A sonnet inspired by Pliny's description of his villa.
It's an old one but I want to 'port' this stuff over. Read it again... or for the first time...
'Look what God has done to us'
The 'Attorney' in Fear and loathing in Las Vegas. Hunter. S. Thompson.
A sonnet inspired by Pliny's description of his villa.
It's an old one but I want to 'port' this stuff over. Read it again... or for the first time...
Similar theme to the last one - but he's brought it on himself.
If you want to read a bad poem I made one for you. If you want to.
Just a short post on wordpress.
bit depressing but I'm not actually depressed at the moment. Must write some more over the summer...
SO, instead I've been messing about with wordpress again. Anyway, here's the latest (although written some time ago). It's only short. Give it a twirl! Place it 'neath an umbrella for a sneaky swig.... Oh whatever. Read it if you like...
I've posted one of the earlier exercises for A215 on my wordpress blog.
I wrote about this dream some time ago. I've just posted it on wordpress. You can read it again, or for the first time, if you like
another old poem posted on wordpress. Read it again, or for the first time, if you like.
I've published (on my blog) the story I wrote for TMA 2. I've changed the title. Still needs work but you can read it if you like.
I've posted a poem I wrote for one of the exercises for A215. 'I am born.'
Read, if you like.
Not my best work but it'll do for now.
Just posted a story about a walk in the park. Was part of my frst TMA for A215 creative writing and it scored quite well.
Posted an earlier poem on my wordpress blog. You can read it again if you like.
Just in case anyone missed this. The petition re O.U. funding has reached the half way point to trigger consideration of a debate in parliament. Sign; if you haven't already.
I had been a little worried that Tarkovsky's Swedish films would not be up to the same standard as his Soviet Russian work but, I am glad to say, 'The Sacrifice' maintains his incredible artistic touch. There is frame upon frame which could stand as a work of art in its own right. A typical Tarkovsky length of two and a half hours (although a little short, perhaps, for him) beginning with the standard philosophical meanderings; but what makes Tarkovsky truly great, apart from beautiful cinematography, is the subtlety by which he shifts philosophical focus. Standard, and hackneyed, Germanic philosophy gives way to an oriental approach which was quite unexpected. I love the way he can make a film in which 'nothing' really happens, all set in one room, for an hour and then blasts out several minutes of soul wrenching pain, followed by another hour of beautiful swathes of lulling contemplation, completed by a final few minutes of crushing emotional agony.
This film doesn't reach the heights of 'Stalker' but, then, what could? I could talk about 'Stalker' all day but this film is truly worth watching and gorgeously filmed. 'Film' may well have been conceived of by God just so Tarkovsky, and he alone, could make this Art.
Never, ever, watch the remake of 'Solaris'. It is an insult to Tarkovsky. Yeah, it's fine as a 'good' Hollywood film but you are doing your mind a disservice if you watch the remake first. I feel sorry that so many people watch these bland 'remakes' just because they find subtitles difficult. It's like turning Shakespeare into comic form because we are all too babyish to spend the time actually reading the words.
Sad. But... I'm happy because I got over it, and now I can watch all sorts of amazing foreign films.
I thought I might as well post my story for TMA 2. It is what it is...
‘Transition via Innocence’
Yin fiddled with the latch of the cold metal box with one hand while pointing his torch with the other. Nothing works for very long any more, he thought. His hands were shaking and he shivered, nearly dropping the torch; just a fuse needed changing. Bad materials and bad workmanship; parts like this had very short life spans. Yin suspected that the government-controlled factories produced substandard replacements deliberately. Things were designed to break so that more things would need to be made. People needed work. ‘Work gives purpose’ and ‘Work together to build the new dawn’; just two of the slogans of the People’s Revolutionary Party. He replaced the fuse with a regulation new one, knowing he’d be back to substitute it in a month or so. Still work is work, he thought. He squeezed his way from under the stairs.
