Tag Archive: politics



It is the insignificance of the human race that allows me to get out of bed in the morning.
Knowing that we’re only hurting ourselves somehow soothes that
frantic butterfly aneurysm
that sticks like shit to the walls and drips and collects in pools.

Brings a skip to my step to realise
Nothing really means anything
And that we’re just the setup of a racist joke
With no punch line.

Feels fine inside to know
no matter
how many books I read
I’m still just a waste product of time.

Line ‘em up boys,
I’ll watch them fall
one
by
one
and when it comes I’ll greet oblivion like an old friend.

It pleases me no end this knowledge that no matter what we do;
Declare war as an excuse to pillage, condone rape with silence,
or even condemnation towards victims,
Profit in cashmoney
from inflicting severed limbs and misery
on Islamic children,
Acting father knows best to those that won’t bend the knee
to the International Monetary Fund for a loan designed
to stripmine public assets for corporate interests
and leave people recycling their own feces

– we’re barely a blip on the radar of the cosmos.

It pleases me that all we seem to do is suck each other dry
And leave behind stumblebum husks of one another.

Doesn’t bother me in the slightest that each day is more empty
Than the one it proceeds.

The fact that the whole of human knowledge is the intellectual equivalent of a 2 dollar handjob down the greasy alley next to the library causes me to stifle a chuckle.

Fuck All Belief.
Just bed time stories we tell ourselves to give the illusion of autonomy.
Freedom is a myth
Invented in the 1950s by Levi jeans and constructed from the yolk of Jack Keuroac’s wet dreams.

The awareness that we belittle and degrade
50% of the entire population
For having tits and giving birth to
Every single soul on earth
To the point where we got them thinking they’re worth less
Than some prick with a penis
Is really an impressive feat of irony.

And when the surface water is so polluted from Hydraulic fracturing
That it burns your throat and makes children blind
And when the roving gangs of UKIP voters beat
The shit right out of you because of your country of origin
And when bigotry becomes national unity
And Well being is replaced with misery
And the source of your next meal is a mystery
Handed out from food banks built out of desperate necessity
And when the government sells out what few rights we have left
To a company that promises to make poverty profitable
And when it all becomes too much to take
And when we are left to drown
In our parents mistakes
And in the moments before we finally break

I’ll know deep in my heart
That being human is great.

Loki, Glasgow Hip Hop’s prodigal son, shows us the way.



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Steve Mason, formerly of the beta band, has a new album out: Monkey Minds In The Devil’s Time

Here be the first single off it. Fight Them Back.

Be sure to check out the interview with him in the march issue of The Skinny where he accuses David Cameron of trying to turn Britain into some kind of wasteland.

::::pluck:thine:eye:::: [ digital art ]





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Feel free to go fuck the questionaire this animated gif originally led to.


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In 1997 Arundhati Roy released The God of Small Things. It won the Booker prize (now the Man-Booker, as The independent have been pointing out all week whilst writing about it and the recently launched Literature Prize). I haven’t read it although I probably should. I reckon I’d like it as the plot revolves somewhat around the fucked up class system in India (The Caste System) – which i find equal parts interesting and horrific. She hasn’t finished a novel since.

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Now, to not follow up the winning of such a prestigious literary prize (or formally prestigious – whatever) would seem like career suicide. Frankly, I don’t think Miss Roy gives a fuck. She’s been far too busy doing more important things. Namely, challenging the capitalist and human being fueled industrialization of India, getting down and dirty in the trenches of India’s hidden war and generally horrifying the countries burgeoning middle-class by writing essays like Walking With The Comrades:

After dinner, without much talk, everybody falls in line. Clearly, we are moving. Everything moves with us, the rice, vegetables, pots and pans. We leave the school compound and walk single file into the forest. In less than half an hour, we arrive in a glade where we are going to sleep. There’s absolutely no noise. Within minutes everyone has spread their blue plastic sheets, the ubiquitous ‘jhilli’ (without which there will be no Revolution). Chandu and Mangtu share one and spread one out for me. They find me the best place, by the best grey rock. Chandu says he has sent a message to Didi. If she gets it, she will be here first thing in the morning. If she gets it.

It’s the most beautiful room I have slept in, in a long time. My private suite in a thousand-star hotel. I’m surrounded by these strange, beautiful children with their curious arsenal. They’re all Maoists for sure. Are they all going to die? Is the jungle warfare training school for them? And the helicopter gunships, the thermal imaging and the laser range-finders?

Why must they die? What for? To turn all of this into a mine? I remember my visit to the open cast iron-ore mines in Keonjhar, Orissa. There was forest there once. And children like these. Now the land is like a raw, red wound. Red dust fills your nostrils and lungs. The water is red, the air is red, the people are red, their lungs and hair are red. All day and all night trucks rumble through their villages, bumper to bumper, thousands and thousands of trucks, taking ore to Paradip port from where it will go to China. There it will turn into cars and smoke and sudden cities that spring up overnight. Into a ‘growth rate’ that leaves economists breathless. Into weapons to make war.

