Lil’ Monster Robbers

Silent But Dudley: Black Country Blues
by Mr Steven James Pratt

Lil’ Monster Robbers.

…looking for clues in the digital ash
and piles of dust
our stuff!

annihilation in the Brexitrump fires
i fly backdraft through a series of
disasters, or robberies
this is my victim report

first, robbed by the creepy technology
the cameras and hidden microphones
the advanced surveillance equipment,
that robbed us of what remained of our
privacy, and made it publicity


second, the robbery of  our personal data,
shed loads of it, all stolen by thousands of
men and women spinning in
the revolving door between
intelligence, surveillance and
so called systems of

‘democratic voting’
and the latest advancements in

the third robbery was perpetrated
by hackers, the same data, nicked again
from the spies, and passed to
the crazy white haired dude
gimme’ the loot, gimme’ the loot!

the fourth robbery was conducted
by the popular media, robbing us of
critical observation, of fair and balanced
interpretations of all the once secret shit.

and so on, the people
robbed for a fifth time
looted of the democratic process
by a cabal of opportunist
politicians, intelligence agents
and data analytics corporations

and just when you thought you were
fully fleeced they rob again,
a sixth time, like a transdimensional
hostile alien entity snatching 
our future

is there no bloody end to data kleptomania?
farcebook (farce) google (your shit)
amazon (Guerrilla online assault on shopping)
microsoft (hard hitting weapons guidance)
and apple (snow wait, a minute)
also were simultaneously both
the robbed, and the robber

here we stand naked
homeless jobless hungry
living on the edge
taping our own phone, wtf

around the world humanity battered
and beat down and 
brainwashed and
hooked on the black mirror

poems, unlike fairy tales,
take the everyday stuff, that which
impacts everyman and women
and puts it up in lights

let’s hope that the lil’ big data monsters
and marketing algorithmic demons and
their political and corporate partners
choke on their own entropy,
and drown in data pilfered from us

we retain the human right to be
unpredictable and get off
farcebook and go and
visit our friends for a cup of tea

and a biscuit

we reserve the right to write
what we like and not be eternally
bound to every comment, post
poem, short story, essay, liner note
job application, and/or
translations of our utterances
robbed by hidden microphones and
agendas to categorise us into some group
of probability functions

tapping your own phone?
feeding the diabolical lil’ advertisement monster
with gnashing jaws and
infinite appetite, for your data?

I am feeding the lil’ monster now,
right here, the irony
eat it up yum yum dumbdumb
we are both the robbed and the robber
on social media:
the digital equivalent of cocaine

we sleepwalk into screen-world-war III
and empty our bank account,
send our personal details to
potential predatory entities
and watch in awe and horror
as their hyper-fiction harpoons us

get out from under the grip of the
lil’ monster that we feed 
and night like a Gremlin

digital hyperfacecrack
the purest digitalis,
it seems true all day
tripping balls

why would you come down?
why leave the playground, why go home
from the perpetual day and night

because, the future of all
humanity, culture, learning and
history may depend on it, now
put the kettle on our kid….

—Steven Pratt (Fly Agaric 23)
31st October, 2017.

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