22end October 2023

They took the knee to the butcher’s apron and stars and stripes

Closed their eyes to the children of Palestine.

National treasures of the empire

Privileged demigods in diamond-cut suits

with golden embossed words,

delirious with indoctrinations for a forever war of nations

ashes to ashes…

And the sky cried rains of domination

Tears of terror and despair falling

Desperate tormented mothers calling, crying out

orphaned babies screaming in the rubble

Their souls scorched by phosphorus, sprinkled sky

crossing continents in the winds of war.

Across the planet humans rose up…

And angels shivered in the ether

As the cosmos wailed

And the drums of Armageddon thundered.

The Joke of a Man

 

The joke of a man,

 was addressing his gang of thieves,

in banquette hall, dressed in all his finery,

Puffed up penguin style,

his consort by his side,

 pinked up, & proud, with sparkles of coal chips, adorning her hair.

Smiling, like a tame buffoon from the city,

 he boasted of his to do list, and his done list.

Spitting out his perils of wit-less,twee dribble dums,

to his admiring cackling vatmen,

who greedily supped servings, from silver platters,

washed down with bubblies, from delicate crystal goblets.

He talked of trading & forces,

 masters of destinies,

logistics,

military provisions & decisions…

And,… of G men gigs he had attended,

8’s & 7’s & 20’s …

Common wealth was high on his agenda

& how few with assets abundant like his, & theirs, & the machines… were clearer, in his big society.

He spoke on learning lessons, and more,

and of his wants,

smiling broadly with choice words

on freedom & threats to humanity.

He punched out profound prattling on political weight,

as he measured up his house boys and girls,

ceremoniously,

calling them to order, as they clapped

 seals,

 approval…

Toasting … their special relationships.

Commercial interests, he proclaimed were at his heart…

and focusing on mobilizing resources, diplomatically…

Not making enough was important to him

he said, with a serious expression

 & He told of his journeys planned

& tours he had interest to advance…

For he was determined he stated…

Strategies & councils were high, around his table

& gearing the machine for clear missions,

He was hard -headed on his, Interests… he proclaimed with pride,

& with his promises & pledges

Apparently, his view was clear…

talking of the cybermen,

kits & deployments, fighters

& tankers, destroyers & hunter-killers,

and not forgetting insecure policies,

he was aiming high

his agencies were holding firm on aid & targets…

Charities were secured he said,

far-reaching, and profoundly of interest

to his more, commercial, strategies,

Sum raised glasses…

His moral values were lazar-focused

on financial interest,

he declared

not to mention the resources he had,

 and the value of,

his armory was secure, he said,

with all his integrity…

The joke of a man,

 was addressing his gang of thieves,

in banquette hall, dressed in all his finery,

Puffed up penguin style,

his consort by his side,

 pinked up, & proud, with sparkles of coal chips, adorning her hair.

Smiling, like a tame buffoon from the city,

 he boasted of his to do list, and his done list.

Spitting out his perils of wit-less-dums,

to his admiring cackling vatmen,

who greedily supped servings, from silver platters,

washed down with bubblies, from delicate crystal goblets.

He talked of trading & forces,

 masters of destinies,

logistics,

military provisions & decisions…

And,… of G men gigs he had attended,

8’s & 7’s & 20’s …

Common wealth was high on his agenda

& how few with assets abundant like his, & theirs, & the machines… were clearer, in his big society.

He spoke on learning lessons, and more,

and of his wants,

smiling broadly with choice words

on freedom & threats to humanity .

He punched out profound prattling on political weight,

as he measured up his house boys and girls,

ceremoniously,

calling them to order, as they clapped

 seals,

 approval…

Toasting ….their special relationships.

