“garranteed basic wage
the rite to bed
the rite to wank
the rite to plentifull
supplies of good food
the rite to alcaseltzer
all the essential
the rite to raise late
the rite to free water
the rite to lack
all the rest
the rite to good women
to the toothless
the rite to discuss
points of view
Billy Childish*, The Deathly Flight of Angels, Hangman Books 1990, p. 38-39.
(*B. Childish is dyslexic, this poem appears as written by the author.)
[Re-posted from The Old Site, original dated 26-02-2008. No changes at all, too much respect for this memory.]
I couldn’t have put it better, & I didn’t: “the right to lack ambition, religion and all the rest.” ‘Decadent!’, say the people according to the opinion conceived in them that freedom is a thing to fear, a thing to consume in small portions & at designated times. Decadent it is …
Our evolution ís a free fall toward the center of human gravity: boundless imagination. Imagination that never ever will be exhausted. There will always be sets of sentences unexpressed waiting to express a meaning. We fall from the functional grace whether we like it or not – & we know we do not like it a lot. Unavoidably we become more dysfunctional; we compensate. or try to, by inventing new functionality.
But the game is lost. The rules are arbitrary. Fighting for them is an urge we’ll always have to fight. Unimaginatively function within arbitrary rules will – over & over – be fought for. The bloodiness expands as our imagination expanded, to be used unimaginatively, against our nature.
It is not our nature to be functional. Nor to achieve. Nor to aspire if aspiring is towards something somebody else might aspire to as well. Radical individuals are the future, their aspirations are not a function of others but the results of their interactions with others: non-exclusive, not to include or help others out of a sense of responsibility but to not exclude others by claiming or desiring a thing by virtue of it being claimed or desired also by others.
Man, this is it – free from ambition, condemned to life of imagination.
[Written whilst listening to some Big Band music.]