Orwellian

When doublespeak becomes communication

When what was writ’s unwritten, lies are truth

When options few are really just the same ones

And those who should do better are uncouth

When people are the pawns and power the endgame

And news reported dwells on virtual facts

When 101’s a room we all must live in

And noble’s executed in dark arts

When Napoleon takes the credit for our efforts

And homage is considered his just due

When one would rise among us to refute this

The porcine clique, combined, know what to do

Rewrite our history and offer soundbites

Report what must be said in ways it must

The trough must not be shattered nor the dark lit

The face should honour boot and in it trust

When zombies tear at brains and then reshape them

When two and two is five in bankers’ math

When economic power’s the only saviour

And war is profit, gamblers scoff and laugh

When George’s past is now our glowing present

And Big Brother’s just a guy like all the rest

We’re living in a novel ’till we notice

That few among them work for what is best

When thirteen’s on the clock and we accept that

And still applaud the hand that strikes false hour

When destruction of the word is deemed a good thing

Gravity and science exist no more

When happiness is valued more than freedom

But only ours, not theirs, we’ve lost the plot

When isolation’s cult breeds more of ignorance

We have a world that’s free from reason; doublethought

When history reflects, some time, in the future

On what was what, and what was not, let’s pray

Our children can forgive us our trespasses

For the legacy of Orwell on that day

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Fiddle-Faddle

the lumpen proletariat were silent

enjoying that, for now, their TVs blinked

medullas chewed the spew that those tubes fed them

saved them from the burden of self-think

lives of rich and famous were presented

in accents that proclaimed a brain for hire

plastic lives and faces swilled their hogwash

those dudes can pitch and bitch like they’re on fire

nonsense spilled from corners onto tables

bunkum munched for breakfast and for tea

scalpels to lobotomise with supper

retiring then to dream of what could be

disorderly enactment of self-serving

nightmares of left behind in greedy race

another day another dose aspiring

to be the public plasticised of face

the mush that swirled solidified with access

till arteries, clogged up, forgot the brain

a lazy trickle inwards flowing downwards

that policy that never works again

the TVs spluttered then and heads exploded

potash of cells lay muckled on the floor

abstinence soon resurrected reason

alas, some brains would be a broth for evermore

a gallery of whispers twiddled knobs where

a panel of control determined cause

twiddle, twaddle, fiddle while we burn up

accepting every edict, all new laws

there’s a reason why the tube is cheaper, cheaper

the cheapest set in town is worth the sell

lumpen proletariat rejoices

one percent that fiddle do as well

The Illusion

Below are the words I wrote to one of Johnny’s amazing tunes. It’s called, ‘The Illusion’.

It made me think of the circus (which I hate). And politics. And we, the people. This world of ours.

I hope you enjoy the results of this particular collaboration.

Some people may be offended by some of the images. What can I say? I’m offended by them too.

Here is the circus, here is the street,

Ringmaster has found the beat,

Try to keep up with his song,

Try to march in time along.

 

This is the game we all play,

Carnival is now the way,

Jugglers, clowns perform, we pay,

Sideshow stalls have won the day.

 

See, look, the Big Top, there go the lions,

Whipped to submit, they stride in time,

Prancing ponies do their thing,

All well-trained for circus ring.

 

Fire-eaters and trapeze acts,

Contortionists, acrobats,

Bearded lady, strongman too,

A man who’ll throw sharp knives at you.

Elephants and dancing bears,

Chained and trained with treats and chairs,

Barking seals we’ll photograph,

Voyeuristic, look and laugh.

 

This is the game we all play,

Carnival is now the way,

Jugglers, clowns perform, we pay,

Sideshow stalls have won the day.

 

Freaks, a frenzy, humankind,

All been hired, so we don’t mind,

Reassured by loud applause,

Menagerie all minus claws.

 

Unicycle, wheel on fire,

No safety net below the wire,

Seats aplenty, catch the thrills,

Captive held, donated will.