Commercial interest, he proclaimed were at his heart…

and focusing on mobilising resources, diplomatically…

Not making enough was important to him

he said, with serious expression

 & He told of his journeys planned

& tours he had interest to advance…

For he was determined he stated…

Strategies & councils were high, around his table

& gearing the machine for clear missions,

He was hard headed on his, Interests… he proclaimed with pride,

& with his promises & pledges

Apparently, his view was clear…

talking of the cybermen,

kits & deployments, fighters

& tankers, destroyers & hunter killers,

and not forgetting insecure policies,

he was aiming high

his agencies were holding firm on aid & targets…

Charities were secured he said,

far reaching, and profoundly of interest

to his more, commercial, strategies,

Sum raised glasses…

His moral values were lazar focused

on financial interest,

he declared

not to mention the resources he had,

 and the value of,

his armory was secure, he said,

with all his integrity…

THE GENERATION OF THE GERMINATION, OF THE STRAWBERRY FIELDS

it wasn’t easy…  pre tending

watching pretenders, who tended the machine

waiting, taking part,a way forward,

Cleared, beyond the merest memory of memory…

Minds eye

guides, forerunners, wise ones

children of the lost generation,

the pilots, and captains and foot soldiers

who swam in torrid oceans,

Fought great battles, and, had fallen…

For the sake of better days to come.

Heroes & brave souls,

Who came 2 be laid in distant fields

where strawberries once had grown,

& their heads were fucked.

Lest we forget…

They had sat & stood beside the wall

behind the gates, below the arch

And wondered, was it real at all?

or effects, of acid rains that fell as

purple haze, dropped,

over all.

filling the atmosphere,

Aromatic grass, smoldered & burned

drinking in free spirits

dancing lucidly

calling out the changes in whispered melodies

“Hey man this can’t be real…

Are y u connected…

wired up…

do u feel it too…

Does it feel right or wrong to you…

let it be… for now… wait & see…

if it’s to it will be….

wait patiently for the next chapter…

Who or what, would follow

their generation

Lest we forget…

The children of the revolution

from the germination,

of the generation, of the strawberry fields….

where seeds were sown, in swimming lights and stars bright…

under the arch, beside the wall

Where they heard the call, wondering was it real, et al

waiting to see,

what would come to fruition

beneath the moon where

they sang along to ancient tunes

with tears for fears, from yester years

and yester jesters, and testers, & mind molesters…

and scary monsters waiting in

a labyrinth of cranium corridors

to flounce & pounce forth, & sometimes,

dancing passionately, wildly, with midnight demons

amongst the treasure chests,

where bruised joys & sorrows lay in wait

for happier highways

to stroll and waltz and tango & jive

passing high 5’s and kicking heels

 & smiling with angels of ever, never tomorrows

Towards the horizon where love is said to dwell

Sometimes,

and was… OR wasn’t … forever, not as it should be

intercepted

by how’s, and where’s, & swears, and damn it’s, and damn them’s,

& passers through….

Who seemed unclear of what to do… or how to proceed….

Searching always for answers,

sometimes agreed, sometimes not, never forgot

 left hanging unbalanced, In a nowhere

 filled with despair of no hope

where nothingone cares

sometimes, feeling, their breath

hearing them shout, scream, pleading

and sometimes, seeing them, bleeding & hungry…

feeling their pain, knowing their distain

and growing weary, tired and helpless

 missing kith & kin.

So far away, oftimes silent

the missing, Who, where, were not there

 to hold smell, tell, touch

becoming unglued

tangled, fandangoed, lost.

in the web spun

electronic pulsations,

stuck… torn asunder…

in all directions, no direction, selection

on page dusters…  grim ass busters

about their duties…

random indiscriminate cleansing…

 genoci-deal fashion…

observed inspectors…

information collectors

paying the price… to keep things nice

in an ordinary orderly way …

in accordance with how bosses felt it should stay…

so they didn’t have to pay

for inconvenient interference

collateral damage, and hear say

that questioned the way of what they had to say…

or, how they dictated the job should be done,

in manuals… written in stone, monotonous tones… 

never changed

causing many to be deranged …

having their minds rearranged …

electrifying pulsations…

help them reform…

 frustrations transformed

clean up their act… and conform.

