Pantomine's Pageantry - Not for me folks.

O.K perhaps we sometimes need a bit of magic to lift us up, in dark days, but does a fancy dress show of exteme extravegance and wealth, really do the trick. Have you not been amazed by the disgraceful fawning by the majority of the British media, every day ad infinitum,  it really is very difficult to ignore ,and makes me reach out for a  sick back everytime .Do they really have the popularity  that is accorded to them. Its really difficult to find any balance at the moment. What with the daily bombardment.
Hey I like it when people find love, love is wonderful, the world needs it, it's there for everyone, but the cost of this wedding is going to be about £20 million, and this anti democratic family are paying how much? Um  £100,000, that might seem a lot, but when you think that the Queen alone gets about £40million  a year, it really is loose change .In a time of recession, are there not other  things this government should be spending ourr money on, er, hospitals, schools , welfare for the poor amongst other things.
This wedding a mere distraction perhaps while this government of ours carry out the most destructive policies in living memory.
The Royal families kingdom is based purely on ancient and lets face it pretty rotten foundations, for me they are an overpaid and pretty phenomenally wealthy, and incredibly outdated obscenity.
Hey if they want to get married let it be, a simple registry affair, meet a few mates down the pub before hand , buy a round..., and no roads will be blocked, traffic paralysed, offensive slogans chanted and banners brandished.



But no whoopee they've given us a national holiday, but a lot of us ,the silent minority as the media are sarcastically calling us,are in mood for celebrating, and if I never see Nicholas Whitchurch ever again I will be extremely grateful, the B.B.C an organisation that I have long admired keep telling me stuff like William's just one of the lads and that Kate's a commoner, well if thats the case I really am on planet Zog. Kate  will now enters a world where she never does a proper days work again in her life and still get paid. Unbelieavable, as people on benefits are being called scroungers, and getting much needed support scrapped, here we our dishing out more money to a family who simply do not deserve it.
If the royal wedding never ended and the guests never left, how many dictatorships would achieve regime change? There seem to be that many despots attending. Perhaps  it should be made mandatory that the Church doors are blocked after the ceremony and let no one out.
Don't want to put a dampener on this fancy parade but I hear it might rain. As you are probably aware by now I for one will not be dancing , even though it's also international dance day, and save the frog day,  incidentally.The world apparently will be watching this circus. I simply don't believe it, and the hype is so disproportionate. If we do not see any dissent it's because the powers that be have simply censored it, in this twisted version  of reality.
I think I'll turn the T.V ,switch of the internet, its goin to be non-stop , a stuff of  nightmares. Anyway I will try my best to simply ignore it. Hope I've convinced some to do the same.
Have a nice day.

Viva Republic. Spread real love.........

http://www.republic.org.uk/

Time's Exhaust

'

picture by Rod Scneider

Weekend gone, sat in garden
in distant city, people distracted 
misplaced priorities, in search of profit,
consumerism running riot, everything out of control
safety and caution bypassed to save some pennies,
a broken  process caught up in its own denial.
watch as corruption simply grows and grows
meanwhile at home, sun out, minding it's own business
neighbour shouted across the wall,
"lovely weather, mate, especially if your not working"
" Yeah " I sighed, turned my trowel in rich earth,
turning wilderness into something
deeper still, tearing down walls,
finding immediacy, even when lost
embracing rocks and stones, nurturing moss,
underneath a thousand currents
rested in  the shadows of  infinite,
where future's nourishment
knows another notion,
in former days of work slavery
obstacles galore fed on emptiness,
digging now for survival
belief in nature's power is definite,
Every word , a seed of tomorrow's breath
time exhausts,  air is full of living dust,
the careless  delay of language
echoes across the centuries,
when all the clocks stop
we will see history that we will all remember,
reality traded for paradise
beyond the ruination of now.

Poly Styrene (1957 - 25/4/11 ) CANCER KILLS IDENTITY, CANCER IS A BITCH.

She had her ups, she had her downs, but she was a true fighter, an iconclast.
" Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard"

Mark Ryden - The Pumpkin President.

