I am Alvin Culzac; Poetextreme100, the UnknownPoet.

I am a performance Poet who likes to question the reasons for accepting the mundane.

As far as I know a Poet is a kind of prophet. If the people don’t heed the message then they will have only themselves to blame when catastrophe becomes their constant bedfellow.

Like the time I performed at a local Labour Party gathering in 1999 to celebrate New Labour’s vision of the Millennium. They thought I was a bit extreme when I read this poem;

New Labour the Inheritor

New labour is a son of the oldBut somehow they haven’t been told

so they have been busy licking

instead of kicking arses

and trying desperately

to stay out of the fold.

Unions, Poor People, Nurses 

They say, stay away-stay away.

The leaders tongues

are as long as they are wide

and only the sweet taste

of money and popularity

are allowed inside.

Tabloid headlines set the agenda.

Sneering Media Moguls

laugh their pricks off in their haciendas.

Those at the bottom are still there

and can only gaze at the top

wondering, what good is a bloody vote?

if exploitation never stops?

Examine if you will the infamous

two-tier minimum wage, surely

that was created on the adage of:

let the buggers eat cake

In the years of New Labour

did the bosses squeal and moaned

threaten to leave the Country 

and abandon their homes?

Nooooo

Have they denied their lips?

one glasses less of champagne

and stop licking that stinking

caviar from their smelly fingertips?

Nooooo

The People running New Labour

like to talk with a lot of spin

whilst denying everything.

They will select the right vocal texture

to say with schlock-mock projected sorrow

‘There’s nothing for you today baby

but there will be jam tomorrow

that’s right, tomorrow!’

Conspiracy? Conspiracy?

Naw! There’s No Conspiracy Here!

People, have you ever wondered

why the world is full of bullshit?

No?

Then, have you ever asked yourselves

why does the water tastes like shit?

No?

So what about all the strange

anomalies around you then?

And why are planeloads of daffodils

secretly arriving from Africa?

Conspiracy? Conspiracy?

Naw, there’s no Conspiracy here!

You want me to prove all this,

don’t you?

Very well, bring me your piss

and I’ll have my Scientists

fiddle with it and show you

a thousand secrets

to which you aren’t privy.

You live trusting lives

but you still don’t know why

you’re feeling so poorly.

You take pills to sleep at night,

pills all the next day.

You even take pills when you

want to feel horny.

Now that’s Conspiracy!

What’s wrong with tits? Hot spit?

And a clit behind the ear?

Conspiracy? Conspiracy?

Naw, there’s no Conspiracy here!

Answer me this question;

Are the manufacturers concerned

about your well-being?

Well, are they?

I’m afraid that the only

healthy figure that interests them

is the one below the bottom line.

Now, when you go to hospital

you are no longer a patient

no, you are a customer.

When you go to catch a train

you are not a passenger

no, you are a fucking pain.

And when you fly high

in the sky, you are not a traveler,

noo, you are statistical nightmare.

Who might want to make

the damn plane disappear!

Conspiracy? Conspiracy?

Naw, there’s no Conspiracy here!

It’s all fucking real!