Grandma Hertz was making him a cup of tea. The old style kettle was whistling. She was swaddled in two dressing gowns. One was made of faded blue Terry cloth and was sticking out from underneath the other, a dirty, once fluffy, powder pink affair. On her head was something which might have been a tea cosy.
‘Thank you so much Mrs. Hertz’, Yin said, accepting the offered, daisy decorated, china cup. It was a tea cosy... He was sure.
‘Not a problem my dear. Was it much trouble this time? I don’t use electricity much these days being as we’ve got to be so careful’, she said. ‘Do you have electricity Mr. Tseng?’
‘Not yet. It would be nice but it’s expensive to pay for the paperwork, the admin fee I mean, let alone the bills which follow’. He smiled and sighed, shoulders sloping. His eyes were slightly yellow at the whites and his face was blue tinged, pitted like a once storm tossed pebble found during an afternoon’s beach combing. He looked at Mrs. Hertz’s tea cosy encased head. It was covered with repeating prints of rocking horses rode by teddy bears; absurd yet logical at the same time. He thought it might have been funny at some point in his life.
‘I must be off Mrs. Hertz’ he said, draining the last of the weak, sugarless tea. ‘Don’t hesitate to call the Electricians Collective if.....if you have any further difficulties’.
‘Thank you Mr. Tseng. I’m going to write it in my diary. One can’t be too careful’. She shuffled towards the kitchen and returned with a pound note. ‘For you. I know it’s hard’.
Yin peddled his three gear tricycle back to the office. A wooden box fixed to the back held the tools of his trade. He broke into a sweat despite the dry cold day, his warm breath leaving thin steam trails in his wake. The streets echoed from the sound of his squeaky wheels. A fox glanced at him, wrinkling its muzzle with eyes glinting between narrow lids, from its vantage point on a grey, slate makeshift roof. Yin focused on the wheel’s sound; a painfully scratchy diversion keeping him from sullen thoughts. Nearing his office a child’s joyous scream broke his meditation. A ragged urchin, of indefinite sex, waved a cardboard sword and chased some other young waif down an alley. Fun and games are still allowed for the young, he thought. It’s not too bad. Until they reach age fourteen and find out the State won’t pay the £5 weekly subsistence anymore. None of them educated; State nonsense about ‘Transition via Innocence’. What does that even mean? Yin thought. The Party loved its cryptic slogans and didn’t see fit to explain itself to the likes of Yin, let alone the burgeoning group of ‘Innocents’.
Yin had four ‘neighbours’ who were ‘Innocents’. They lived in the alley which his one window looked out onto. They’d kept him awake last night with their drunken antics. At midnight he had stood by the window observing them. A skinny old man with a tangle of white hair gibbered and stuttered, lanky spindle legs and large boots; whilst a younger man, wearing some kind of greenish oilskin overcoat, hauled a trolley stuffed with bursting plastic bags. A blond girl was pirouetting between the two, right in the centre of the ally, cruising across the hard, cracked concrete only to end up in a crumpled, giggling heap by a strobing lamppost. A third man was slumped in Yin’s dusty doorway singing Danny Boy. All the words were mangled; barely intelligible. Annoying, Yin had thought, but on the other hand they had nowhere else to be. Stray too far outside the alleys at night and the police would be at you like a pack of starving dogs on a lonely cornered child. There was a time when police were meant to protect the public, Yin considered, but that seemed a long time ago. It was a memory from some other world which had no right intruding on this world of scavenging, looting, manic laughter and State organised penny pinching; this new world.
The Electricians Collective headquarters loomed before him. A monolith of gleaming steel and grey concrete, a structure built to last for generations, overshadowing the shacks and shabby small apartment blocks which surrounded it. It was clean and clinical, conical in shape, and vast. At night a wide laser beam rotated declaring the Party’s importance, to a weary, wilting, world below. Yin swiped his security pass at the automated door and nonchalantly gazed up at the facial recognition camera which would cross match card with face. A high pitch tone signalled the computer’s satisfaction that all was correct.
