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.
arbitrary justice
is not justice
power exercised without
reason tends to evil
nobody talks about
harvey weinstein anymore
or the panama papers
we need new ideas
not new scandals daily
razed to the ground
confused me
for so many years,
until i saw it written down
it feels cruelly ironic
beneath war’s fog
the fog of war, said hegseth. after instructing his navy to explode a fishing boat. then firing again upon the survivors. we must make a point of remembering these crimes. if america doesn’t hold its villains to justice, once the madness is over, the message of might is right could dominate the remaining decades of humanity’s global colony.
so, pope bob the communist,
riddle me this
if all of life
is formed of carbon,
ejected from the factory chimney
which i understand it is
are the two poles
of the toothbrush moustache,
mirth and antimirth?
matter and antimatter
genocide and love
and why does the church
always make things worse?
so i think i like pope bob. obviously, he believes in all the bad catholic stuff like homophobia and sexism. but at least he is against war and generally against poverty and for love, of some sort. so yes, i like him fine as pope. but not enough to tempt me to transubstantionate with him.
struggle along
an interminable corridor fight
we learned admin
marketing and talking shite
from skiving
at work and procrastination
and apply the techniques
to our recreation.
this is the end of the age
of the individual
brand ambassadorial
for the life metaphysical
life seems to be getting harder. so many delivery riders on contraptions, out in the rain all day, out in the cold, working for tips. artfully excluded from the minimum wage. meanwhile, linkedin an utter spam fest of ai generated jargon poetry about corporate journeys and the virtues of getting up at 5am to squeeze it all in. mum, marathon running, and ceo.
but i’ll have you know i work almost full-time, and i’m the ceo of my poetry business (turnover remains flat year on year, ebitda is very negative), and i’m erm, running a marathon. please spread the word, my first novel is being published this year and i need some readers. it’ll be out in time for christmas!
people look down on the homeless. they smell. they are drunk. they are addicts.
but we are all only a calamity away from destitution. so i try and give gratitude every day that although i don’t live in a society or a world in which every person has the dignity and security or a safe place to sleep and sufficient food and comfort, at least, currently, i do have that luck.
remember that the reason for homelessness is societal. we could change our politics to eradicate poverty. as a society, we choose not to.
so when i wrote this line, i was just trying to empathise with a homeless man who i had encountered near my flat. he was drunk. and i reasoned, if i had to sleep on the pavement tonight, i would probably want to get a bit drunk.
as is common with autistic people, i have struggled to get to sleep all my life. even in my comfortable bed in my warm flat, i really on medication to help me sleep. i’d really need to up the dose to have any chance of sleeping on the pavement.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 