The Madness of Language - Anahita Alikhani

English is the most widely spoken language in the world, and is taught in every country.But  spoken and colloquial English is very different from the polite language which is taught in schools. For somebody like myself, encountering the everyday language when we arrive in Britain can be very perplexing. For example, I've discovered there is one word which can be used to express a huge range of feelings as varied as anger, disgust, happinness, joy, astonishement, drunkeness and so on.
An imaginary meeting between a foreign newcomer and a native of Britain can go smething like this:
- Where are you from?
- Persia
-Where  the ****ing hell is Persia?
- In Asia.
- Oh! ****ing long way from home!
- Oh yes!
- Hows the weather there ?
- Warm and nice.
- Oh ! ****ing brilliant! What the **** are you doing here?
- I'm a refugee.
- Oh, ****ing asylum seekers! Pain in the ****!
- Excuse me, do you have a problem? Do you have piles?
- **** ***!!!
-Excuse me, does this word mean yes or no?
- It means move your ****ing **** and go to hell!
I can imagine that in a hundred years or so, as the language evolves, this word might be used even more widely, for example on the news:
" This morning Her ****ing Majesty the ****ing Queen opened her ****ing Jubilee Celebrations..."

Saesneg yw'r iaith a siaredir fwyaf yn y byd i gyd, ac fe gaiff ei dysgu ymhob gwlad. Ond mae Saesneg Llafar, taodiethol, yn wahanol iawn i'r iaith lednais a ddysgir mewn ysgolion. I rywun fel fi, yn dod ar draws yr iaith bob-dydd wrth gyrraed Prydain, mae'n gallu bod yn ddryslyd iawn. Er enghraifft, rwyf wedi darganfod bod un gair y gellir ei ddefnyddio i fynegi ystod enfawr o deimladau amrywiol: dicter; ffiend-dra; hapursrwydd; gorfoledd; syndod; meddwdod, ac yn y blaen.
Gall cyfarfod dychmygol rhwng newydd-ddyfodiad o dramor a brodor o Brydain fynd rhywbeth fel hyn:
- O ble ti'n dod ?
- Persia
-
- Ble'r **** mae Persia?
- Yn Asia.
- O! **** o ffordd bell oddi cartre!
- O, ie!
- Sut mae'r tywydd acw?
- Twym a braf.
- O! ****** brilliant! Be'r **** wyt t'in wneud yma?
- Ffoadur ydw i.
- O ****** ceiswyr lloches! Poen yn y pen ol!
- Mae'n ddrwg gen i, oes gennych chi broblem? Oes clwyf y
marchogion gyda chi?
- ***** ***!!!
- Mae'n ddrwg gen i, ydy'r gair hwn yn golygu ie neu nage?
- Mae'n golygu symud dy ****** hun a dos o 'ma!
Gallaf ddychmygu, ymhen rhyw ganrif, fel y mae'r iaith yn esblygu, y caiff y gair hwn ei ddenyddio hyd yn oed yn fyw cang. Ar y newyddion, er enghraifft: " Y bore 'ma, fe agorrodd Ei ******
Mawrhydi y ****** Frenhines ei ****** dathliadau Jiwbili ..."

FROM : Gwyl y Blaidd/ The Festival of the Wolf.
Parthian 2006
in conjunction with hafan books, which provides outlet in Wales for the creativity of refugees, asylum, seekers and their supporters and to raise awareness.
SWANSEA BAY ASYLUM SEEKERS SUPPORT GROUP
is primary bebeficiary and can be contacted below.
http://www.hafan.org/

Have a happy Easter if your into that type of thing,
and remember remove all borders.

John Cooper Clarke ( b 5/1/49)- Apart from the Revolution, (some musings after Performance in April in Laugharne.)

