Language was the absolute key to all of this

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Monday, 31 December 2018

In defence of narrow minded nationalism









It is all very well proclaiming yourself a global citizen of the world. We'd all like to be one of those and on a good day perhaps we are close to it but these have been very bad days in Britain. In fact the last two years have been shit on a collective level. You might have got married to the love of your life, given birth to little Britons but on a 'national' level, whether leave or remain, it has been a period of great uncertainty. The shark fisherman of wales happens to live in one of the poorest parts of the Disunited Kingdom. There's not many folk apart from the odd one or two in Cyncoed and Cowbridge who possess a gold piano but we are obliged to sit through the dross of unelected monarchy telling us to respect the other person's point of view. The countries that make up Britain came to a standstill in May to hail the fairytale princess and her ginger beaux while the homeless were swept off the streets of Windsor. We, the global citizens of the world are currently outraged that people fleeing Calais in wee boats are being referred to as migrants and are being demonised as 'the other' by the British Broadcasting Company. Drones are keeping the Brits in and Sajid Javid and his coastguard cutters are keeping the refugees and asylum seekers out. There's plenty of room in Wales to offer them asylum. The Welsh Assembly Government could offer them housing in Radnorshire where very few people live but are scared that flaming torch bearing UKippers from Blaenau Gwent would march up there and set fire to the new homes. There is no doubt that peeps have become hard and callous regarding the fate of Calais citizens. Since David Davies MP for Monmouth started stirring malicious rumours about the age of some of these child 'migrants' by suggesting that their teeth be examined to age them correctly (in his view), the common currency has been one of distrust for the other. From the film footage of the effigy of Grenfell Tower to the treatment of the Windrush Generation, the zeitgeist of Perfidious Albion is one of lazy racism.
Is it any wonder that the comfortable liberals and conservatives with a small c refer to anybody who wants to cut ties with 'Rule Brittania' as 'narrow minded nationalists'
If Wales and Scotland were allowed to pursue their destiny of Independence by 'narrow minded nationalism' I would bet (although not a betting man) I would bet that Wales and Scotland would offer Asylum to the Refugees and Asylum Seekers who are crossing the 'English Channel' in unsuitable boats. It is Westminster and its hell bent pursuit of a no deal brexit which is 'narrow minded nationalism' but it is we who wish to protect our language at all cost who are referred to as such, and very often by our 'own' people, the descendants of economic migrants who came to the valleys of South Wales looking for work in the Industrial Revolution. We need a Revolution in the Disunited Kingdom, of that there is no doubt, one where Gold Pianos are pushed into the Thames and where Refugees and Asylum Seekers are housed in the multi roomed palaces of unelected monarchy. It is Time.       

