AN HEROICALLY RESTRAINED POLITICAL OPINION

i hope
any tories
who manage to make it

underneath
the cool umbrella
of some kind of afterlife

dont get to run anything
worth a chuff
in there

no

NOT POSH ENOUGH

FRIDAY POPPADOMS

A TV AD
I FORGET FOR WHAT

theres
a
tiger
in the bungalow

hes
half tranq'd
fully b'tiful
prob endangered
and
the 
contrast is delicious
when
he
lays
across
the 
divan
like
a
lightning striped 
deep-velvet emperor

noble 
and
guiltless

and i am jealous
window shopping
online
again


COUNT YOUR WEIRD BLESSINGS

if you got no legs johnny
and those tories johnny
they
cut
your
money 
and took your bedroom

but
you cant get out anyway johnny
to
see
what
else
they gone and done can you ?

so you see johnny
them tories got a plan dont they ?

much
more
than
just
spite


UNVOLUTION

we climbed out the lakes
saw the land
thought
fuck this
and quickly hid in the trees
and 
when we got our blood up
and came down again
we stood in the weird water 
of 
the 
looking 
glass
wasting ourselves
wondering at the moon

our opposing thumbs
stuck in the air

for a fast lift
out 
of
there

from pinterest.com

THOSE TORIES

- papa ?

- yes
  son ?

- those tories
  
  they
  are
  people
  
  arent they ?

- im 
  afraid 
  they 
  are 
  son

- then why do they say such unpeople things ?

from theconsultingdetectivesblog.com

I SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING

    all
the doorbells go

sundays / weekday mornings
  
  cos
the old folk will be in
watching their tv stories
on 
brown settees

the tories / the ukips
they knock / they ring
they put papers thru

i hear them next door
saying

CAN WE COUNT ON YOUR VOTE IN THE FUTURE ?

i ignore my bell 
feel sick theyre in the yard
their dumb white faces
rank with righteousness 
is
more
than
i
can
stand 

how to fully articulate
the breadth and depth
of my fear and loathing
to
minds
bought
and
closed ?

from bunkaryudo.com

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