Was lucky to see Mr Clarke, Sunday gone at the Millenium Centre down in Laugharne, as part of this villages very own Literature festival. On top form, their he stood before us, half stand up, half free verserfier, their was a full moon  & the tide was high, as so were most of the audience or so it seemed to me.
He entertained with his full dexterious verbiosity, Their he was ramshackle& gangly to the core, looking the same to me , as the last time I'd seen hiim way back in 1988 or thereabouts.
" Call me Johhny Clarke " he said " the man behind the hairstyle ".
Here was a master at work, patois working, motormouthing away to us grateful hoards , in the nicest possible way. 60 years young, lank like a beanpole his dark shades blitzing us whilst his acerbic rays unleashed. Valid social commentary shining bright, a poet on top, blazing ,alive.
Seeing the Bard Of Salford again was akin to a religious experience, so long have I worshipped this dark but bright light from afar.
When they called time on him, about 10 to 11, he seemed to have so much more to deliver.He wondered where he could get a bite to eat, " everything shut " cried a local. " Oh well he said", I think he said he'd see us soon, as he headed off into the night.
Me and my partner were hungry too by then, for more words, and yeah I suppose a bag of chips or something. Ah a wonderful evening, afterwards we took a stroll down to the bay to gaze at the moon, pay our respects, to Laugharnes's ghosts. We  wondered what Dylan Thomas might have thought. I think he would have acknowledged a mercurial greatness.

Laugharne Castle.

Anyweay hope it's not another 20 years before I see Mr Clarke again.

Apart from the Revolution.

Each drop of blood a rose shall be
all sorrow shall be dust
blown by breezes to the sea
whose fingers thrust
into the corners of restless night
where the creatures of the deep
avoid the flashing harbour lights
in search of endless sleep
there were executions
somebody had to pay
apart from the revolution
it's another working day

a million angels sing
peasants eating cake
wedding bells are ringing
the room begins to shake
the children free from measles all
have healthy teeth and gums
they live in the cathedrals
and worship in the slums
poverty and pollution
have all swept away
apart from the revolution
it's another working day.

Oh He ended on version of his classic Beardsley Street updated for now.
The following is not from the performance I saw.
Nice post over at rocket remnant's blog about the previous nights performance at Dylan Thomas's boathouse over on the right in the links.

Sod calm and get angry

Had so much to say today, but the computers are not working in the library. So I'm of in to the real world with a pissed of snarl. Hey the sun is shining at least.
Why do everyone I meet this morning seem so bloody happy,  is their a tory virus on the loose.
Their is a government .at the moment going round dismantling essential sevices, food prices are soaring, the cost of living is rocketing sky high, and theirs a man outside whistling away.
Am I simply on another planet , sometimes it seems I might possibly   be ,adrift  in my own space, oh hang on theirs a man in a badger suit outside haraunging  a local politician, ah thats more like it.  There about to be culled round here, ah their are people on this planet that care. Who stand up in this age and say no, loudly, thank goodness for that. Even if it means dressing up for the occassion.
Right I'm off, think I'll join the  living livid . Laters
Am  not a violent man but if I see a Tory I think I might whack one.
Oh and another thing
" The comforts of the rich depends on an abundance of the poor."
Voltaire.

Jean-Claude Charbonel & John Welson, Surrealism: The Celtic Eye

16th April - 2 July 2011

 

  Jean-Claud Charbonel - Le Chainon Manquant, 1998.

Looking forward to this exhibition, of two exciting vibrant painters, one Breton and the other Welsh. A true meeting of Celtic inspiration and imagination.

John Welson (b. 1953) has participated in over 200 exhibitions in both private and public galleries around the world since the early 1970's. From the late 1960's to the early 1990's he painted Figurative Surrealist Paintings, exhibiting with artists as diverse as Salvador Dali, Man Ray, Rene Magritte, Max Ernst, Lucian Freud and Damian Hirst. Since the mid 1990's he has produced Lyrical Abstracted Paintings inspired by the landscape of his native Wales,

Surrealist painter and sculptor and teacher Jean Claude  Charbonel'S (b. 1953)'s work explores the  mythical and legendary charge of Brittany, He has participated in numerous international exhibitions organized by the surrealist  movement. 

The exhibition is not too far away for me up at the National Library of Wales in Aberyswyth.Have rather fond  memories of  living there when I was a student back in the 1980's, and working there afterwards for, There's  a very decent record shop up there too, called Andy's Record's. so a journey beckons. More info below.

http://www.llgc.org.uk/index.php?id=1511&date=2&tx t

R.S. Thomas ( 29/4/13 - 26/09/00) - The Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possesss it. Life is not hurrying

On to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

Fernando Pessoa (13/6/ 1888 - 30/11/35) - Extract from The Book of Disqiet.

William Blake - The Ancient Of Days.

