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    Neocon Hard-on
    Neocon Hard-on
    Neocon Hard-on
    Ebook120 pages43 minutes

    Neocon Hard-on

    By Mel Vil

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    If you thought you could escape Mel Vil's vitriolic poetry, it's because he's been busy lately... sharpening his sword. And so you're wrong. His latest regurgitation of hatred is here, and it ups the ante by addressing the broader issues of today's rotten society. 'Neocon Hard-on' is the acid reflux of the great depression. He targets the antagonists of peace, privacy and harmony, painting them in their true colours. But not wanting to come across as a purely vindictive, he follows up by drawing back the curtain to his window on civility, relationships and work.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVillemel
    Release dateJun 25, 2015
    ISBN9791094007129
    Neocon Hard-on
    Author

    Mel Vil

    Meet the captivating Mel Vil - a poet, free-thinker, and novelist with a passion for exploring the depths of the human experience. Born in 1979, Mel's journey has taken them from the rolling hills of the UK to the colorful streets of Latin America, and ultimately to the cultured corners of Western Europe.Despite their varied travels, Mel's belief system is firmly rooted in Eastern ideas, infusing their writing with a powerful spiritual essence that will leave you breathless. With a voice that echoes with raw emotion and an unflinching honesty, Mel's work speaks to the very heart of what it means to be human.Through their latest novel, Mel invites you to join them on a journey of self-discovery, where the only limits are those you set for yourself. With each turn of the page, you'll find yourself drawn deeper into a world of vivid characters, intense emotions, and transformative insights.So come, step into the world of Mel Vil and experience the power of their writing for yourself. Order your copy today and discover why they are quickly becoming one of the most exciting voices in contemporary literature.

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      Book preview

      Neocon Hard-on - Mel Vil

      Life

      Media bitch

      I feel robbed

      Who’s betrayed me?

      What purpose hadn’t they?

      I see blue skies

      They say it rained

      It was cold

      Men fed alcohol

      Loaded with metal

      Left to drown

      Such heroes

      Nearly half the story

      Now I watch our leaders

      The words make me

      Feel sicker

      A pang of jealousy

      Perhaps

      So-called defrosting

      But my loss remains

      This lens blurs

      Then there’s my pity

      One of the few days

      Days in which I pity

      The soldiers’ fates

      In death as in life

      To be overshadowed

      By diplomatic bullshit

      Yet I catch myself up in it

      Trying to tear one idea

      Away from the real me

      Bring things into balance,

      Can’t even untangle

      This knot of hatred

      An angry reaction

      Praetorian policeman

      Interrogating interrorists

      You’re blocking my view

      Of freedom.

      We’re in trouble

      Congested traffic

      Foaming red at the eyes

      Say you are directing me

      I say misleading me

      But this misdirection

      Collecting baksheesh

      To keep food on the table

      No longer an officer,

      Hardly an official

      More like a tyrant

      Wannabe sniper

      But the trembles got you beat

      Loser turned stool-pigeon.

      But there’s something underneath

      The vestiges of humanity’s semen

      From which you plausibly came

      Perhaps the tail betrays you

      Is it that the anger dismays you

      Stood side-by-side, disrupting traffic

      Tear-gassing kettled protestors,

      You’re not fit for this planet.

      Human highs

      I want to create a book with no characters,

      So people don’t have to experience

      The highs and lows of humanity.

      How can I pick the overly made,

      Lipstick colour jumper wearing,

      Talking machine and use her

      Misfortune to entertain you,

      How do we repay her for that injustice.

      Too late it’s already been done,

      She is scared at the expense of my explanation.

      She has become wallpaper in a piece of art,

      She has become a reflection of what

      I see as different in the world.

      Part of these highs and lows.

      Who am I to judge that or justify it?

      Worse still to not make a full exploration,

      Opening myself to the chance of making

      Them something they are not.

      Or is it worse to be afraid?

      Is it better to be jealous or homosexual,

      Hetero or competitively natured?

      Am I wasting time describing things

      We see every day?

      Do I deviate significantly enough

      From the average to be able to

      Objectively observe it?

      Is that the way forward?

      We don’t live like actors,

      We live in the moving picture itself.

      We can drive at the speed we want

      And refuse any cliché or common misunderstanding

      With which we feel uncomfortable.

      We are the inspiration for the arts.

      Or rather our hearts bleed for nothing

      We might live for inspiration.

      But I am plagued by the

      Having to distance ourselves;

      Disassociation from the world to observe it.

      Perhaps we have just broken so many rules

      We are being slowly evicted from it.

      Exile isn’t exciting, the life is.

      Tradegy [sic.]

      A strong man is broken down.

      He falls tier by tier,

      From glory to shame.

      Perhaps his own doing.

      He is a stranger,

      Yet not to all around him.

      Recently having come from far afield,

      He is the same colour and creed.

      Burdened with shame

      He is surrounded by those

      Who have recently become his critics,

      Strangers to him.

      Even when, one day,

      One brings him to account.

      Finding him washed out and

      Wasting away in some back vessel,

      This stranger stands above the fallen hero

      And openly mocks him.

      Pushing his face into the mud

      And orchestrating a revival

      Of the chants and slogans of the disreputed.

      His partner and progeny,

      Come to be by his side,

      Wept for their role

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