Monday, 24 December 2018

The Battle of Newport






The rump of Corbyn's New Model Army were encamped in and around the Shropshire Town of Newport. Brexit was now history and things had got a bit sticky to say the least at the Long Parliament since the Leader of the Roundheads had called the Leader of the Monarch's Forces "A Stupid People" Corbyn had been forced to flee from his Islington home by bicycle along country lanes back to Shrophsire from whence he came. It had been obvious for some time to Historians, Political Commentators and Guardian Columnists that another English Civil War was inevitable. John McDonnell's Scouse Regiment had travelled down through Cheshire and over the Runcorn Bridge to meet up with their Spiritual Leader at Newport.
The Cavaliers and Forces loyal to Her Majesty's Christmas Day Speech had hired a big red bus and painted a load of lies about Corbyn down the side. They were planning to travel up to the Midlands to take on the New Socialist Army by motorway but it was gridlocked so Corbyn got to Newport by bike quicker. The old tactic of barracking each other with some berk called Bercow shouting 'Order Order' pompously from a big throne had been replaced with the realisation that only good old fashioned scrapping would work. Jeremy had been working out on a big red punch bag that he'd fitted into the roof joist of his garage in North London. He'd been working out like Rocky since a lot of the Remainers had become vociferous against him. What would make this English Civil War so interesting was the fact that both sides contained an equal number of Remainers and Leavers amongst their ranks. The mealy mouthed Welsh and Scots very reluctantly decided to throw their weight and forces behind Jeremy Corbyn but their presence on the battlefield was always a distraction because of the constant muttering. In the end Jonathan Edwards had to be escorted away from the battle field for his own safety due to the strength and severity of his accent.
Theresa May who was still hanging on to her horse's reigns by the skin of her teeth had appointed Leadsom (Angela) as Head of Horse Cavalry. James 'I saw him Sir' Cleverly was in charge of the Infantry. May had decided to lock up the pair of Eton Fops 'Reese-Mogg and Bozo Johnson' in the Tower of London for the duration of the War. Nicholas 'Soggy Hang Dog' Soames because of his relationship to Winston Churchill had been called up to drive the 'Bus of Lies' up to Newport. They passed the Fool and Court Jester Sir Niggles de Farage thumbing for a lift and Soggy Soames veered into a big puddle of muddy water near Gloucester and soaked the old chunt. The accursed vermin Tories had underestimated their opponents once too often and their black hearts started beating faster when they neared Newport and saw that John Mc Donnell's Scouse Army each had a signed copy of Mao Tse Dong's little red book in their hands and a pike staff in the other. By this stage Corbyn was 'mad for it' and his blood lust for revenge knew no mercy when he finally faced up "A Stupid People' on the wide Shropshire plains. 
The Battle of Newport was long and bloody but of course the side of Right, Truth and Mercy ran out the victors. The remaining Tories whose throats had not been slashed from blue ear to blue ear were packed back on the Bus of Lies with a 'Universal Credit Voucher' and an appointment card for their local Job Centre in Westminster which they had to attend or their testicles and vaginas would be electrocuted by a bloke called 'Milgram'.
Corbyn became Prime Minister with John McDonell as the Chancellor of the Exchequer. The Queen was evicted from Buckingham Palace with a week's notice. Alan Sugar and JK Rowling were sent into exile on Elba and St Helena respectively without the use of twitter and the Eton Fops were left to rot in the Tower for eternity. Britain became a Socialist Republic after the Battle of Newport and Wales and Scotland were granted their Independence for their help in the muttering.    

FURTHER READING       

Tuesday, 18 December 2018

The Calm before the Storm




Trust the Shark Fisherman of Wales to throw shade upon the Festive Season but if you think that Islamic State have gone away then think again. They are re-thinking, re-grouping and getting ready for another series of attacks against the fat underbelly of the West. 'Our' Security may be better now, we may be more alert and vigilant BUT they have suceeded in what they set out to do and that was to unnerve us, shake us up a bit. You can't tell me that the 'gillets jeunes' protests in France are not a manifestation of the brutality meted out to an 'innocent' population under the tenure of Francois Hollande by Islamic State. Petty Criminals, many of them languishing in the lower strata of French Society inspired by a couple of martyrdom videos on You Tube, then shit or bust. They had nothing to lose but their lives. The black flags may have been beaten back in the northern fields of Iraq but the philosophy and mindset lingers on. This blood letting on the European Continent seems to have emboldened individual citizens to protest and to protest violently. They can only attack what they see as the stranglehold on their lives and livelihoods and that is the Neo-Liberal puppet government of Emmanuel Macron who came in and thought this was going to be a breeze. For every action, there is a reaction. The 'gilets jeunes' are manifesting a national and psychic grief. People are sick to the back teeth and unlike in 'Stiff Upper Lip Old Blighty' where we internalise every anger and frustration which then manifests in mental illness, the French get out there and give it large! The anniversary of the Bataclan massacre appeared to pass by with little mention. How could something like that happen on your manor and it NOT upset the cultural and social dynamic of the city and the country? Islamic State will continue to fight their guerrilla war and will sacrifice the petty criminals who they hope will wreak maximum damage in their 'acting out' for the prophet. My theory for what its worth (and instead of boring a glass eye to sleep in the pub I hope that I am lighting a fire in your third eye) is that IS are intent on a 'Divide & Conquer' strategy. They are hoping and praying that the Far Right become strong again in Europe and then they will take on the Left and each will cancel eachother out like the Spanish Civil War but across the whole landmass this time and then IS come in and mop up what is left. Well they don't come in because they are here already. These seemingly arbitrary stabbings and killings are a mere side show for the shit storm that awaits us. The Psychic Rubicon has been crossed. Some very strange behaviour and extreme insanities will become manifest until a mutual respect has been reached.We should really en masse be 'psychically' preparing for it but no we are going through the 'faux Christian charade of Christmas for the children again this year'. A strange thing to say and an insult to those whose families who have lost their loved ones in these now countless atrocities but in decades to come, philosophers and politicians and religious wise men (if that is not an oxy-moron) MIGHT agree that the 'troubles' of the early half of the 21st Century were the birthing pains for a lasting peace. Then came the next ice age and we became extinct.   