 

This is the game we all play,

Carnival is now the way,

Jugglers, clowns perform, we pay,

Sideshow stalls have won the day.

 

Crocodiles that cry and smile,

Hoops and loops, a queued turnstile,

Welcome mat once bona fide

Shit and sawdust strewn inside

 

Red coattails and top hat guy,

Prices tickets, would he lie,

Roll on up for daring acts,

Roles by rote, learned down pat.

 

Calliope, glockenspiel,

Beating drums, can this be real,

Mesmerised by costumes grand,

Performances all out of hand.

 

Extravaganza, three-ring whip,

Drugged as mugs, all on this trip,

Flashing lights and strobes that blind,

Custard pies but we don’t mind.

 

This is the game we all play,

Carnival is now the way,

Jugglers, clowns perform, we pay,

Sideshow stalls have won the day.

 

Disassembled, faded grass,

Circus moved, out on our arse,

Try to keep up with his song,

Ringmaster can do no wrong.

 

This is the game we all play,

Carnival is now the way,

Jugglers, clowns perform, we pay,

Sideshow stalls have won the day.

Time-lapse

footstep on a cloud of strange unknowing

a pause midair that falters in failed tread

cushioned push returns its pressure stillborn

freeze-frame moment captured in my head

a leap from soft to nothing by a tiptoe

bounce back from invisible though seen

enforced figments caught in time-lapse

qualitative queries in strange dreams

pondered pirouettes unseemly balanced

twirling thoughts on razor’s edge too honed

ethereal and uncontrolled they dip-dive

slow-motioned acts and visions – think I’m stoned.

 

My underexertion of the other day resulting in a sore neck has taken on pain of proportions rendering F#°*! useless as a means of coping. My kindly doctor has prescribed a muscle relaxant (that, according to my kids, some use as a means of ‘getting mellow’) and strong pain killers.

I am only fully appreciating that I may be a control freak because this lack of control is now doing my head in. The dreams are pretty good but I don’t usually need meds to induce strange dreams. My brain usually does that all by its lonesome.

I thought I’d post before I trip again unless you want the garbled version I did earlier and saved to draft. Even I don’t know what that one was about.

You Need Us – Stop Abusing Us, Mister

What do you call it when someone says mean things about you?

What do you call it when someone says mean things about you that aren’t true?

What do you call it when someone takes from you but tries to make you feel bad about it?

What do you call it when someone tries to get others on side by lying about you?

There might be many alternative names for each of the questions.

Or one word that sums the whole lot up.

Abuse.

Look up the definition.

Noun or verb. Take your pick.

Scotland is NOT subsidised by the rest of the UK.

Yet again this morning I’ve heard that from another politician.

In fact, the records for the last 30 years tell the complete opposite.

Scotland’s Balance Sheet

Labour forced to admit Scotland isn’t subsidised.

The figures used are provided by GERS  – the same figures the UK government uses but manipulates to tell one side of a story.

The information is there. It has been there for years. Try the sixties – pre-oil boom. It is known by those who slander our name. It is known here. It needs to be known elsewhere. And widely.

One sure way to irrevocably break the union that the political mainsteam and media are so fond of is to continue to perpetuate the myth that we here in Scotland are the ‘subsidy junkies’, so earnestly spouted by every politician with a vested interest in maintaining the staus quo.

I am sick of listening to the lies.

I wanted independence so that we could manage our own affairs and not be dependent on the UK government allocating us a share that is less than what we contribute. Not because I don’t want to share. But because Scotland needs to run its own affairs completely to effect real change for the future of our children. Waiting for English controlled government via a bi-party monopoly to do so we will wait forever. Based on population size that’s a fact.

Do you think it was for love of union that the politicians fought the No campaign with promises of devomax? No way. The thought of losing Scotland’s taxes was more to the point.

Do you think the reason they are running scared of any deal with SNP is for fear of breaking up the union? No. They are afraid to be held account to promises made and run the risk of losing much needed revenue to prevent a much greater UK deficit than if Scotland were not contributing to the coffers.

