all billionaires are paedos we just haven’t proved it yet

mishear flushing pedos,
think will someone leak
the epstein files
*sniffs* smell that lass?
that’s football.
and it’s comin’ home
and it actually does
but i still have a wee tear for the losers
that’s a feeling i understand

then lo and behold they did release the epstein files, at least, some of them, not the video recording. and weird, nobody has been lifted. this is the worst cover up in history and yet nobody is arrested. maxwell moved to a swanky luxury prison. offers to testify in exchange for favours. trump, named more than almost anyone, remains in situ.

then england’s women won the euros and that was a bit cheerier but, due to the nature of this poem, it became attached at a section about a billionaire pedo cabal. sorry, lionesses. i did cheer for you.

something of the morning i

it’s really quite disturbing
but there’s something of the morning…
their eyes alert but torpid
gross bubbles of brain
protruding from their watching heads…

it’s really quite unsettling
see there’s something of the morning…
the smell of toothpaste
on their breath
masking their digestion…

it’s really quite upsetting
that there’s something of the morning…
what’s in the trunk
paper and a laptop
little if any roadkill… ?

it’s really quite perverse
you see there’s something of the morning…
they barely touch
the raw milk
and smell of carbohydrates…

make america healthy says robert f kennedy junior, sounding pretty rough himself. raw milk, i am pretty sure, is a meme of white supremacy. what a horrible bunch of arseholes seem to rule the world these days.

we don’t need fasces, just a bundle of souls

it seems to me
there must be
a shadow gang of hoodlums
in every nation
ready to put on uniforms
to torture and abuse
waiting for a bully government
to empower them
and this is such
a lonely, alienating thought.
i’m not sure you,
fascist sympathiser,
will read this poem
but it is not strong
to stand up for the powerful
strength is to accept
we are weak
alone we are at
the mercy
of forces
we can not control
we can just hope that by sheer benevolent numbers
we can crowd the villains out
each of us forever vulnerable
as a bundle, indestructible

trump is the embodiment of a generation who, facing down the barrel of their mortality, have decided to turn the gun on everyone around them, cohorts and descendents alike.

he is a stuck up entitled snob who has made the critical error of conflating his wealth with his personal ability. he is a caricature of a generation who had the luck to grow up in a time of economic growth. they benefited from the social democratic, egalitarian societies that the generations before them had created after living through the wall street crash, the depression and the second world war.

they came of age in a time of full employment, strong trade unions, high wages, generous employer funded pensions and low housing costs – in britain due to massive postwar social housing programs.

and then as they reached their thirties, if they were lucky not to have worked in one of the many industries that were closed down, they benefited from the privatisation of social housing, and then of all the other things the government used to monopolise and provide as a service (gas, electricity, water, trains, buses), all of which generated one-off receipts for the government, made a lot of capitalists rich, but created a long term problem for future generations by incentivising profit at the cost of quality.

so anyway, now they own all the stuff, and they are rich, because when they were young you could have a job working in a factory and retire with a decent pension and have maybe even made half a million quid or so just by moving home a few times during a time of unprecedented asset price appreciation.

and they think they are really smart because the system has worked fine for them. and that we should appreciate their wisdom as they foist fascists upon us.

agent trump i

frigid lager
on the balcony,
the sun is blaring
and when
i’m deckchairing
i feel i could lean out
and shout
to my neighbours
in baghdad
havana, chicago,
moscow, haw vlad
agent trump is dreamin’
of escape from alcatraz

agent trump thinks he’s quite the comedian. with all his silly nicknames. that do tend to stick and be quite good, much to the dismay of me and many. so i’m going to nickname him from now on. agent trump. really was looking in to reopening alcatraz.

we have to stop katy perry and her gang of space villains

i should prepare
for social stress,
but foolishly
don’t push myself
so katy perry’s
in her spaceship
i’m burnt out
and need a facelift
she killed a nun,
i liked it not
oligarchic turn
make it stop

ah isn’t this just the worst timeline. where are we headed? katy perry hasn’t had a hit in years and yet bezos not only rocketed her into space, he also returned her safely. what a pointless technology.

do the worst people necessarily rise to the top, or does wealth and power just corrupt them when they get there? either way, its clear this system isn’t working very well for the average earthling.

the universe is comprised of information thoughts are but ephemeral forms / deleted from the records for eternity, locked within an evanescent system

i try and fit the world into schemes of universal truth. the simpler the principle, the more beautiful, and hence better. but as soon as you take philosophy into the world, it is battered by complication and complexity. the universe is chaotic.

for this reason, i have a general fear of the future. planning makes me overwhelmed. there is too much of everything. too many books to read. songs to write. sunny days to bathe under. routes to cycle. dinners to eat. so many millions of choices, so many infinities of experience that i necessarily will miss out on.

and that’s before we come to thoughts. for we live in two worlds – the external world, which exists perfectly well without us and of which we know almost nothing – and the internal world – of which ONLY we know, and yet we still can’t remember everything. we can’t remember our every action in the external world. but we can’t even remember the events of the internal world: the ideas that drifted away before we could commit them to paper. the emotions we felt. the dreams we had. all gone. as if they never even existed.