Everyone’s asleep except for the sentries who take one-and-a-half-hour shifts. Finally, I can look at the stars. When I was a child growing up on the banks of the Meenachal river, I used to think the sound of crickets—which always started up at twilight—was the sound of stars revving up, getting ready to shine. I’m surprised at how much I love being here. There is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be. Who should I be tonight? Kamraid Rahel, under the stars? Maybe Didi will come tomorrow.

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The reason Roy hasn’t finished the novel she’s working on is because she is living a different one.

I’d heard of God of Small Things, but i hadn’t really heard of its author, not until a few months ago. I’ve become a bit of a newshound since I got my kindle due to the fact that I could download a free copy of The Guardian every day if I wanted to, thanks to their liberal licencing and API. I should be reading novels but I’ve gotten a bit obsessive about it. Right now, for a change, I’m on a two week free trial of The Independent instead. I’ve always considered The Guardian and The Independent the only two decent papers in the UK – but i’d never put this to a taste test. Now I have I think I might prefer The Independent.

Anyway, getting back to my point. A few months ago I read an interview with Arundhati Roy in The Guardian. Today, there is one with her in The Independent.

And that is the reason I have written this post, so I could link to those two interviews. Do yourself a favour and go read them, because Arundhati Roy is quite obviously a remarkable woman, not to mention an amazing writer.


A surge of re-energized American citizens positioned in cities across the country are carrying out the grassroots “Occupy Wall Street” movement (or the “99 Percent Movement”) with an intelligent and provoking agenda that invokes real patriotic citizenship – much unlike the backwards Tea Party protests that have done little more than pervert our founding ideals while hidden under the guise of Americanism.

Also unlike the Tea Party, Occupy Wall Street is not fueled by corporate dollars or any major television network (aka, Fox News), but by a vast, grassroots network of individuals who have either been negatively affected by the pro-regressive sentiment in the country or by those who have grown disillusioned by the Right wing’s strangle-hold over our country’s future and its catering to corporate citizenship.

The moniker “We are the 99%” is touted proudly by diverse groups of everyday Americans, ranging from teachers and students to firefighters, nurses, construction workers and Marines.

Unfortunately, though – if you listen to many Congressional Republicans, Right wing pundits and Tea Party aficionados – when common citizens across the country representing the vast majority of America peacefully protest in mass numbers against unbridled greed by Wall Street and the banking industry, they are just angry mobs of un-American thugs engaging in anti-capitalist propaganda mongering.

But when corporate-sponsored Tea Partiers protest outside the White House or other public centers (albeit carrying signs promoting bigotry, racism, hatred and/or violence), they are symbolic of the purest form of patriotism in action…

< link shit >

open your eyes, time to wake up…


Europeans don’t trust politicians


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Europe’s hopeof a better future is faltering, as the financial crisis and spending cuts bite, according to a Guardian/ICM poll of five leading EU countries. It finds trust in government at rock bottom and widespread fear of further economic decline. Few people are convinced that the present signs of recovery can be sustained.

via Europeans are liberal, anxious and don’t trust politicians, poll reveals | World news | The Guardian.

J.K. Rowling’s Patriotism


Harry Potter billionaire J.K. Rowling on why she chooses to continue living in Britain even though she could reduce her tax bill considerably by residing elsewhere:

I chose to remain a domiciled taxpayer for a couple of reasons. The main one was that I wanted my children to grow up where I grew up, to have proper roots in a culture as old and magnificent as Britain’s.

….A second reason, however, was that I am indebted to the British welfare state; the very one that Mr Cameron would like to replace with charity handouts. When my life hit rock bottom, that safety net, threadbare though it had become under John Major’s Government, was there to break the fall. I cannot help feeling, therefore, that it would have been contemptible to scarper for the West Indies at the first sniff of a seven-figure royalty cheque. This, if you like, is my notion of patriotism.

J.K. Rowling’s Patriotism | Mother Jones.


It’s good to read pieces like this from time to time, something that reminds you why you have that niggling mass of cells somewhere in your head that baulks whenever such matters come up, either on tv or elsewhere in the media, even if you don’t give it any serious thought on a regular basis because your too distracted by other things. Intuition still has its place you know, but explict knowledge does too. To operate on one whilst sacrificing the other leads only to myopia:

All their energy is aimed at making their identity group more respectable within a patriarchal, racist, and capitalist society. They don’t care about the systems of oppression that affect society as a whole: racism, patriarchy, and they don’t even care to know what’s wrong with capitalism, so their analysis stays at the level of petty, singular “issues” which only pertain to specific groups who live in that society. All they’re trying to do is make their group more integrated into racist, patriarchal capitalism. And by doing so they feed the systems that generate the system of oppression for everyone.

via “Empowerment” « Utopia or Bust.

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