leave to remain (17/July/18)

I don’t think one should be labelled a ‘rebel’ merely by disagreeing with someone or something or even the loudest opinion or dominating viewpoint, which is exactly what those who are branded ‘remainers’ are called, and derogatorily so… it’s become and now used as an insult, even a threat, and is irresponsible, if not a little puerile, as it can have and has had the result of inflaming and inciting acts of belittling, bullying, violence and even murder and yet not only are newspapers and other media, in particular the right-wing press and tabloids, but also so-called responsible politicians and others holding high positions of influence and authority… such is the language of the sinking ship Brexit and the whole debacle surrounding it that the ripple effects are becoming ever-evident and increasingly felt by the day, even by the Tweet…… it’s feeding a negative politic and bellicose discourse dominated by knee-jerk reactionaries to the degree as to make confrontation the norm, making aggression a default setting…… alternative and even directly oppositional views are essential to any discussion and debate in avoiding disintegrating into extremism, echo-chambers  and the right-wing agendas which are under Brexit becoming the only gig in town suffocating  the issue doing little more than compounding and promoting one misunderstanding after another and further misleading the already misinformed further into ignorance rather than out of it…… inevitably this may be the intention of those who have self-styled themselves as ‘leavers’… alongside this a new polarity has evolved in the rhetoric in seeing rebels as ‘idealists’ and leavers and ‘realists’ which again leans heavily upon propaganda over facts, hyperbole over considered debate… remainers have been further coined ‘re-moaners’ and accused of going against “the will of the people” which again serves the interests of those whose only interest is almost divide and conquer, cleave a rift between the two sides ever wider and unbridgeable with increased (un)helpings of antagonistic wordplay… it also plays into the hands of the simplistic scenario of good vs evil and by being at the wrong end of a pointy finger stands you accused of “going against the will [so-called] of the people” placing you firmly on the side equated to that of a traitor, another term found carelessly-strewn through speeches and headlines …… it fails to consider another crucial factor, whether or not these long two years after the referendum, during which time it’s more has been exposed of the smoke and mirrors, lies, lies and damn lies that was involved in influencing a ‘leave’ vote with what worryingly passed as ‘campaigning’ during the few short months prior to the vote, whether or not it still genuinely reflected aspirations, especially those which were even at the time starkly and closely split down the middle and that it still hasn’t been enacted… another misconception is that the debate is simplistically split between two opposing camps, both of which have overlaps and in-fighting along with which are a number of other opinions and approaches to Brexit, including those who were more in favour of amending the European Union relationship and not entirely abandoning it outright…… it is not a simple black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, as those too lazy to engage their brains want to believe and those with something to hide would prefer, not a ‘divorce’ nor “reclaiming sovereignty over our borders”, yet another ill-judged, ill-advised, jingoistic catchphrase, it’s essentially a mess, a mass of contradictions, a mass distraction, misleading delusion, a sleight of hand.

© 2018 robert greig

pulling your leg (15/July/18)

strange and disturbing dreams, should I be surprised?… nope, when are they not one or the other… or both?…… it’s quiet… too quiet… not really, just pulling your leg, trying to inject an air of mystery, drama, whatever into this piece of prosery… ‘suppose I’ve blown that now…… “pulling your leg”, now there’s a curious idiom, its origins are still a mystery though theories abound none of which are proven and even some utterly implausible, though it may come from something to do with distraction… and anyway, I like quiet, though when I really put my ear to it it’s not actually over-quiet at all… a goldfinch is trickling away from a treetop somewhere, a car further back in the soundscape motors past, the collared dove as well coo-cooing and most likely flying his usual circle around and over the garden from one perch at one end to another, a telephone pole, at the other, keeping a watchful eye, watchful dark eyes which have a tendency to give it an expression of friendly, benign but are in fact fiercely territorial against others of their ilk protecting its patch whose edges only it can discern…… of course there’s the usual noise in my ear/ head/ somewhere inside there anyway, my internal variations on their own incessant theme… the odd jackdaw ca(w)lls too, inevitable as there are so many and even more since mass fledging…. I think I hear the sea, or might be the leaves lolling in the breeze and bothering branches or it could just be the air, the sound of air wilful and free teasing the trees, ruffling feathers, seeping through open windows… of course it’s the sound of air you dolt, how else do you think sound makes sound… and tick-tock, the subtle harangue of the clock, time vanishing, dissolving, sloughing, shedding, or even shredding….

© 2018 robert greig

dear dairy… (14/July/18)

dear diary,

I sometimes misspell you, though not on purpose and hope you can forgive my occasional misdemeanour, and you sometimes come out as dairy which I’m sure you’ll understand can lead to all manner of complications… luckily I’ve not mistaken you, yet at least, for diarrhoea, a word itself a nightmare to spell correctly at the best of times without second guessing oneself, not to mention there being two accepted (though not acceptable) versions, the other dropping the ‘o’ though you’ll be pleased to know I don’t approve of that seeing it as a bit flippant to do so… and I couldn’t  imagine confiding in my diarrhoea in quite the same way as I would a diary, or even a dairy which would not only be weird but also pointless as its sole advice to any confessions would always be the same, not to cry over spilled milk.

… and as for occasional, there’s another slippery one, one ‘c’ two of ‘s’, one ‘s’, two of ‘c’…… anyway, I won’t bother your pulpiness with this one, thanks for listening and also for not making any crass jokes about pasteurising……

yours sincerely,
me.

© 2018 robert greig