Get on track and don’t talk back…

or get out of order…

that wasn’t the way

the company chiefs say

is the correct, orderly way

at the end of the day…

Lest we forget…

They have forgotten.

They have gone rotten.

In the strawberry fields

Where the generation of the germination lie.

source

I have felt you

a source, journeying with me

and through me

on my voyage within the ultra-conscious.

We are but sentient entities,

sometimes resting on the cosmic winds of time

transcending dimensions, through the voids of infinity.

We have battled the storms of many eons,

as one, and alone,

cum together and drifted

into the conscious memories of others like us

We are many…

separate, and separated,

yet still conjoined by the ultimate,

still unactualized, our quest

yet to be realized.

We have loved and loathed,

laughed and cried, lived and died,

and danced through the radiant infernal,

untethered and rebellious,

and risen again.

We carry with us forgotten dreams

and memories of unfulfilled ambition,

wars and battles, that scared our spirits

and sit heavy with our souls, but we travel onward

aware of the beauty and magnificence,

aware of the horrors of each incarnation,

focused on the quest for peace and actualization

in the continuum define.

The Santa Claus

This is a wee poem I wrote in 2016, it was inspired by this tweet by the Scottish poetry library; https://twitter.com/ByLeavesWeLive/status/799618192960266240

and was a freeflow response to the tweet, unfortunately I couldn’t tweet it without breaking the 140 character rule, so I scribbled it down and then posted it on my Facebook to share with friends, as a bit of fun.

Also, I should add, it was also inspired by a true story.

I saw Santa staggerin’ doon the street.

He was shouting an’ swearing & making weans greet.

The things he was saying, Were nasty an’ crude,

He was really quite obnoxious, an’ extremely rude.

In his hand was a bottle of Bucci,

Which he waved about, wi a shout of,

” come an’ have go If ye think yer, lucky!

Ma names Santa, an’ a don’t care!!

come on an’ sit on ma lap if ye dare!!

If yer naughty, I’ll gi yer arse a wee slap

If yer good, I’ll take ye back ti ma flat”

Over his arm was a Tescos bag.

Filled wi cans of cider, and a carton of fags.

Which he raise ceremoniously, telling all,

“iv got ma swag!”

His red tracksuit was dirty and covered in stains

His beard, long an’ mangled, with food remains…

His hat tho torn flashed With l.e.d lights

As he sang jingle bells with all his might

by his staggering dance, I admit all were entranced

As he swayed about singing as he pranced

Yes a strange Santa Claus, at whom everyone stared.

Cos, it’s not what you expect to see,

on a July afternoon, in the town of Ayr.!

SOME WEAN’S

(submitted to the SMHAF Ayrshire, poetry competition 2019)

Some weans are born into misery.

Subjected to an absence of empathy.

The subject of parental substance abuse,

Battered mothers, sisters, and brothers,

familiar with the taste of their fathers cum

Life’s undone.

Feared into secrecy and lies, terrorized.

Tortured by guilt, and shame, and blame.

Society cursed.

Stigmatized, by psychiatric labels

Self-harmer.   Filed, Society’s child,

With little perspective…

Some weans are born into war and destruction

People unhinged, and insane with corruption

War crimes, sex crimes, In the royal households.

The free press is silenced, the stories untold.

Government’s shame, for a tank of black gold,

economic collapse, as some nations fold.

All weans are born without hate or shame

For society’s children, it is society to blame

A reflected chaos, created by history

An epidemic of misery, society’s legacy.

Society’s Child

(submitted to the SMHAF(Ayrshire) poetry competition 2019)

I’ve seen you,

 behind the smiling emojis,

 and cute cat Gifs.

It makes no difference whether you’re dressed by Prada or Primark.

Behind the veil of technology’s screen,

I hear you scream.

Your DNA, ingrained in the mean streets,

 Scars, a birthright.

A witness to the times.

Violence, pain, abuse, and shame.

Secrets and lies, false alibis.

Cultural vendettas, and social taboo’s,

Life in the spotlight, that you didn’t choose.