Yin followed a stark white arched corridor until he reached his sub department; ‘The department for electrical refitting (elderly)’. A bright red and cream poster on the wall reminded him that he was important. ‘You matter because the People matter’, it boldly claimed. Same old nonsense, thought Yin. He slumped behind his desk and turned on the DOS based computer; green screen with white text.
Yin remembered the computers of his youth; fabulous pieces of engineering with highly complex processors all linked, wirelessly, to the internet. The ‘Information Age’, they’d called it. He had been twelve years old when the Party came to power so he remembered what it was like before; before the uprising, before the Party, before complete and total change. Still; he had been young and able to adapt. He was valuable to the People. His mind was still fresh and ‘open to new ideas’. Yin knew this was a lie but playing along had become second nature to him. He wondered sometimes whether it was possible to pretend for an entire life, only to end up genuinely believing. Sometimes Yin looked forward to believing as it would be a great burden lifted if he didn’t have to live falsely.
Yin typed up his report of the morning’s work. He was tempted to include the words ‘tea cosy’ but restrained himself. He had just finished, and submitted, when the phone on his desk started flashing red and vibrating. He hated phones and he especially hated this phone and particularly loathed it when the red light flashed. He picked up, whilst rolling his eyes at his colleague who sat opposite him.
‘Mr. Gilder would like to see you in his office Mr. Tseng’ stated the secretary.
‘What time should I make myself available?’ said Yin.
‘He would like to see you straight away. It is a matter of some importance, as all matters for the department are, as you know’.
‘Ok, I’ll be up straight away’. Yin hung up. He knocked a paper coffee cup onto the floor and apologised, though no one noticed or heard him. Yin put his coat on though it was not cold in the building. What did she mean ‘as you know’? More nonsense speak!
Yin could not directly access the area of the building where Mr. Gilder’s office was situated. He had to undergo another facial recognition scan as well as an iris, fingerprint and voice check. Computers didn’t flash or buzz or glow green on this floor; they spoke to you.
‘This way Mr. Tseng. The Deputy Associate would like to see you straight away. Please don’t shuffle about like that. We want to make a good impression don’t we? Hands out of pockets please!’ said the secretary. She glanced at him over the top of steel rimmed glasses; her eyes were hard and non negotiable. Yin followed her into Mr. Gilder’s office and there she left him, after performing a flourish towards the old man with a broad hand gesture.
‘Ah, Mr. Tseng. Well, I should rather like to call you ‘Yin’. We are all together in this after all’, said Mr. Gilder. ‘It’s right that we should speak frankly, and to speak frankly men need to be on first name terms. Don’t you agree?’
‘Indeed Mr. Gilder. That seems appropriate for a frank conversation’, said Yin.
‘Good, I’m glad we’ve sorted that one out. Some people like formality and I worry so about broaching the subject. I mean the subject of familiarity, if you understand me?’ said Mr. Gilder.
Yin sat down on the plush leather chair which Mr. Gilder had indicated with a motion of his hand; a magnanimous gesture, or so it appeared to Yin.
‘Now Yin, I’ve a matter to discuss with you which is rather delicate. Please drink from the glass. I had it placed there for your comfort. I don’t want anyone who works for the People to be uncomfortable. Where was I? Oh yes; a delicate matter. You will appreciate, Yin, that the Party is benevolent, and understanding, and only ever has the interests of the People as its concern. I wouldn’t want you to think that the Party does not understand that an employee can sometimes suffer from stress or other work related conditions. You understand me?’
‘Oh, completely Mr. Gilder’ said Yin; after gulping down the premium spring water from an expensive looking blue china beaker.
‘Good, good. Well I need to address a certain matter. To put it bluntly, and I must do so, it has become apparent that your reports contain anomalies. Anomalies which give the department cause to worry about your psychological health. You do know what I’m referring to Yin?’ said Mr. Gilder.
