Contradictions let them stay

Don’t think to reason them away

They are our Meatloaf, heavy metal

They are our carving irons and kettle


Salute their nightlight bright obscurities

Adore their sagacious efficacious absurdities

Amours, allures, propellers of sweet life

Of a sharper blade than any Bowie knife


There on a ledge a pledge tiptoes peep over

Empty abyss, a single kiss, a hand picks clover,

An emblem reminder, a controversial wonder

Hallmark of hung conundrums we live under


Levelling out the polkadotty mottled surface

Of oddities does no person general service

Elated, grateful, let them feather, fly, display, and go

Happy in seeing, and thinking not to know


Your need for carbuncles rumpling head’s sunk inner tube

So as to fit up the factoids as a standard rule

A ready rough measure, support against extremity

And something to savour, delectate; pure vanity


So severs the helix lacerates its thread

So as to magnify crown an encephalic head

To stand upon perfect proofs apropos; albeit sped

On blurted certitudes


Too fulsomely tootyfruity to sustain recount;

Even the laid out surface of this circlet wound about

The gladsome globe itself returns as object and a ground

Of vol-au-vent temerity, grand surveys it confounds


College is power say know by rote affiliations

Sanity dwells in paradigm-design white coats

Shored on a sore assurance; pregnant learning floats

Like continents


Passing into and passing from is all, and all things flow

Cardboard Canutes stood sentinel, en guard would seemly trow

Being known as knowing like an elevated upstarts crow

Interrupters of the tides, or rather make the show


Here can be knowledge unforgiving, ineffaceable

Unfaceable although traceable to Eden’s mortal sin

Fear of the fire inspires desires for fatal instruments

Which fire, it sires, engenders


Know what we know is nothing; insignificance

Salted and peppered, trussed up with impediments

Placed so to baste amongst a stew, as savour added

To a flimsy dish of pickled fish, is also known as – you


When all the razz is over, a pooped pavolva, bimbo’s donkey derby done

When we agree, unanimously, absolute exception none

Then we shall see, and ubiquitously, no palaver, nor yet conundrum

Everything, and that what is true lives, everything, in The Son

The Russian Gas

Let’s trace the ‘function’ of the National News Media. In my estimation the National News Media can be treated of, in regard to its function, in one generalised sweep.

The question of function can be asked as the question: ‘What does it do?’

I want to make a case, and I think it a very sound case, for saying that the National News Media is doing at best a job of maintaining outlooks and bolstering a sense of solidarity of outlook and attitudes amongst the British peoples.

t worst I believe it is an ineffectual thing and mostly fatuous. For a person not engaged in its milieu, the melee, the morass of ‘current affairs’ and so for a being  who is not ‘following events’; that is to say, from an outsider’s perspective; the National News Media looks like this.

What is its character?

Current affairs and events, which are the bread and butter of all news media, by definition and intrinsically arise in the present and fall away in the present; and betweentimes they are news but beforehand of course, and especially afterwards they are not news; afterwards they are yesterday’s news; which proverbially nobody wants from a news media source.

It follows then that News presentations to the public are ‘rolling stories’ which break, peak, and fading diminish – in interest, in consideration, in newsworthiness.  Rather than this rolling news being like a planet which orbits around another heavenly body, and so brings in the seasons and night and day and a great number of other regularities, being events which repeat themselves and which repeat themselves always in the same sequence; instead Rolling News is like a Space Probe sent out from earth and has been set on a trajectory by which eventually it leaves the Solar System altogether and goes on, indefinitely, into ever new territory, ever signalling back to earth data which is new and novel to people here.

This ever-new territory is able to provide such continuous and unique data because of what we call time is ever-passing from the present into future-presents; and actual particular events arriving are thus ever new and novel, in fact their arrival into presence brings anew a flow of new presents into existence, bearing things not seen or heard of ever before.  I am speaking here about our common human experience of the uniqueness of being and of each our own life experiences in living a life. In this sense even returning seasons are new and novel; but only by virtue of them coming and presenting in slightly different manifestations year on year. The cycle of the seasons otherwise is predictable and expected to occur by us; so that a headline such as ‘We had little rain in July’ is not newsworthy.

The present is ever with us as an ever-being-realised future which is expiring. Thus time in this sense is linear, just as news is in our experience.

So as we have said, events are very difficult in fact to predict, and so they often take us by surprise and so they have a sensationalist value to them; and also because they are revelations to us of unsuspected things they have an attraction for us in no small amount based on a surreptitious and salacious inquisitiveness of appetite.

News in fact can become a habit; and people can become news junkies. The popular magazines which carry a degraded form of news make little pretence that they are about gossip and sensationalism and about having ‘peeps’ into people of interest’s living rooms and bedrooms etc. In this regard they are merely the News Media taken to a further level of habit.

Thus things come and go as news in a linear fashion. And people can become hooked, junkies of news stories. Especially so I believe those persons who present to us our news; the journalists and TV and Radio presenters and newsreaders etc are clearly near all of them mainlining on news and its discussion.

News presentation then is subject to hype; as if very often it was merely another form of dramatic entertainment. Think of the obsessive music which prefaces news bulletins each hour on BBC News Channel on TV. Its effect is cumulative and it draws in one’s attention ever more deeply as it goes on; and with that ticking clock counting down the seconds to O’clock, which is also on screen whilst this music is pulsing in one’s head; there can be little doubt that news is being treated as if it were drama.

Furthermore, at the hour a loud chime of Big Ben sounds, together with some ‘momentous’ drum thumps, as a newsreader reads out almost shouting, a headline before another great BOINGGG! and then drum thumps and the next headline read out.