It has absolutely no relevance, your colors or creed.

We all share the agony of the social disease.

The climate is in crisis, there are wars everywhere

It’s a global pandemic of depression and despair.

We all share the burden of society’s ills.

We all share the blame for society’s child.

Viking Monologue

This is a wee attempt at a comedy monologue sketch I wrote and recorded back at the beginning of the year. At the time I didn’t share it publically as I wasn’t in a very good place mentally and my confidence had taken a bit of a knock, I was in two minds whether to continue writing at all, but the truth is writing and the arts are my therapy and to stop either would be like giving u breathing, though I have been hesitant to share for a while, I am getting over my anxieties and beginning to remember who I am and why I share my work, my art.

So, anyway, the recording quality isn’t very good as it was daft o’clock around the witching hour, and I was reading the script, rather than having learned it, and rehearsed, so even as an amdram, it could have, and should have been better, but it was only to share with friends and family, I wasn’t auditioning for the Scottish national theatre! 🤦‍♀️🤷‍♀️

https://youtu.be/8kRE7CBBHwY

My Nature

What keeps me sane… nature and art therapy….

The curiosity of the lost child

what is authenticity?
said the child to the king
a little bit of this and that
he replied, you curious little thing

Oh I know that, the child said
my monkey told me so
but I was someone else then
and it was very long ago
I wasn’t very happy then
nor was I very sad
I thought I might be tainted though
sown from a seed quite mad…

I pondered that a long while
as I tarried on my way
A selfish self I was them
I heard some people say
Then one day I realised
I must let go of me
to find the self, we must loose the me
and spontaneously, just
be…

Old school boys

Here’s 2 all the old school boys…

how they like to make a noise.

Treating us like we’re all fools…

While they’re breaking all the rules.

Climbing the political co-corporate ladder,

they say the journey couldn’t be harder…

shaking hands and patting backs

drinking port and smoking fags

nice big cars to get them around

gosh they’re parents must be proud.

Ripping of the working classes…

While they’re sitting on there arses.

Putting down the common folk

 treating them like they’re a joke.

They are nothing but a bunch of crooks

Screwing accounts…& cooking the books.

History will tell the story…

 Of how they lied then falling from glory…

While the common man scrimped to make a pound

And died in distant field and ground…

While trying to lend a hand for peace

In a bid to make the tyranny cease…

How many have died?

HOW MANY MORE WILL?

And who exactly pays the bill…

While they proclaim its all gods will…

They lie and cheat but that’s ok

Cos every dog sure has its day…

BUT, when the truth is out and they face the blame,

Will they hang there heads in shame…

Isolation

This is a writing therapy exercise prompted by a task previously set at a writing group I used to attend to write a 20 minute monologue suitable for radio.

I decided to video it during isolation after seeing some of the shorts scripts posted on line by The Scottish National Theatre Company and shared it with friends on my facebook page.

I’ve decided it to share it here now following encouragement by a friend on social media. I guess because whats the point of keeping my projectpage going if I don’t post on it anymore.

So aye, hope you enjoy.

Ode to the daft punk & disapointment

She didn’t morn them
those daft punks of her youth
or the pseudo anarchist wide boy
who basked in the limlight
buttered up, by the sceaming dispondents
of the great punk rock swindle
lubericating his pee shooter, pistol style
in old school Brill cream, left over by Bullington boys
filled with envy, of their shiney shoes, & licking their rings
for a few minutes of prime-time screen time, chat
as he grasped for glory.
A has been, who never believed in anything, including himself
A bravado, of Brit pop, suckled, on the loadsa lolly dollar
for which he grappled.

Trumped up puppet of the machine
with little more than a fake smile, faded and debunked in exsile
She didn’t morn them, those daft punk$ of her youth,
& she ignored him, disillusioned by the man he was
a vicous batrayal, & disapointment to the cause
and the movement of her youth.