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean Mr. Gilder’, said Yin.
‘Your reports contain strange references Yin. I have a list here from the central computer. I quote, “Manikin wearing sombrero”, “porcelain pigeon”, “stinky plastic sheets”, “crepe paper butterflies”. Need I go on?’
Yin felt a surge of blood to his face and a compulsion to cry out. He placed his hands between his knees and started to rock from side to side slowly; a gently swaying palm tree caught in the first swell of an oncoming tropical storm.
‘Mr. Gilder. I have something important to say to you. It may have even been contained in my last report’ said Yin.
‘What would that be Yin?’ said Mr. Gilder, gently.
‘I want to tell you that Mrs. Hertz wears a tea cosy on her head. I just thought I should make you aware of this’, Yin said, his hands, formerly clenched, relaxed under the desk.
‘Thank you Yin. That information is extremely helpful. We know you are doing your best. The Party is grateful. We can’t keep you in position, you realise. I’m sorry for you, on a personal level, but the People need to be served by stable individuals. You understand I’m sure. I have authorised a payment of double your salary, as a parting gesture. You have given the People many years of service and, one day, you may be able to serve them again when you have remedied your emotional issues. You’ll have to leave the building now. Good luck Yin. If you’ll excuse me I have serious work to be dealing with. The Party thanks you for your service’. Mr. Gilder swivelled his chair towards the sun blasted window and spoke no more.
That evening the sky appeared thicker and redder and the dusk fell faster. The distant tram line rumbled and clattered out the sounds of life’s corroding drudgery. The room was cold as a stone mausoleum; grey and beige and deafening in its summing up of all that Yin’s life consisted of. Yin sat at his small chipboard table. The double weighted pay-packet in front of him, a welcome sight on any other occasion, now just a symbol of finality. Inside the room time stood still. Yin’s existence teetered on the brink of a future unimaginable. He held his head in his hands for several hours unaware that darkness had fully fallen.
At midnight Yin was roused from his hypnotic state by voices from the ally beneath. He shuffled to his window with no great expectation. Below the Innocents argued, laughed, capered and acted the fool. Yin saw, for the first time, that they really were innocent. And free. Yes; they were actually free. Yin stood meditating on what he saw and what he saw was his future. His time for freedom had arrived at last. No more false living; his innocence had been restored.
I typed my name into google just to see. The only thing that seems to come up is a post I made about having a blood test and debating whether to have a cheese burger.
That's not the only post I designated 'visible to anyone in the world' but it's obviously the most important. I have a feeling the words 'cheese burger' made it so...
Now that I've used the words cheese burger a lot may be this post will show up?
I'm posting Lollygagging here as one peice of writing, rather than two pieces as was originally posted. This is for ease of reference.
Creeping round the corner; there’s old Ben, bin diving. Petty prima-donna, old time cattle slaughterer; ’gonna be a hard rain’. Dull drained brain stage of the day. Breaking time at the police station; wasting time at the Judge house. Ben’s been put out for nothing; bin not giving up any treasures this muddle morning. He’s spying me now like I spying him. Standoff and Mexican wave of one. Anyone else see? They’ll thinking this a sorry, sordid affair.
Bin tippin’, clatter splatter; laughing time at the zoo. Scatter brained luncheon wraps and ole paper missives from lost loves. Straight outta can. Ben laughing too now. Caterwauling high pitch and gurgle wheeze. Throwing orange peel at the Sun and then squats. Grey hair, wisp and slick back, and trouser billow. Stumble stance sends Ben rolling with old newsgrumble. Ruffled gutter mouse take flight in fear of humdrum. I’m, pointing at Ben, shaking and finding some funny time, and he’s taking it out on some draft dodgers left boot; boggled bad. I’m, boggled bad too. No more hungry shepherds and mimsy marriage jilts jostling for my lollygagging space. My place; Ben excepted. Been that way time now. Appreciate company. Should be having sharing time, sometime.
