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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A spin of a song I wrote called 'Culture of Celebrity'. It's something that really sickens me, moronic idiots buying cheap magazines filled with so-called celebrities who have exibited no talent whatsoever, apart from lowest common denominator preening about. They can all fuck off and die - too much emphasis is placed on image today, and people wonder why our musicians, poets, writers and filmakers are struggling? It's because no-one cares about talent anymore, only what sells.

Submitted: February 21, 2007

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Submitted: February 21, 2007




You stare at me from your magazine, glossy and gilt and mesmerising,

They tell me your show really does suck,

Then they will tell me the last time you fucked.

So many of you adorning the pages, leaning out to find camera lenses,

You'd die without photo-sythetics like these,

And an army of morons, so easy to please.

Last week it's him, now they say her,

I turn myself off, but you're everywhere,

I try to discover, what talent you have,

Only to find, you're lacking in that.

I hadn't  noticed before, but now that I do,

Your real talent lies, in the promotion of you,

Prissing and preening, well someone has to,

To get TV, oh, what you won't do.

Sitting at home, you're living their dreams,

'I could do that!' 'I could be on that screen'

Next week they are, with no talent to show,

And the next and the next,

Until all copies sold.

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