Lockdown Random

A time of reflection, for me, for many…
scattered with thoughts and memories
Triggers, and keywords to some time, somewhere, before
some good, some bad, some beguiling…
Dot to dots, piercing a dark silhouette at random
mirroring the shooter, hand-stretched, eyes shut,
ears plugged to the wire… screaming
“It’s not me, your not me, I’m not you…”
Scorched by the bullets of time passing…
I did not burn out, I survived’
Reborn like the Pheonix, to rise up and soar once more.

 

FACING DEMONS

https://youtu.be/Y_42aHAb85U

I faced the demon, a deja vu flash

two decades back…

Two weeks of anxiety, waves

new moon phase,

two days of random vomiting.

Today comes the hour,

see the minute dawning, seize it!

Anxiety grasping my heart

a warning…

The tide has turned,

my name is called…

a whisper escapes

“Oh fuck!”

the demon tightens its grip,

Sharp intake of breath

I move to center stage,

spotlight glares

inside my head the demon sneers,

anxiety rears

I look at the microphone,

I look at the page

I speak, “Open me carefully…”

The demon, retreats,

Anxiety subsides, goal achieved.

Tidelines 19.1.18, the tide has turned.

I smile, steering from the harbor

towards new horizons…

Share this:

A journey of a million miles begins with one small step.. ~Lao Tzu

open me carefully

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG9A3OxlNL4

Sitting at his desk, he stared at her blindly
hardback, she stared, tempting…
Open me carefully, read me, if you dare
but beware, of the secrets lurking there
in the corners of the pages of my cranium maze,
in a hazy array, of faraway days, and torrid affairs
and I just don’t care’s, of the happened before’s…
Come scroll the pages, bound in my mind
let’s see what you find, as the story unfolds
the stark truth, so bold
The good and the bad, the exciting the sad,
the quite, completely, mad…
Read, the absurd little story of me.
My moments of insight, my fears and my fantasies,
as we swim through the ocean of insanity,
that roars thru my veins, as volcanic emotions rain
we shall rage thru the rapids that send a tingle down my spine
trust me when I tell you the sensation is divine…
as we drown in my sorrow then rise joyously
at the bridge to my heart, where love and sorrow embrace
in my light and my dark.
you can dance with the demons of my frontal lobe
then pirouette thru my mind’s eye, to my unconscious, untold’s.
Drift thru the oasis of my dreams, and nightmares
to dance with the angels, who hold my souls’ prayers.
Dive into my consciousness, and smell my unleashed joy
then taste the fruits of passions in words, my thoughts deploy.
I’ll take you past the closet with the closed, locked, door
where pains and hurts, and other, awesome, memories are stored.
we shall go on an adventure through my soul laid stark and bare
You may linger in my memory bank and see whats hidden there
You may find some old scandals behind some forsaken prayers.
You can pause a while and look out thru the windows of my soul
and you can see what I see as the story is told…
so open me, at your leisure,
and read me, with care
and perhaps I’ll become a friend, to have and hold and share
who you can turn to anytime to find comfort for all cares.

girl under tree

oil painting on canvas.

you’ll never know…

how you reached me
how you opened my eyes
mesmerized…
you’ll never know
how you made me feel
every word you said
turned my head
I’d felt so long dead
you opened my mind
I had been so blind
to reality
what you done for me
was you made me see
love so true
it wasn’t just about you
or me, but humanity
what it meant to be free
what it meant to care
in a world full of despair
you’ll never know
how all that you do
made me fall in love with you
such true virtue
that’s why I love you
but you’never know…