But will they admit that? No chance. That the UK government should be dependent on a paltry nation of just over five million. In a pig’s eye will they admit it.

So let’s divide and conquer. Bite the hand that feeds. Vilify. Abuse. Negate any right to a voice.

In the absence of independence at this stage I want full fiscal autonomy. Keep the Barnett Formula. Keep English votes for English laws. I have no problem with that AS LONG AS we keep what we raise here. Being dependent on a proportionate share via policies decided elsewhere is not my idea of autonomy of any kind.

And yes there will be ups and downs. We know that. The UK government knows that. Ask them. Selective representaion of numbers evades the fact that the UK proportion of deficit exceeds that of Scotland. It evades the fact that the proportionate UK contribution to GDP is less than Scotland’s contribution. But waxes lyrical about the Barnett Formula.

The fact that politicians and media are still purveying the lie that Scotland takes more than it gives leads to the divisiveness being created NOT by SNP or any other Scot but by those who should know better and do better. Or maybe they don’t read their own statements. I doubt it. Read, masticated, spat out. Nasty taste.

At the point of no return from such divisiveness is the scenario where the union will end. Not by referendum. But in any spirit still hanging by a thread. And by the hands of the ones who claim to support and defend it.

Get the facts on the table.

You need us.

If you don’t want us, fine. I’m good with that. We can go. And take with us what is ours. Our national pride and right to autonomy. But you can’t have it both ways. Abuse will be answered one way or another.

It is no accident that SNP has grown in stature and volume here. They represent us, our voices, our needs.

The mistake the government is making is in believing or suggesting that SNP are the bogeyman.

We are the bogeymen. People informed. Because we made ourselves be. We needed to be. There is no going back from what has been put into public domain. Economics is one factor.

But just one.

The right to fair representation is the force.

I’m not even an SNP member but I will vote for them until the time comes that I can vote Green.

In my ideal UK right now there would be a force for change wrought by the voices of those from the Green party and other parties/independents who have real social justice and environment on their mind. There would be enough representation the length and breadth of the four countries to take every seat in parliament, rid ourselves of eltist, self-servers and work for the good of the whole nation and the rest of the world.

I know I’m a dreamer.

But I’m not the only one.

It’s time to give politics back to the people. Or take it.

But I will take no more abuse.

And neither will my children.

Not from anyone.

Would any mother or father do less?

That’s all we’re doing.

Defending ourselves and kids from abusive power

Cairds Marked

Och aye, awa’ wi’ ye!

the likes a’ youse

that party oan oor backs,

think we cannae function,

intervention,

excuse ye use

tae ride tae hell an’ back,

a union! ma erse it is,

a semblance,

folk aw ower

fucked afore they start,

bastarts fae the bullions

an’ their minions,

a shower a’ wankers

weaned tae it.

Cairds marked.

 

Masked Surprise

This went waaaay off where I was going with it at the start. I fancied a romantic meeting at a masked ball. Fate took a hand. And well, she had other ideas.

Fate had planned their meeting,

How they laughed as they arrived,

Collected motley strangers,

Unsuspecting aught contrived.

Bedecked in costumed finery,

Masks upon their eyes,

Ambience electric

As all hid behind their lies,

Flattered to be asked there,

Dressed one and all as spies,

Agents, Mata Haris,

Sleuths renowned as wise,

Yet none detected counterfeit

In ticketed surprise,

Flirted, danced, now targets,

Fate held them compromised.

Twirling as they partied

They missed their own demise,

Revealed, at last, behind each mask,

Dead already in their lives.

Spied parties to eternity,

No one hears their cries,

Double lives no more concealed,

Fate held mask’d surprise.

I mean, wtf! I wanted romance, I got death. Bloody charming. I might give the romantic version another bash. What can I say? I like the idea of masked encounters.

Fate can bugger off.

