Thursday 4 April 2013

Post 5: Prosthetic Lunatic (A Banksian Dilemma)

NaPoWriMo 2013


Lightly seared on the Reality Grill
is the excised remains
of my Soul

My conscience
grows inflamed (and swollen)
an abundant onslaught

Of nonsense rhymes and limericks
they flow and explode
out of my body

Where shall I find
a (sentient) prosthetic righteousness
oh phloemy phlegm

And fix it back inside me
to make me mind quite dearly
all your archaic Ps and Qs?

Is this utter banksianness
this limber prostheticness
a boon (or a bane) then?

How do I superglue
a conscience to my id
when it is soaring free

Can I and my non-ego handle it
the frank unadulterated
exchange of R-rated views

Or will this cause death
an unnatural end
of life's fragile morality

An irregular Apocalypse
caused by very little gravitas
oh indeed (alas)

Will everything die
by the smoking fire
of my own guilty mire

at the abundance of the onslaught
Of my own (un)diplomatic
steamy Gunboats all shot?

How will I live cyborg like
without a bio-conscious hike
any chance of the Rule of Three

Will I live for the moment
and do what I want
(when I want) be free

Does a conscience prosthetic
make one all apathetic empathetic
Nuns in the attic

Will I be (another casualty)
of the artificial reality
and oh, the techy tech hacks...

Just another victim
of the Ambient morality
in my own alternate duality

Maybe I'll leap about
(all psychotic) with a fine disregard
for awkward facts

Refreshingly uncaring
unconcerned with the vulgar
exigencies of veracity

I might stab someone (in equal parity)
with the conscience prosthetic
if they demand actual reality

A conscience made of hard plastic
it may not be of any use to a psychotic
oh fie ho ho ho...reach for it

Perhaps (at best)
I will be left bereft
with a jaundiced outlook

Normal constraints have no hook
oh throw me the rule book
A lunatic fig falling...no moral sense

That a prosthetic conscience
might know to have... installed
(somehow I don't think so...at all)

Such serious mumbo-jumbo though it appears
dizzily, holly go lightly...does feed
with very little gravitas...indeed

Prosthetic conscience
an appendage fierce, leads to a state
of unconscious conversations (with fate)

Where the logical is illogical
is incomprehensible, is a non-ending
line of laughable expositions offending

A marching (moping) series
of unlikely explanations caught
an abundance of onslaught, oh aye...

Like lemmings to the cliff
we rush, to observe ogle pontificate
cuss comment and adjudicate

What if the only thing this maddening
(milky murky) prosthetic conscience
can do is to twirl swirl and obfuscate

Lightly seared on the Reality Grill
is the battered remains
of my Soul

(a tribute to Iain Banks)


-Anne The Obscure


PS. Mr Banks lost the battle with his illness a month and 4 days (on 9 June 2013) after I published this piece for NaPoWriMo 2013. God Speed Mr Iain M Banks, I hope the reality grill is pure utopia up where you are now. RIP.




6 comments:

asteria's canvass said...

The eternal truth of life.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Hi Anne, I'm very happy you have found Real Toads and have shared this particular poem with us. It has such a wide scope and universal appeal and you have put your case most eloquently.

Where the logical is illogical
is incomprehensible, is a non-ending
line of laughable expositions offending...

revelations said...

there is a great deal weaved within these words...each read reveals something new... well done

Anonymous said...

Not knowing the works of Iain Banks, I suspect there are several titles and themes in here, not the least of which is the prosthetic conscience, which is a mind-blowing concept! Now I have to find him in the library... Thanks! Amy

Anne V said...

Yes that is true Amy, as the titles of his works happened to be the theme of the day :) and this piece above is a tribute to all of his brilliant work. May he rest in peace.

Anne V said...

Thank you Asteria, Kerry, and Robert for the kind commentary. Many thanks Kerry for the welcome to the RT community. :)

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