 Today, I do not hide behind or abandon myself to clinical labels, Today that is. I sit behind a keyboard that has enabled me to move beyond habitual wounds. This week is depression awareness week, for some everyday is depression awareness day.
Two years ago I never thought I'd be writing anything again. Today I still battle against the invisible currents circling around. Personally I have found through depression the ability to take a long and hard look at the world and take it apart at the seams, to once again critically engage in what were once disorientated moments of strangeness and  and fear and follow freedom's breath whenever it comes near.
I have been luck to discover true friends who have journeyed with me and my obstacles, making them closer still.
Everyone struggles, some of us unfortunately have to challenge every living moment.Statistics if you like that type of thing say that 1 in 5 of the World's population will succumb to depression at some point in their lifes, some of it will be short bouts, others will find themselves in its grasp for long periods of time.
At the moment the Government and the D.W.P ( Department of Work and Pensions) want to drown any confidence recently gained with their attacks on people on D.L.A ( Disability Living Alllowance) and Incapacity Benefit. People suddenly are facing the most stringent  evaluations of their mental health at a time when already full of indecision, their paths still unwinding. The most vulnerable of societies members being attacked  because of capitalism's greed.
I have found their is no magic formulae for the riddance of depression. Psychiatry I'm afraid often hinders and mountains overnight do not simply dissapeear.Medication often just masks problems and can make some people even more insecure.
Remember we live in a very hostile world, where people like to stigmatise and label. Yet despite this illness can be a liberating force, where specks of light set sail through black holes. Doing this blog has been just one aspect that keeps me surviving. Dance on we have nothing to lose but our chains.
The following extract to me paints a picture of depression in all its totality.
heddwch/peace.

From The Book of Disquiet.

It is one of those days when the monotony of everything oppresses me like being thrown into jail. The monotomy of everything is merely the monotony of myself, however. Each face, even if seen just yesterday, is different today, because today isn't yesterday. Each day is the day it is, and there was never another one like it in the world. Only our soul makes the identification - a genuinely felt but erroneous identification - by which everything becomes similar and simplified. The world is a set of disquiet things with varied edges, but if we're near-sighted, it's a continual and indecipherable fog.
I feel like fleeing. Like fleeing from what I know, fleeing from what's mine, fleeing from what I love. I want to depart, not for impossible Indias or for the great islands south of everything, but for any place at all - villages or wilderness - that isn't this place.  I want to stop seeing these unchanging faces, this routine, these days. I want to rest sleep come to me as life, not as rest. A cabin  on the seashore or even a cave in a rocky mountainside could give me this, but my will, unfortunately, cannot.
Slavery is the law of life, and it is the only law, for it must be observed: there is no revolt possible, no way to escape it. Some are born slaves, others become slaves, and still others are forced to accept alavery. Our faint-hearted love of freedom - which, if we had it, we would all reject, unable to get used to it - is proof  of how imagined our slavery is. I myself, having just said that I'd like a cabin or a cave where I could be free from the monotomy of everything, which is the monotomy of me - would I dare set out for this cabin or cave, knowing from experience that the monotomy, since it stems from me, will always be with me? I myself, suffocating from where I am because I am - where would I bretahe easier, if the sickness is in my lungs rather than in the things that surround me? I myself, who long for pure sunlight and open country, for the ocean in plain view and the unbroken horizon -  could I get used to my new bed, the food, not having to descend eight flights of stairs in the street, not entering the tobacco shop on the corner, not saying good-morning to the barber standing outside his shop?
Everything that surrounds us becomes part of us, infiltrating our physical sensations and our feelings of life, and like spittle of the great Spider it subtlty binds us to whatever is close, tucking us into a soft bed of slow death which is rocked by the wind. Everything is us, and we are everythuing, but what good is this, if everything is nothing? A ray of sunlight, a cloud whose shadow tell us it is passing, a breeze that rises, the silence that follows when it ceases, one or another face, a few voices, the incidental laughter of the girls who are talking, and then night with the meaningless, fractured hieroglyphs of the stars.

FROM:-
The Book of Disquiet,
Translated from the Portugese by Richard Zenith
( Allen Lane/Penguin Books, 20001).

Some useful Links.

http://www.survivorspoetry.com/

http://www.depressionalliance.org/

http://madpride.org.uk/index.php