FICTION POP 3 ANGELS

CHANGE, ELVIS AND WHATEVER

from en.wikipedia.org

So i'm reading an Updike. 
Its like a small town soap but with insight into the weird architecture of human relations / reactions, told with a poetry of description; he paints such a world of constant colour and wonder that i should not have mentioned soaps in the same sentence at all.
So in it theres this guy.  
Its the 1950s.  He sits down on his wifes hospital bed and watches a tv show after falling a coin into the slot.  The show has women talking of woes / tragedies and money is awarded depending on the crowds applause. 

And that could be tv now; something we'd think is new.

So i listened to a Hancocks Half Hour.  Always good.
Him and Sid are moaning.  
Theres all these Italian coffee shops moving in.  Things are changing.  Things arent the same.  That sort of moan.  This is the 1950s.

And this happens now;  Costa, Starbucks, Nero.  A glut of brown stink in the high street avenue.

So i found this local paper.  
Under a plant plot.  From 1983.  Folks are worried about new builds on the green belt.  A sheds been burgled.  All the tools taken.  Dorothy whatever is 101. 

Its the same news as now.

Population, now that changes.  Technology, now that changes.

So war monuments say 'so they shall not be forgotten' and they are not. 
They also say 'so history shall not be repeated'.  But it is.

And too, the Tory Goblins are back painting targets on the regulars Joes. Same as when i was a 70s kid and goths did glue in the subway under Sex Pistols graffiti. 

Goths.  
Goths prevail.  
And so does Punk.

Makes me think of Elvis.  Elvis thrashed it up with self taught chords.  In black eyeliner.  And later, in black leather.  It was the 1950s.

Obviously i have lost my thread - conclude whatever for yourselves.

 

from elvisblog.net