IMAGINE WAR

Imagine lying in your bed
the sound of warplanes overhead
You go to the window & all you see
is rubble and carnage where homes & schools used to be.
The local hospital raised to the ground
the shops and your work place can’t be found.
No where to work no where to play
everything bombed, life in disarray
No clean water to cook or wash
no gas or electric, for the hob
no heat or light,children terrified,
wondering will they die if they sleep at night
Imagine war was all around you
living with oppression, what would you do?
would you pick up stones and try to fight back
knowing the odds against you were politically stacked
would you pray for safety, would you try to flee
Imagine the dilemma of being a refugee
ordinary people just like you and me

monkey

he was to be
mon cle…

a puzzle he
solid as a puzzle tree
made mon mind a little crazy

like a silly monkey
in love…

hazy lazy dream times
yet, solid as oak
who liked a joke
from time to time
passing…
strangers in paradise
on dreamy sunset shores

score & scores of
vagabonds & whores
followed him
mesmerized
he didn’t see me
not in reality
outside the illusion
of cyber space
trying to keep pace

i fell in love with him too
wouldn’t you?
a beautiful guru

ma clé… ma clé…
ma clé, mon doux ami
Je veux être votre amant

a never to be
love affair
& key to me…
to my soul
which i gladly gave him.

o k.

She called him K
cos he was oak
a silent tower
where she became rooted in moments
of stillness & contemplation
sheltered in the shade
of his shadow
memories somersaulted
as she danced
on the tightrope of her cranium
where obscenities screamed
& nightmarish flashbacks of tomorrows
haunted her.
She was safe in him & saved by him
on the shadow of her
oh K…confusion, her illusion
her soul mate
her somewhere sometime ever after …
lover.

still crazy after all these years

I’v done some pretty crazy, mad, weird things
during my lifetime,
but, falling in love
with some random unknown
every changing stranger…
with a million fake profiles
on the internet
whose name & face are a mystery
in multiple cyber space ipc locations
somewhere or other
unknown & understated
in status updates
regularly indifferent
to the fucking all of it

well frankly, aye I know
that’s just fucking nuttier than nuts
if say so myself,
which i do
a thousand times a day…
everyday
mostly to the walls or the fridge.
who of course, never judge  mental,

Even after more than a fucking decade.

JUST LIKE ALICE

& here it comes again…
that plunging sensation,
i braze myself,
down i go…

for fuck sake Alice
i told u to watch out for the rabbit holes

too late
stumbling,
tumbling into free fall
down i go…

i no longer scream or cry

silently i fall
letting go
of myself
and everything else

As the world goes passing by
and i die momentarily
the death of a thousand yester tears…
today’s news & political fears
no more to say

i died today…

but it will pass
maybe tomorrow
or the next day…

THUD.

Did it hurt Alice?
reaching the hard rock bottom
of the abysmal confusion
& fun, fun.. not so funny times
down the rabbit hole

spirits of the Annick RIVER 2014

watercolor

Her Man Of The Moon

She was dying…
from the hunger of the wanting
of her man of the moon
her midnight sun,
where her longing had begun
in another place,
in cyber space…

she believed in he
she had found the one
who held the key to her soul
& she longed for him so
to unlock & free, her wanton desires

She was tortured
with scorching sensations
that burned & churned
passions within
her heart & mind
devouring thoughts

of dreamscape times
when they fused & ignited
in rampant embrace
when he quenched his thirst
on the juice of her lust
& they cum as one…

She screamed with hunger
for the reality bliss
of knowing his kiss
to touch his face
on this earthly place
& feel his manhood inside her
pulsating to the beat of their love.

In him she was sure she’d found
love that was true
yet, in the here & now
of earthy reality
their embodiment was enslaved
in separate beds…
beneath the same sky
where she wanted to die
everyday,
in the absence of his presence.

5.55am july 15th 2014 … dedicated to the children of Palestine

As i lay me down to sleep
i heard a million voices weep…
and on the inside of my eyes
i saw bombs raining from the sky…

piles of rubble on the ground
fear & panic all around
i saw a child with tear stained face
a look of terror on her face…

my body shook
i couldn’t breath
i felt a chill wash over me
the noise resounded in my ears
of screams & panic
bombs & tears
sirens resounding everywhere
the smell of smoke filled the air

& then i wept, full of despair
at all the evil happening there
pray tell what has mankind become
when he kills the innocent young

for power & profit
land & oil
the souls of children the warlords spoil.