Flying broad coated and legs splayed; a silver staggerer. Ben tappin’ side of nose like he’s got something to spill. Consolation bread and super strength brew. First things first, after all. Mildew Mildred and hanging out with Has Been. Take a sup. Try it; like it? Tin half full is a tin full enough. Never been too good with children anyway, nor animals, but, being as it’s judging time, could just as well say they never been too good with me. All things being upsy and dandy with carrot cake hands and sticky mouth. Filter through the grains and grit and what’s left? Maybe a coat hanger crandled into a strut. Could build a self with enough of those. Ole Ben been collecting all his life. Stock taking and secret filing places. Collecting time at the zoo.
Has Been spitter up the wall. Git his own wall and if not, and have to be next mine, mind his manners. Him flipping now but all yip yap and cross hatch. Stutter mouthed and big pupils. Sand hair sticking up like electric mantle. Not to be minding. Him soon forgetting. Me too. Warming up nicer now, feeling more sharing. Spitter if he likes now. Not caring.
Has Been is fresh from cop shop. Kept him in for mouthing one of theirs up whilst he was taken with super strength. He says it was a mild ’fist by face’ this ‘cassion. Swindle swine shouldn’t be poking in where they no right, I telling Has Been. Should be out there in satisfied, smug world, not pushing and sucking on ours as well as theirs. Two faced Janus freaks. Smiling at Mildew one moment and swinging at Ben the next. Them and their cult of blue and phallus enlargement. Swinging them over their shoulders like it might be the real. Six incher never beat a man. Doubt that much when night sticks are the currency of choosing. Swindle swine never shot up on threadbare candle wicks before. See em with flushed and fat lipped patronims. All swagger this and matter that. No-guzzle zones and lone codger bashing, up ally behind trolley park.
Last night it’s Has Been’s turn for Swindle fun. Face to dirt and twist it good. Once more just for kicks. Leave him splutter-faced by the railings. Rust stained, three bar stripe, dirty shirt and blood as an extra for good measure. Has Been not feeling anything. Super strength pain shaving trick. Swindle come back later and find Has Been all slippery and fume filled; up for having at them again; two pigs eye-balled as four. Raucous belly laugh as blue bottles swing him round and down and up and over and round again. Let go and he’s flying, vomit staining, yellow bile down white pleat; then bundled away after the jollies for some dank time in pig pen. Ben seeing all this from ground level, up close and personal, and noting for today’s telling.
Good little piece that. Bit of interest, while lolly by cans with Mildew, until Has Been got let out. Him remembering less than Ben so Ben tell it to him rather than other way round as might be thought. Telling time at the zoo.
Has Been is stamping like it’s brittle, brass winter; rest of us at our ease with tin and left over Grouse from Ben’s last night exploratory. Ben’s getting excitable now, and it only being half past morning. Street a warming from summer kindness. Good for the bones to feel a little glowing that’s not coming from tin alone. Has Been, called such on account of his being once a smug mite but now being just a nobody like most anyone else round these ricket alleys, is askin’ more questions. Ben’s up for the telling. Crouching low and springing up, face gleaming as it being his time on stage, playing all the parts. Showing how Has Been was flung low and high and booted good, squash cheeked on rubble flooring. Has Been not liking what he hearing and getting all indignant, puffing and shunting and eyes rolling. Shiver spine giving away his needing. Ben necks last drop of super strength and shows how Has Been was bundled into Swindle carriage.
Telling over now. Ben git back to his fence, scrapping at wood with broken shard in the growing sun gleam. Has Been gets last drop of Grouse on account of being in pig pen and no guzzling for ease of morning. Pausing now wondering what a new day can make of us. New day is best day I’ve always said. Last day just for telling. New day is for living. Four tattered matters slumped by wall and fence, waiting for the next thing. Mildew coughing and snorting caught with the funnies now; she always being slow to catch on. Ben’s telling now catching up with her. Flicking at grey skirt and twisting blond mane while catching up. Giggle spitter towards draining hole; Mildew being a proper lady. No spitter against wall like Has Been or Ben or me. Respect to Mildew that she keeps up with decorum and manners even being as there no need these rascal days.
