Well the Shark Fisherman do ave gone and done it now! He has nailed his colours to the mast. Last Saturday despite there being only one man and his dog(Artistic Licence) at the Independence for Wales rally in the Hayes, Cardiff, there was something in the air, a whiff of freedom, the smell of Independence. Of course that might have been the chips from Caroline Street but I sense a shifting, if not in other people, then definitely within myself. As Carl Gustav Jung said "To find a way back to source is a perennial human need "and the beginning of my river like the Glaslyn or the Wye lies up in them thar hills. I am writing as my cartoon character alter ego with sunglasses in case somebody claims to know me on one of these rallies. We live as we dream, alone, and it is better if the guerrilla warfare against the British State is undertaken by individuals who unlike flags but more similar to jelly cannot be nailed to the mast. Individuals with a bit of history like me, can be held up to public scrutiny and ridiculed therefore it is better to stay semi anonymous and fully autonomous until the end goal has been reached. I have no ego left (unless it has to do with reading out my shit poetry) so I have no need to be the leader of anything but in the same vein I will not follow, well meaning, disorganised fools who cannot organise a sound system worthy of the guests invited to speak. Rallies, marches and speeches are all very well but until the core message has been wrapped and parcelled in a palatable format and tied up in a shiny ribbon, then it is only the usual suspects that will be on the march. Scotland and Catalonia have shown and are showing the models of good practice. The weight of History is against us but also with us. If enough people wake up to a consciousness that does not and will not allow a class riven, monarchist state to fob us off with the usual GB/UK clap trap then a journey up river to the source might be undertaken but at the moment we are still on the beach, in the rock pools, in short trousers with our illuminous fishing nets from Poundland.
.jfif)
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