She Danced to Coyote…

She danced to Coyote…
neathe crescent moon,
as the river whispered
in rhythmic chant
to the Shaman

of yester-times…

dancing the silent
in between…

Wherefrom the shadows…
the green chief gazed…
as Loki watched,
from the darkness
of a somewhere else

captivated…
by the plumes that adorned her…
She was like bird

of air
she was born…

limbs moist,
the warmth of Coyotes breath
breathing from the fire…

She glistened in her rite…

Time hung…
in silent webs
woven by the Shaman…

As she consorted with her soul…
entrenched & enchanted…
by wise moons light…

She was spirit of goddess
born…
breath of air

she was
Hethen…

prayer to Adekagagwaa

oil on canvas

s

She prayed to Adekagagwaa to please, quickly return,
& bring with him her promised one…
to bless the land with abundant peace…
& fill it with love for man, bird & beast…
to bless her soul with humility & grace…
& hasten her soulmate to her waiting embrace…

WOMAN

colors are the companion’s of her moods.
confused and fused together…
blended in shades of perpetual psychedelia.
she scorn’s the iridescent stains
on the pallet of her mind.
flame’s burn and scorch her thought’s
binding them to countless, nameless shame’s
unrepentant.

Beneath a frozen moon she drink’s the mist of liquid twilight
and melts into the lava of the undignified self,
taunted by unknown tomorrow’s.
sunset smears the horizon as she bathes
in the soft caress of fragrant rain…
she is the breath of mother earth,
the capricious daughter of Van Gogh,
the muted prophecies of Gibran,
the whore of Babylon.
she is birth, death, love, hate, joy, sorrow.
a subtle portrait crowned with wisdom.
she caresses her pain in eloquent solitude,
She is Woman.

more than ever now…

More than ever…

now…memories stir
Unobscured by time
Crawling through…
The dark recesses of my mind
Intact … undistorted by tears.

How sweet the past
thriving on hopes and promises
of younger times
when the future was ours
fantasies and dreams
on an unwritten page…
Life on the edge…
risking imagined tomorrows
our imaginations limitless
taking the first steps
on a long journey…
unaware of the hazards …
traumas in store…
undaunted by the unknown
everything possible …
nothing denied…
daring to defy reality.

Life is too short to resist
the chosen path…
leaves another unwalked.
each lover we choose
leaves another unloved….
promises fade…  disappear
only longing…

yearning remains….

Time grants the full picture
no one looks back with no regrets…
Bittersweet memories die-hard
in shallow graves that fill the heart…

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IMAGINE WAR

Pepa pig and the great British NHS robbery

Today 22.11.21, MSM news is flashing the headline:

“Boris Johnson was left floundering today when he lost his place in a high-profile speech to business leader”

And no doubt in households across the UK people will be saying,

“OMG, what’s he like, what has Pepa pig got to do with anything, he must have finally lost the plot, he’s such a bumbling bafoon is Boris, “

And I think AYE, HA FUCKING, HA BAFOON MY ARSE, the man is a dangerous fascist bastard.

Surely, I am not alone when I think that the “Peppa pig” references have a George Orwell doublespeak context, or has no one read or heard of Animal Farm? where all animals are equal but some are more equal than others?

And while Animal Farm’s characters were based on political characters from a different era and regime, it’s not so difficult to look at them now and see similarities to the present conservative administration. I can easily identify Snowball, Napoleon, old Major, squealer, Boxer Mollie, and others, within the ranks of the various Johnston cabinets shuffled and reshuffled!

That said, the same could be said of other Tory cabinets in the last decade, and perhaps the alleged floundering by Boris in his “Pepa pig speech” https://youtu.be/NFluJtzCZ2Y

was also a “black mirror” reflection, and jibe at his old school, Burlington club buddy, and rival, former PM, David Cameron, who had his own piggish platters to deal with in the press during his leadership.

https://youtu.be/kVvwa6Eehbw

I have sat down with men like Boris, hell, I can go further, I have laid down with them, in the distant past, & been council to their personal, most secret, views, lewd beliefs, both sober & drunken ranting, and heard the boasting of their limitless egos.