Mildew talking now about Chinaman and whether he’s in sympathy. Chinaman lives above alley and keeping dark about business. Suspect he’s trading things we’d be liking. Mildew always takes the most time to break the slumber but, being youngest, most active once she’s shaken off the night before. Mildew saying that Yin, the China man, has been storing much guzzle and that he might be in the sharing mood. She thinking that way, though I not be seeing why as nothing ever came from him before; and he being almost smug himself having sleeping walls all to self, as he does.
Ben is still upsy and saying to Mildew to find out. Encouraging so as we might be having. Give door a knock and give it cutesy and girly for Yin. See what mayhap. Mildew thinking this a good plan. Rapping on Yin’s door, whilst straightening skirt and tucking in; combing hair with sticky fingers. Yin, stale faced, thick lipped and swollen, opening door and looking antsy. What’s this palaver? Why be knocking him up at half past morning? Sour breathed and sullen eyed. Mildew starts by saying she’s nil by mouth and is he in the giving mood? Yin saying that it’s all very well but that it’s only early and he’s not minded to be talking given this sorry situation. Ben pipes up about how we’ve never asked before and god knows we won’t again less Yin be favourable to such askings. Has Been huffs and holds his pain mouth and I looking as pleasant as I can for Yin. Mildew twirls yellow hair strand round finger. Yin slams door making dust devils in miniature swirl on crazy paving. Mildew singsong voice and persuasion to upper window does the trick. Yin’s back at door with half bottle of rice plonk. Much appreciated and everbody agrees Yin is the man. Him looking pleased with self now; says he might have something else given that we’re all neighbours and it’s dandy and only right. Chinaman seeming to be a new friend now. Have him over for dinner I thinking. Next time we get good takings from super store wheelers; him looking as scraggy as any other out here. Only right. Share and share is only way to get through these greed days. Yin says to give him more sleeping time and he’ll give full bottle of rice splice later. Good day it’s turning out to be. New liquor and new friend. Man can’t ask for more.
I went to the hospital today to have a blood test. The nurses all wear different uniforms. Maybe it's like the army. So many units and colours.
'Got work today?' she said, bored out of her mind. 'No' I replied. 'Oh, just wanted to get it done early?'. 'Yes' I replied. This is the most contact I have had with a stranger in several years. I watched as the dark red blood slowly filled the ampules. I thought that my blood was not well oxygenated. Must breath more. 'That's it'. 'Thanks', I said. I then used the alcoholic gel dispenser.
Feeling relieved that an awkward social situation was over I walked to the reception area and considered having a bacon double cheese burger. I decided not to bother.
I have managed to complete Part 1 of TMA 5. This is a relief as I had been prevaricating for some time. If I can write the essay over the weekend I'll have an extra week for revision.
I am still considering my plan to form a community on the moors. I am still awaiting a response from the DWP as to whether they can justify lowering my DLA. For all I know they have made the decision already but just haven't bothered to tell me. That's what happened last time. This would be 'convenient' for them as by the time I find out my appeal rights would have expired. The whole thing is completely cynical anyway. They know that we are all to be called up to explain ourselves to our masters and that I would be in a better position if my DLA was at it's previous higher level. I think the DLA and Incapacity Benefit departments are in cahoots. This year was always going to be a hard one but even I didn't imagine the extreme nature of the government attack and the speed which which it is being pushed through. In my less coherent moments I may have compared what is happening with Nazi's and fascists but during more lucid periods I would read my rants and think 'there I go again, getting all worked up and exaggerating things'. It seems my paranoid self is closer to reality than I give him credit for. Perhaps that's why they wanted to put me on the government brain washing programme (otherwise known as CBT). They realised that my ranting was so close to the truth.
