Don't go to Milnthorpe!

HALLOWEEN

The Spar shop is closed.
Drawbridge up-portcullis down.
An aproned granny smirks through the glass
as she labours the bolt into its round case.
A rifle bullet of finitude
condemning me to a
milkless, breadless existence.

I curse country life
under my breadless, milkless breath.

A youth observes me warily.
The grannie and I in rictus.
A frieze of unmet needs
in the dark hunching
of Milnthorpe Square.

Then, suddenly, Death walks past-
blood on his scythe.
As if on his way to a party-
he is clearly jaunty.

‘I’ve been looking for you’ I shout,
while wondering how to bundle him in
to the boot of the car.
Then four little witches
hubble bubble giggle and trouble past.
Lovely little witches.

And I feel sad for me.
No kids.
No pumpkins.
No vampire outfits.
Just me
and my dry and dusty books.
Writing down the bones

Photo by Matthew Emmott

Aung San Suu Kyi in Jail...Again

The 63 year old leader of the Burmese opposition is now being held in Insein (or should that be insane?) jail in Rangoon. It is said to be a rat-infested hell-hole and her health is fragile given that she has spent 11 out of the last 19 years in jail. Who are the scumbags who have turned this beautiful country into an Orwellian nightmare? General Than Shwe is the hardline leader of the Junta but maybe on his way out with stomach cancer but waiting in the wings is the truly monstrous Maung Aye, linked to drug lords and said to be an alcoholic. They hate Suu Kyi because she has a legitimacy as the leader of the National League for Democracy they can never have, and like the murdering bandits they are, they fear her.
The American who swam across the lake to her house, John Yettaw, may just have given the bandits the excuse they need to get Suu Kyi out of the way before they hold what are laughingly going to be called 'elections' later in the year.
Fact is that it is only an International Criminal Court that promises action and redress against these monsters that they will fear. Curses upon the strutting creeps. Blessings and honour to Ms Suu Kyi.

The X-Factor for Politicians? How about 'Britain's got Leaders'?

"The tyrants of the Golden City tremble
At the voices which are heard about the streets,
The ministers of fraud can scarce dissemble
The lies of their own heart;..."

The Revolt of Islam 1817 Percy Bysshe Shelley

It's true what they say about literature and history-what goes around comes around. Politics in the gutter is no new thing then. But what results from this current national disenchantment with the pillars of the establishment? First the bankers and now the politicians. A golden opportunity is what. And also a great risk. They are the two sides of the same coin. Shall we have a workable and representative democracy? Essentially a pluralist fudge admittedly but, famously, the least worst of all the others. Or how about a bit of British fascism with all its attendant dressing up in sexually charged uniforms and marching and lots of bonfires and high jinks? Unfortunately this will also include beatings, torture, institutionalised racism and a sharp and enduring drop in serotonin levels across the nation but hey, it could be worse.
I suggest the X Factor for potential politicos. Or we could call it "Britain's got Leaders!" They can present their ideas before a panel of judges to include Joanna Lumley and Stephen Fry and David Attenborough. (Simon Cowell? You can fuck right off now! And don't get me on that despicable and repellent toad Piers!)
They will be given opportunities to present ideas and respond to a series of challenges and possibly spend some time in 'The House' for a continually televised residential experience along Big Brother lines. Many challenges will be of a DIY nature to encourage them to repair and decorate their own houses without cost to the tax payer. The country will cast a series of votes to diminish the field of candidates one by one. We could enlist Sir Alan to the cause too. "Gordon Brann you're useless and incompetent, you're fucking fired mate!" Ah, sweet music.

PERSEPOLIS (2007) And the Irish Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse

Watched Persepolis last night. What a great movie as well as a brilliant graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi who co-directed the film with Vincent Paronnaud. This just shows how animated films can educate as well as present great dramatic opportunities. And the story? The triumph of the bearded joy-killing imams and the devolution of Islam back to its medieval tribal roots. It is a triumph of illiteracy over education, of the tribe over the global commons, of women's oppression over women's liberation, of islands of dogma over the ocean of faith. When will we see that the etymology of the word religion is from the Latin religere-to bind? Religion is the curse that binds us to the horror of the past. The bearded imams are simply the other face of the child-abusing Irish priests identified in the Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse, which reported this week that the Catholic Church in Ireland has left a legacy of neglect, fear and endemic sexual abuse in its institutions. Also that these same institutions have energetically sought to protect the abusers and cover up their crimes. And reader, there can be few worse crimes than the sexual abuse of children. It is the murder of childhood itself. These hypocrites are peddlers of hate and filth all. It has been our fate to watch them grow in strength since the seventies but you know, I really believe their time is coming to a close. There's something new in the wind, and it just might blow that tribe of God-worshipping, torturing, censoring, woman-hating, child-abusing lickspittles away with their beards and their black robes and their relentless bullshit. The breath of the new Aeon. It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It might just be on its way! Love and Will in Balance!

The Unloved

Last night I watched 'The Unloved' on Channel 4; a first film directed by the rather wonderful actress Samantha Morton about an eleven year old girl, played beautifully by Molly Windsor, living in a care home. It was heartbreaking to watch because it so accurately portrayed the emotional frost that seems an inevitable fact of life in a residential institution. That absence of love that leaves everything in black and white, a mere photocopy of reality. Love is the sunlight that grows children and unfortunately it seems, it cannot be manufactured outside the structure of the family.
In my late twenties I decided finally that it looked like my long term ambitions to be a freelancing astronaut would not bear fruit in this life and so I needed to decide on some sort of career. I wanted to do something that would not be routine and would be valuable so I decided to become a social worker in Children's Services.
I can honestly say I've never particularly regretted that decision but I can also say that most of my professional life has been spent fighting to protect children in the looked after system from the worst excesses of what is now called Corporate Parenting-an oxymoron if ever there was one!
I don't know what attracts the stony hearted, burnt out cases, and stupidly ambitious pole climbers into social work, I guess these people are in every profession. But I have a really simple-minded view of services for looked after children and it's this-Is this good enough for my kids? If so then it's good enough for looked after children. If not, then it bloody well isn't Mr Balls!