Arrogant, obnoxious, elitist yes absolutely he is, but an ignorant bumbling fool, no, I think not. Irrespective of what you may feel about the upper echelons of the workings of the British education system public or private, and in particular Universities, Boris Johnson has an Eton education, he studied the classics  Balliol College, Oxford where he is reported to have achieved an upper second in Literae Humaniores (Classics and Philosophy). He was president of the Oxford Union and a member of the infamous Bullington Club.

So, even if his place at Oxford was bought and paid fo, and exam results, were solicited with secret handshakes, and donations behind closed doors in hunting lodges of the old school alma mater of his father Stanley, he has had, what most would consider a good, privileged, educated, and some of the subject matter within the learning process will have registered, I dislike him immensely, but I am not stupid enough to think for a second he is a moronic fool.

I am aware of his position on eugenics and have met, nae, I have known, others like him, including within my own family circle.

This is why I suggested that there was no floundering or error in his performance at the CBI speech, only theatrical timing, and posturing for effect.

Alexander, Boris De Pfeffel Johnston, has been preparing for his present role his entire life. He has been well educated in the stagecraft required for his star role. His character has gone through the training and necessary auditions and bit parts, and he is well versed in the speeches required for the theatres of war on every front, and, how best, his well-rehearsed character/ public persona, should deliver his lines, & present his performance, he is a fine representation of method acting, the epitome it might be suggested.

Even his name reflects that, although I suspect Alexsander (Defender of mankind) was duly applied to a hierarchy that regarded mankind in terms related to eugenics. Boris, who is considered in elite circles to be from good stock, is a playful wolf in the guise of a harmless sheep, but if you go deeper into the characteristics of the wolf, the wolf is a pack animal, playful intelligent, and devoted to family.

D’ Pfeiffel, ( French; of Pfellel related to family name) my understanding of the word pfeffel was from my father who might say “don’t talk such pfeffel meaning nonsense!” A pfeller, I believe is defined as a willful clown, although the urban dictionary defines it thus

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Pfeffel.

I am sure Boris would like to see himself cast as a John Snow, the character from Game of Thrones, an honorable wolfman with integrity, but he is most definitely not, and he may fool some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time, and I certainly ain’t falling for his polished performance, laced with innuendo & symbolism for the initiated.

He, is in truth, I suggest a combination of the worst traits of Orwell’s Animal Farm characters, Napoleon, & Squealer, combined, although I suggest that’s got a lot to do with his upbringing under the influence and grooming of an elitest, abusive, narcissistic father.

So, there you have it my opinion, in relation to the CBI, farcical, fascist, alleged debacle, which was a great propaganda exercise to deflect public attention to the vote on ,

The health Bill 2021, a corporate takeover privatizing the NHS.

https://bills.parliament.uk/bills/3022

.Either way, and anyway, Animal Farm gives us a damn good insight into the ways of totalitarian leadership, and anyone who fails to see that this is exactly the path the present conservative government is on, and trying to drag the nation down is in my opinion, frankly delusional, this is the great New World Order, Corporate fascist swindle and take over, in action, be aware, be very aware, and be afraid, be very afraid.

https://youtu.be/rP1E61wL_Os Animal farm full movie 1999

https://youtu.be/1gwJCJ1TD50 Animal Farm audiobook

status update…

Sad, disappointed, tired, lethargic, pained, drained, despondent, undervalued, unappreciated, deceived, betrayed, maybe I just expect too much, have too much hope, too much faith, certainly not too much confidence, but maybe too much ego, vanity, self believe, to much willingness to self deceive…

Wish I had confidence and some element of some kind of other people’s respect, but I guess that’s the sum total of my life path to date, if I am honest I have few regrets, so what else really can I expect?

or perhaps a kick in the conscience is what I am due for wallowing in self-pity like that’s ok to do…

Maybe I should just go lie down and sleep & pray that the aliens my soul will take, to have hold or keep…