As I have said before there will be no extermination camps; just a steady relentless stream of abuse from the media as the government starve us to death or make us top ourselves with box cutters while undergoing forced labour stacking shelves in Netto. I cut my arms again the other day. Now I am photographing the cuts and dating them so I can have memento's of the cuts which led to the scars. Each cut can be directly related to an instance of media or government discrimination and abuse. I must start referencing them properly giving full details of the incident and source otherwise things will become confusing. It could be useful for any future psychiatrist I might see to have this information as they will be able to clearly designate trigger points and see clear evidence of how the media and government have conspired to create an atmosphere of neglect, abuse, fear and public loathing resulting in further alienation of the abused from the society which no longer wants him/her. Perhaps my scars will serve some purpose after all. It is positive and empowering to think so.
Now I'm really on the edge of a serious breakdown. Thanks Mr. Cameron. The government reduced my DLA so I asked for a review given that I am no better and there has been no change in my circumstances. I found out about the decision because I was informed by Income Support that they had reduced my income. The DLA hadn't bothered to tell me themselves.
Now Income Support have failed to pay me anything at all so I can only conclude that my review was so unsuccessful they have completely cut all my income off. I was going to eat cut price baked beans but now I suppose I'll have to make do with eating mud and stones from the garden. Maybe a nice grass salad on the side. Well it is Summer now.
This is the way the mentally ill are treated in our fine Country. I have concluded that this is a case of prejudice. Because I am able to write coherently they have concluded I must be well. Apparently all mentally ill people have learning difficulties in the 'Brave New World' of Camercleg.
When you mix blue and yellow you get green. If we'd all voted Green that would have really shocked them. We didn't. We also did not vote for this coalition. Most Lib Dem voters would have been horrified if they thought they were actually voting Tory by default. This government has no legitimacy whatsoever. The Tories have no mandate to push through policies that even Thatcher would have regarded as extreme.
Now I face having to terminate my internet and give up my University studies as I have no income. I said this would happen and people told me I was paranoid. I am paranoid, this is true, but I am also right! I was right all along. This proves it. I wonder if they will cut my housing next. Maybe I'll just wander into the woods and build a stick home and live wild; only venturing into town to watch the human society from which I have been disqualified from by virtue of being unproductive and expendable.
Given that there are (supposedly) 2 million people in my position we could form our own community on the moors. Perhaps in the year 2050 we'll be ready to declare Independence from the England that cast us out. We can live a communal life, taking care of each other, and abolish money (we won't have any anyway). I am almost looking forward to it now. Sad that in 2050 I'll be (god willing) 75 years old. I might make it though.
When I was ill as a teenager I was ignored by the doctors. When I was on the dole I was forced to work (oh sorry 'train') a five day week teaching English at GCSE level for £40 a week. When I worked for the government I was discriminated against and attacked for protecting my staff who were being harassed by senior managers. After driving me into another breakdown I have been repeatedly told what a piece of scum I am by the government and the media. Now that I have tried to make efforts to make myself better by doing a degree they will take that from me too. I can't say what I wish for our rulers as it could be used against me but let me just state; I would shed no tears over their graves.
Anarchy! don't make me laugh. I saw no anarchy the other day. Anarchism is a proper ideology and one I am not averse to. These people don't even know what anarchy really means. Sorry I'm being a pedant again. That must mean I'm not really mentally ill as we all know that mentally ill people are idiots. This is according to the new way so it must be true.
I shall spend my last few pounds on beer and look forward to all the grass I can eat in the future. Future! What future? I can't even turn on a radio without hearing some dull witted wife beater bleat on about 'benefit scroungers'. If other groups were treated this way the United Nations would probably get involved. They can bomb strategic fascist positions on my behalf any day.
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