I remember the feeling that I was piloting my head. I was a tiny version of me, sat behind a control desk, All levers and buttons inside my skull, Controlling and driving my body As it went through its various motions: Leaning forward, Lighting a cigarette, Standing, Walking from living room to kitchen, Drinking from a can of cheap German lager, Buttering toast, Climbing the steep stairs like a conquistador, Urinating while staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, Lips flushed red. I was enlightened, as one might say; Cursed, another might say. My hand was such a long way from my elbow. The cigarette had burnt down to the filter tip. I had only inhaled once. The bare lightbulb was like a white sun, Blazing high in the sky of the living room. I was sweating and cramped, Stuck to the nylon-covered armchair like a dying gecko, Gurning and simpering with simian idiocy Under the heat of the lightbulb sun, Eyes glued to a late-night film that I couldn’t remember, Long ago, one Saturday night in November.

Unconscious, I awake from one sleep And fall into another. Luxury, You may feel no joy But you will not suffer. Death, I try not to think of death. All I think of is death. Truth, Looking around for something, Searching, stumbling, mumbling. Data, Staring at bloody charts and graphs, As if in a dream. Repeat, This all happened before, Last year, today, next week. Philosophise, I arrive at the answer And then it’s gone. Humans, Eight billion of us, All starring in our own little films. Lost, What do we do now, Now we have all of this? Suspicion, The one percent Are planning to do us all in. Evolution, The internet became your brain. Capital, All-powerful, evasive, Moving in mysterious ways. Employment, Diminishing, An endangered species. Pavements, Littered with cardboard and paper And plastic bags full of faeces. Revolutionaries Who have run out Of revolutionary things to say. Targets, What exactly is your purpose? What exactly is your purpose today? Unconscious, I reserve the right to be unconscious. I reserve the right to entertain a fantasy Based on books written in the 1970s. I reserve the right to retreat into my head, Tucked away in my room, in my bed, Unconscious. I am conscious of being conscious, Waking from one sleep to fall into another, Waking from one sleep to fall into another, Unconscious, Unconscious, Unconscious. It seems just a dream, It seems just a dream, Just a dream, Just a dream.