If you fancy a bash at writing something based on masks, I’d be delighted if you link in comments so I can visit and read what fate does to your version. Or perhaps you have more control over her than I do. (Shh! Don’t tell her I said that. She’s soooo contrary.)

Credits Rolling

Movie’s almost over,

Time to open eyes to life again,

Credits still rolling,

Giving time to make a choice and then

Sink back to sleep,

In coloured pictures – existence formatted – digitised on screen

Or live the dream,

The life you’ve seen and recreated time again in dreams.

Title music’s fading and the links are on,

Continuity, same voice

Designed to soothe and keep you prone,

Empty mug,

Discarded wrappers at your feet,

Soiled,

Comfort formed,

Patronised,

Token’d treats,

Then off to bed,

Arise,

Begin the same.

Controlled,

Encaptured,

Configured.

All for them.

 

Switch off, tune out………………….

 

Turn on. Tune into life, let’s dare again.

Keepers Of The Family Jewels

P.1 Oops!

P.2 What now?

P.1 I think I’ve dropped the economy…

P.2 Fuck! Not again!

P.1 It wasn’t my fault. (whiny voice inserted)

P.2 Well, we know it wasn’t your fault! It’s no fucker’s fault…never is. Just remember that line. Spin it and do the best you can to clean this mess up. It looks like you’ve whipped a tablecloth out from beneath the Thanksgiving table….what a mess. And hide that broken gravy boat or there’ll be hell to pay with the keepers of the family jewels.

P.1 The Royal Family?

P.2 (rolls eyes) No, Joe Public. Very attached he is to small mementoes and little matters like traditions and the family table.

P.1 He’s half the problem. Always wanting more and needing taken care of. If it weren’t for him and all his welfare needs I could make a much better job of this.

P.2 Sure you could, handsome. You just keep telling yourself that. And him.

P.1 But it’s true! He’s always looking for a free ride and needing health care and wages and stuff.

P.2 Hmmhmm. That’s right, so he is. Cheek of him, eh? Imagine him wanting us to spend his money on stuff he wants. What a liberty!

P.1 Well, it is. He doesn’t understand the global, socio-economic, political spectrum…

P.2 Neither do you. That’s why you keep dropping the damn thing. It’s slippery. Just try to keep a firm grip on the handle and not drop it again…at least, for a while.

P.1 But it’s broken now beyond repair. (eyeing fragments on the floor). What will I tell them? What’ll I do? (desperate whiny voice)

P.2 (covering ears) Stop with the whining already. It’s painful to listen to. And, if Joe hears it, we’ll all be up the creek without the thingies.

P.1 (can’t help hmself) But, what will I say?

P.2 Make a statement. Here, I have one prepared…I knew this was gonna happen again. I’ll get onto the banks and corporations, have a word with the other masters and get a replacement gravy boat ordered.

P.1 (scanning statement) Oh, this is good….tightening belts, living within means, stringent measures…Although it seems a bit familiar…

P.2 (rolling eyes) Yeah, well it would do. You made the same statement last time. I just rehashed it for you.

P.1 Aw, yeah! D’uh! I’d forgotten.

P.2 Well, let’s hope Joe Public has. Let’s go. We have a country to run….

(mumbles) ….into the ground.

(lights fade to shadow)

 

 

Attitude

Kick some ass today, it’s fun!

Go on, try it, everyone.

Next time something gets your goat,

Grab its metaphoric throat,

Tell it, ‘No!’ Be loud and clear.

Show your mettle, have no fear.

Whip its butt for all your worth,

Be the boss of all your stuff.

Thoughts and feelings, they’re the worst,

Get control, their bubble burst.

Some folk too that won’t be named,

Face them up, let them be shamed.

Bullies, buggers, bums that need it

Kick their butts, just don’t concede.

Be your truth, yourself, with ease,

Knee to groin works too with these.

Masters of our destiny,

No thought control, a new release.

Up and at it, that’s the way!

Kick some butt, with love, today. 🙂

 

Inspired this early morning by John’s fab attitude in this poem here.