiot! Slow down!"
I'm gonna kill myself, huh?
One finger reply.
Back in the car...
Foot to floor...
I have my orders...
The moon, the night, and me...
Never gonna slow down...
Never.


"In the next world war, In a jackknifed juggernaut, I am born again..."
--Radiohead, OK Computer, 1997

04/07/2002

Posted on 04/07/2002
Copyright © 2024 D. Xavier Bari