degrees of strangulation (14/May/18)

just when I thought the world might be coming out of its myopic, misogynistic, misanthropic, homophobic, insular, despotic, dictatorial, authoritarian, totalitarian, ego-maniacal kleptocracies rife with demagoguery keeping us firmly buried by the overlords in a paternalistic feudalism with delusions of grandeur it seems we barely moved at all in our Sisyphean illusion of progress… progress, now there’s a prostituted and violated word if ever there was, liberally sprinkled and squandered at every blind-spot….

… but you don’t need me to tell you this…

… just when I thought minds were opening like flowers in spring they snapped shut with the force of Newton’s Second Law of a crocodiles jaw where things once become so intensely abhorrent are now merely shrugged and eye-rolled away with nothing more than an impersonal tweet, here today gone tomorrow but not really gone at all, fifteen seconds of disgust and disapproval preyed on by attention deficit junkies….

… but you don’t need me to tell you this…

… just when I thought the human race was growing up, coming of age, instead petulance is trending, roll up, roll up the freak show is about to commence and it’s coming to a government near you… or is more likely to be already there festering with intent to deceive and debilitate…. heralding a new age of so-called plurocracies masquerading as democracies where opposition voices are cynically discredited through state-sponsored slander, bullying, imprisonment, assassination, disturbingly mirroring the absolutist autocracies against which they claim a moral high ground thus ensuring the song remains the same, they just changed the names to protect the guilty… strangulation by degrees through social engineering, political agendas, extremist religion and good old-fashioned economics, or money to call a spade a spade… a little megalomania goes a long, long, long way and the imperialistic exploitation of the human psyche is alive and encouraging a fear of others, fear of change, cannon fodder for a cynical attrition…..

… but you don’t need me to tell you this…

… just when I thought the wall had finally come tumbling down it was just being re-pointed and given a new coat of paint… one might almost think we are willing into power the worst of the worst, an irresistible nihilism to how far the line can be pushed, how threadbare it becomes using politics as the PlayStation or Xbox for the frivolous, all for one and one for themselves and anti-climactic free-fall into apathy indulging indifference and resignation on the way down to plateau at stagnation… constipation?…

… welcome to the new millennium, same as the old millennium just with smartPhones.

© 2018 robert greig

indelible (10/May/18)

one of those days, a cauldron of exhaustion and incendiary, flammable, dangerous, overwhelmed and at the same time don’t care, resigned but about to shatter in a most dramatic, or melodramatic way… an unseemly, unsightly tension…… I should stick to writing haiku, constrained by syllables and convention… not in the way that twitter constrains, or strangles and suffocates in a forum for the frivolous to casually peddle knee-jerk prejudice and scattershot ephemera… see that jigsaw, the one on the floor in pieces, that’s my head…. angry, edgy, jumpy, impatient… what am I doing… here… making friends out of pixels, pixies, tiny little bits of fun with their peek-a-boo nature… attention-deficit junkies…… am I reading too much news, hearing too much news, knowing too much, can you know too much, isn’t knowledge a good thing, knowledge is power they say and yet so many in power seem to know so little and be running on tiny emotions and small-minded dogmatism… what am I doing wrong?…… perhaps nasty is the new black, be outrageous and suddenly you everyone’s bff…… I am my own worst enemy, said so casually… am I?… they do say “keep you friends close and your enemies closer still” but did they mean quite this intimately…… feels like atrophy…. rushed, pushed, squashed, tiny spaces, hung, drawn and quartered, hung out to dry, hanging on a nail… what of my entrails, what do they tell you, divine me something divine, anything even a lie as long as I believe it… but I won’t, cynical you see, not sure if I’m made that way or become so, nature/ nurture blah-blah-blah, don’t believe anything much, always one eye on the punch-line, waiting for it to stab me with its pencil in the eye… daren’t say anything as I know it’ll be the wrong thing, taken the wrong way, in the wrong tone, wrong-headed, wrong-minded… is there a difference?… when there’s nowhere to go where do you go?… inertia… motionlessly motion-sick … kick the air, punch the wall, shout at the moon (what does the moon care), turn my back only then I’d see what’s behind me, dogging my tracks, compelling me propelling me forward til there’s no more forward left… I can’t believe it’s spring already, another one, that’s how many now?… quite a few… do I want to know how many more there’ll be?… probably not… it’s better to burn out that to fade away…… tap, tap, tap the key make so much more noise than a pen, but the pen holds truths the keyboard can only dream of, or is terrified of, where it can delete, delete at a whim as it likes but the pen, the pen leaves every whisper in its wake, indelible…. how many will still be here by the end of this excuse for a blog, will no doubt find out soon enough I suppose…… draining, waning, flailing… they all rhyme, rhyming’s good, fun, seeing what rubbish is masquerading as clutter  today, see, I’m being mindful, with a mind full of nonsense… just because something makes no sense doesn’t make it nonsense…… it’s only worse when I close my eyes, relatively, it’s all relative, that’s the theory, I’m relative to you and you’re relative to me while at the same time not being related at all… unless it’s by six degrees, or however many tangents in a rhomboid… I see what you see but you see it differently…… I’m running out of…

© 2018 robert greig

fanfare for the common (1/May/18)

the month closed with little fanfare, none really, although spring was getting up a head of steam now with “seasonal average” and “seasonal norms” peppering weather forecasters banter as it’s determined to shake off the flakes of winter entrails however untidily it was becoming in the process…… the gardens were coming to life, greening, budding, leafing, no more birds than usual, usual being lots, but the composition has subtly altered in subtly altering ways… house martins were back (and I don’t mean the pop band), always before the swallows and getting a head-start on nesting, swooping, munching insects on the hoof, or in fact the air, and chittering as martins do in a chitterly fashion (and I don’t mean like the band)…… the mountains are masquerading as January ut it was clearly knock, knock, knockin’ on Mays door despite a defiant earlye in the mornin’ chill that’s insists in persisting… beware of drunken sailors…… another extraordinary high tide, full moon after all, goes with the territory so perhaps not so extra from the ordinary after all… equally remarkable neaps also at the lunar whims bare acres, or hectares if that’s your thing, of mud, seemingly lifeless brown goo pockmarked with an occasional wrecked remains of a boat long past it float-by date… but there be life and plenty of it, as the shelducks in their muddy element with testify as they hover their bills through the briny gunk… who’d be a shelduck having to eat that for breakfast?… well, a shelduck I suppose…… politics is continuing to go merrily to hell in a hand-cart while the streets bleed poverty from every pore and shop door… international relations are at an all-time low, or might just as well be, though there are odd but decidedly wary glimmers that may or may not turn out to be merely fool’s gold…… it’s lighter in the mornings and lighter in the evenings and yet… and yet everything feels heavier… it’s hard to keep up, so much to find amusing, in an unamusing and desperate way, you couldn’t make this stuff up, who’d have thought in 1999 the new so-called millennium would be this alarmingly absurd………… yet another blood test, and apparently I do have some after all, apart from the trickle they took from me, hope they left me enough… I did wonder…… the month of May, could be a political memoir, subtitled, one disaster after another…… cusps, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, they are always strange moments, worry not though it’ll be tomorrow soon……… …

© 2018 robert greig