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My name? Not important. I exist like a disembodied mouth in the eternal ether, chanting ultimate meaning into the black, empty void. The void is the modern world, where all feeling and being is voided by emptiness. It's the emptiness of television and radio and magazines and chavs and people who haven't even heard of Muse and they wear stupid pink skirts and put out for boys they only just met. And the voice is me, and people like me, and it's like a dark, secret faith where only we know the real truth, and the real truth is Aisle16. Since before the beginning of time, poetry and poems by poets have been the key to ultimate understanding. Nietzche, Socrates, the Marquee de Sade. Buddha wrote poetry, but they hushed it up and kept it secret because it was just too ultimate. Well, now it's Aisle16 carrying the flame in the same footsteps. The flame of truth. Ultimate truth. Eternal. Infinite. They pretend like it's a boyband like Busted or something, but that's just to fool the idiots who drink aftershock and stuff and then the ultimateness gets in their heads and they don't even know it but they secretly know their lives are meaningless, ultimately. So here's the MEANINGS of some Aisle16 poems: |
| Silent Pylons | Hang Your Friends | Essex 94 |
| Henry Miller | Paedophile PM | Just One More |