Now that the TechBro-mofos

Have tipped their hand,

Laid it down,

Said the quiet part out loud,

‘SHUT THOSE WITCHES UP ALREADY’

There’ll be no cyber-space or quarter given

To that pit of ‘spewing’ vipers

And their ‘hateful’ talk of boundaries,

Who refuse to bend

Or ‘educate themselves’

By reading Holy scrolls

And transcriptions of The Law

Until they see the light and

Dutifully accept

Into their hearts

The godlike eminence of male desire

And its validity

Above all else.

 

Sixty thousand women snuffed out

Of speech, while

The Struggle-Fuck goes on

Because our degradation makes them hard

 

And who are we to judge?

A chorus of pearl-clutching prudes,

Uptight cunts

Fucking with their freedom

(Their dicks must go anywhere they please)

They will judge

The justice of your case

Like some virtualised

Extraordinary rendition

And find you guilty

Of ‘severe’ offence

For speaking of the pointed knives

And wire encrusted baseball bats

They said they’d rape you with

If you did not comply

With their desire.

 

Our job, as always,

Is to serve their needs.

Their entitlement

To our flesh

Now so overweening

That, having laid the body

Of the earth to waste

With their fantasies of immortality and

Techno-domination,

They demand the very substance

Of our sex

Be placed

Under the dominion

Of their idea.

The power to name

The matter of the world

According to their will

(Or lust)

Like The Good Book

‘In the beginning.’

 

And all we said was ‘No,’

 

All we said was:

‘The matter of our bodies

Matters

And this form of your dominion

Is no different than it was before

And holds no space

For us

To actually exist

And incarnate

Beyond the dead-eyed dreams

Your minds have made of us.’

 

What happens when that flat

Reflecting surface

Of the mirror

Starts to speak? The insubordination

Is unbearable and

Must be punished.

They will say that we are ‘throwing bricks,’

Although all I will remember

Is that night when,

Surrounded by a baying crowd

Transported in an ecstasy of

Seeing us all tarred and feathered,

We boarded up the windows

So we could breathe

Enough to talk.

 

They cannot still our tongues.

They will try to take us

One by one

And make a Philomela of us each

As a warning to the others.

They will hunt down Baronesses

And dispute their right to adjudicate

The words.

They will descend in legions

And fantasise

Of stopping-up

Our mouths

And choking us to silence

With their cocks,

(Exempt of course

From any wisp of

Patriarchal power

Because they’re just so queer now)

All while dicktating that

They’re smashing up the

Status quo.

 

It takes an exemplary arrogance

After all this time

Of brandishing their weapons

And erecting

Monumental towers

To the phallus,

To use the massive edifice of

Techno-corporate

Potency

At their disposal

To try and make us mouth

The catechism

Of its denial.

 

And nothing here has changed,

 

The dirt of the earth

And the blood of bodies

Still sustains you in your fantasies

Of uploaded immortality,

A clear Platonic sky

Of neural nets

And body-denigrating domination

Over the forms of life.

And even were you able to

Use your Law to

Excise the tongue

Of every single Fury

And stop her speaking of

Your rape

And desecration,

The earth will still make manifest,

In that matter

You have denied

Intelligibility

Since the dawn of time,

With words of

Water

Wind

And fire,

Her judgement

Upon you.