Friday, 7 December 2018

Driftwood



Can I be the only one who identifies as such?
Dry parchment rolled up into a bottle
The message not so secret any more.
We know each other but never acknowledge less we give the wasteful game away.
Drifting to the edges and back again.
Walk, amble, stroll, saunter?
It is much more intentional
You are driven to do it.
What you hope to find on every expedition is anybody's guess, even your own.
An extension of exploring as a child.
It began as a withdrawing from the external world of other people into an internal world going where and when you wanted without encumberance.
Going walkabout.
London is fantastic for it.
Black Oyster drops you and you get the feels and the sensations.
Holborn to Smithfield.
Once Victoria all the way across to Kings Cross.
Once Paddington to Charing Cross.
You rest your polluted lungs for a night ready to go again in the morning.
My particular box of delights are charity shops, book stores and libraries.
Wherever I find a book that's my home.
Not that I am a great reader, it is just the sensation of finding the right book at the right time.
The one road I don't like, the one that jars is Buckingham Palace Road perhaps because you know where it goes.
We all like a coffee but it is a mistake to enter one of the anodyne chains to get your card stamped because when you do, the magic has ended and your energy and excitement drop the moment you give your name or hand over your money.
Some people are going places, I certainly am not.
The progress delusion continues apace as I pass another piece of flotsam.

Wednesday, 5 December 2018

Bratiaith o Famiaith





Dwi'n anwybyddu fy Nghymraeg.

Mae'n flin da fi.

Trysor Cenedlaethol yn cael ei thrin fel baw ci

gan anwybodusion y twitterati.

Dwi'n siŵr fod o'n hiaith anodd i ddysgu

Mae'n iaith hawdd i anwybyddu

yn gorwedd fel craig yr oesoedd.

Ni sydd gyda rhywfaint,
 ddim yn sylweddoli gymaint o fraint
 ydy o i gael ei siarad.

"Well Cymraeg sâl na Saesneg slick" 
maen't yn eu deud 
ond fasa hwnna ddim yn ticio blwch 
yr Eisteddfod

"Ti'n thick ta be yn ceisio mynegi dy hun gyda geiriau bratiog?
 Ti'n un o rain sy'n hollol garpiog"

Mae'n anodd gwybod beth i wneud gyda beth sydd da fi

stwc yn y canol fel reffari.

Cario' mlaen fel Cymro Is-Graddol

neu geisio gwella yn waddol?

Ddim yn siŵr beth fasa wobr

i un fel fi sydd yn ceisio cadw'n sobor.

Oes yna apêl i'r Capel bellach?

Wastad yn teimlo fod hwnna yn lle i gael dy feirniadu dim am dy Gymraeg ond am dy wendid cynhenid fel dyn.

Iaith mynegiant ond dim ond i'r rhai sydd yn ei ddeall.

Dwi'n ddall i'r posibiliadau mae'n amlwg.

Cadw mynd fel Bardd Talcen Slip, 
Bardd Cocos y Clown 
tan 2050 pan fydd popeth yn troi'n frown.

Does 'na ddim gwaith ar blaned farw

Does 'na ddim iaith chwaith.

"Daddy, beth di'r Saesneg am newid hinsawdd?"

Monday, 3 December 2018

Environmental Bootcamp




Don't put your wet wipes down the khazi Mrs Worthington
Don't put your wet wipes down the khazi
All that plastic going into landfill
All that plastic going into the sea
but what's in it for you and me?
If you are anything like myself
then you are a lazy arsed F****r
I recycle, I stick it in the Green Bag
anything else, it's just a fag
I worry about it course I do,
and I'm sure you do too (also) 
We all need to go to Environmental Bootcamp
If there's one thing that can get us all together
then surely it's got to be the destruction of the planet
by Capitalism.
We all like our creature comforts, course we do
but are we willing to sacrifice our today
for their tomorrow?
Well are we?

FURTHER READING

The Love Grenade

  Sinead threw a grenade down the esplanade. It was no ordinary, common and garden explosive device this, when it landed it shower...

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How To Be Idle
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Freud: The Key Ideas
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Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
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On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
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A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul


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