Life as Indigestion

I drove from Cardiff to Aberystwyth last night and I had indigestion all the way. Today I started thinking about indigestion as a metaphor for life in the privileged white west. I am sucking on a Gaviscon tablet now as I write this. It is because I rush my food. I have always rushed my food since school days. It is a very bad habit and I anticipate problems in the future. I had a diagnosis of 'hiatus hernia' maybe twenty years ago and took the Zantac for a while. Do you take medicines for a while and then give up? I think it's because I like strong coffee and that reacts with something and the coffee takes the place of smoking from years ago which triggered the original condition. Life is indigestible even if you are lucky enough to eat well. It wasn't only because I had rushed my food last night and had eaten a largish portion, it was also because I was 'anfodlon' and 'anniddig', two Welsh words that describe 'not contented' and 'irritable' and this because of the thoughts that I create in my mind. Even if I'm listening to soothing sounds or music, the mind can create all sorts of physical symptoms. I feel that I am on a loop, everyday is Ground hog Day, there is an elastic band that pulls me back to Cardiff and then pings me out to the West and I am pissed off with it. I can't settle in one place, I can't plan. I am forever thinking about the welfare of others and it is giving me indigestion. "Aye that's it blame others you loser, you don't know how lucky you are, you could be a Refugee........... Fade to Black." 

Sunny Prestatyn

Come to Sunny Prestatyn

Laughed the girl on the poster,

Kneeling up on the sand

In tautened white satin.

Behind her, a hunk of coast, a 

Hotel with palms

Seemed to expand from her thighs and

Spread breast-lifting arms.

She was slapped up one day in March.

A couple of weeks, and her face 

Was snaggle-toothed and boss-eyed;

Huge tits and a fissured crotch

Were scored well in, and the space

Between her legs held scrawls

That set her fairly astride 

A tuberous cock and balls

Autographed Titch Thomas, while

Someone had used a knife

Or something to stab right through

The moustached lips of her smile.

She was too good for this life.

Very soon, a great transverse tear

Left only a hand and some blue.

Now Fight Cancer is there.

Philip Larkin

One day I'll fly away

I saw Randy Crawford once

at the Fairfield Halls, Park Lane, Croydon

with a South African called Liesl

who played me like a fiddle.

I paid for her ticket and she wouldn't even let me hold her hand.

This was about 2003 although I'd been a fan of Randy since 1983.

"What more can your love do for me?"

Nothing!

Because it wasn't love on my behalf, 

it was lust and possession (according to her)

I wanted her biblically

and she punished me for that

she was like a cat in a hat

watching my every move with grace and skill

before she came in for the kill

she left me with a permanent frown,

Yeah one day I'll fly away

but it won't be to Cape Town.

  

Soft spot for the Gee-Gees

Soft spot for the Gee-Gees 

Hemingway and Bukowski both had a soft spot for the Gee-Gees.

At the racetrack, love letters like torn up betting slips thrown into the air.

A lexicon, an alphabet for Alpha males

who went to great lengths to hide their feminine sides

as all men do.

The more macho a male

the more animated his anima

"Oh leave it there butt, I'm trying to watch the Rugby"

The feminine, divine was their soft spot

a fine eye for the fillies

these guys wouldn't last five minutes on Linked In

Drowned in liquor

it made them sicker

they were both successful with the horses

less so with the women

but to compensate for what?

They couldn't do without them it would appear.  

Philip Larkin: Love and Death in Hull

Brits Out

I promise that I will do my best

To do my duty to God and to the Queen

To help other people 

And to keep the Cub Scout Law

Confuscious and his interesting times eh? ISIL couldn't have chosen a better time to pick a fight with the 'Brits'. The United Kingdom has never been so disunited with the SNP bursting out the doors of the House of Commons and Stormont having a seizure. The basis of British identity at the moment seems to lie in the 'fear factor' perpetuated by UKIP and Farage. The bodies of British holidaymakers lying on a Tunisian beach forced the hand of David Cameron and his million pound drone which was programmed to take out a Cardiff and Aberdeen youth (both 21) who had been foolish or blase enough to post an 'up yours' video to the British State. The Western Mail, the self styled national newspaper of Wales called Reyaad Khan, a Welsh Jihadi. Calling him Welsh abrigates the British State of responsibility in alienating him. It was the fault of the Welsh that he became a Jihadist. Well of course, all that Rugby and Beer swilling on Match Day is enough to turn anybody towards Allah and against Capitalism. The Shark Fisherman listens quite a lot to the radio station LBC and the callers on different programmes are really quite scary and are reason enough to worry about the future of the British State. Because of it's bloodthirsty, empire building history, the Shark fisherman does not recognise the British state as an entity because he does not recognise the monarchy as a valid form of authority in the same way that he does not write about a Principality in this blog. he writes about his country. He has the utmost respect for the nations that make up the so called United Kingdom but does not recognise the bastard baby of 'Great Britain' that sends drones over to kill people that disagree with its foreign policy especially Welsh ones. If the drone had taken out Jihadi John, then the Shark Fisherman would have been on side with the British State but he is getting very uncomfortable about the shape of things to come because actions will be taken in the name of Britain rather than, England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland and in this respect I shout out loud and clear 'Brits Out'. 

Dim ond Tri