Think of news stories being offered to you without all this rigmarole; no short clips of various flack jacketed reporters in war zones across the world; or in a flood somewhere or at an explosion elsewhere: what would we have left were there no hyped build ups? Not much.  Nothing much to write home about.

So the presentation feeds expectation, anticipation, excitement, drama, the whole shooting match of rhetoric is applied with some force.

Yet as we have said; all this rigmarole is for literally ‘a creature of a day’; that news story which is buzzing and hot right now but which within a week will be cold toast.

What is going on: how can a story be so vitally important one day and then a few days down the line dead news?

Why the fuss; why the earnest 24/7 dramatised presentations; where is the purpose in it all?

Further when a person considers soberly what he or she is able to do about any situation suddenly arisen as say a National crisis or a fearful disaster; apart from staying indoors whenever it is likely to be affecting people around the hometown?  As for quelling it or opposing it or doing anything to abate its course on one’s own; very little if anything can be achieved.

Also, given that many initial reports of such breaking news items of horrors are confused and scanty; their information not very reliable, such considerations compound one’s innate impotence to do anything constructive on one’s own.

News of some (not really too) bad weather last week here stripped the shops of sugar, milk and several other basic commodities. A few days below zero with some snow panicked a Nation into hoarding groceries and fuel etc.  In many ways it would have been better for the News channels not to have hyped this pretty tame pet rabbit weather, and everyone still got sugar in the tea and milk.

At the moment we have a story going through the mill being ground up into digestible matter the news about the Russians and the poisoning of ex spies by nerve gas exposures etc.  I have heard no evidence that Russia was responsible, other than it was a Russian nerve gas which was involved. Nothing, not a sausage other than this has been broadcast; yet to all intents and purposes no-one on the TV and in most of the nation doubts but the Russians did it.  Trial and conviction without jury; a metaphorical lynching

What appears to be happening with this story; and it is a commonplace occurrence with stories concerning government and outrages occurring on British sovereign soil; the focus of the story, which has ever been only hesitantly on the victims of the nerve gas, has now altogether shifted so as for it to be about the ‘outrage’ of the Russian’s audacity to have done such a thing on Sovereign British soil.  Like Lady Macbeth at King Duncan’s death being discovered, our Prime Minister and her cohorts are screaming loudly in concert as chief and first response ‘What, in our house!”

The furore going on is on the boil about Russia. It is necessary for the politicians the ruler governors that it goes on and is broadcast and written about across the nation as often as possible, for the time being. Its being bruited violently abroad like this is I do believe so as to be sheer ‘window dressings’  and as such all part and parcel of those drums thumping and that BOINGG! going on.  Like Shakespeare’s Hamlet the government is at ‘unpacking its heart like a whore’ by screaming ‘foul play in our backyard’ from the rooftops; and it feels it needs to be seen to be doing this by the British Nation. This is the government’s ‘adequate response’ to this fancied ‘outrage’.

This is a purpose the News Media serves; of showing the British peoples by way of arms waving in wild gesticulation, that the government is busy, is on the case, and governing.

It is not that almost embarrassing ‘ultimatum’ given by our government to Russia to ‘explain’; nor is it the kicking-out of 20 or more diplomats from the London Embassy and flown back to Russia; nor is it in fact the posturing and the fancy footwork and the dramatic role play and this rhetoric bandied about like sweeties at a kid’s party; none of this is important to Russia, nor to our government as an actual response towards Russia; but it is all done to be of purpose ‘smokes and mirrors’ for the benefit of home consumption.  It is all ‘retaliation being seen to be done’ by we British News freaks.

Such an approach secures the government its position as government in the eyes of the Nation. It also in large part is a handling of this affair by a government bankrupt of ability, and of measures to respond to Russia adequately, and of any daring or nerve to respond adequately, had a real response been possible.

It is, has been, will be conducted by government as it being a Perfect Storm – in a teacup.  The whole art of government in Britain now is descended into such shows and pageants; just as it has done so in USA.  I do believe that many people who have found themselves in government have no beliefs; I mean not beliefs in free markets or productivity – there’s far too much of that; but beliefs in life values, life goals, life purpose.

Thus they find themselves ‘like sheep gone astray’ and so they know that they are unable to formulate a proper a considered and adequate and effectual response or stance on these issues arising. In short they are floundering; and they feel and know that they are.

These beliefs are what our Nation is in lack of; hence its obsession with rolling news and rolling magazine gossip and rolling soaps and rolling reality shows; glued wholly to what is current and totally at sea with anything not ‘in vogue’.

In Britain these days one is not able to go to the toilet in a store facility without one having the store radio station throwing music at you and offering you bargains right now in store whilst you relieve yourself. So much do we demand and supply constant rubbish activity, and stuffs to pad out and so engage any stray consciousness we might use to raise a query about our lives. The scenario reminded me never so much of anything as it did of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and of the prescience of Douglas Adams.

I do believe, us having no beliefs, we are afraid to allow the music to stop. for the music to stop would signify to us a Hawking-like Black Hole into which we fear falling.  Like Hawking’s Black Holes though; the fear and the event of falling are fictions we fear are truths

The situation is as though we had been transported to an island called the present; divorced from the past and separated from the future and we subsist in our minds solely and wholly in one single dimension of time’s three dimensions. No escape. Not enough education. Too much nurturing people to become entrepreneurs, or to become vocational professionals, or to be mere hands in factories and in service provision.

News media and current affairs as they are right now are atrociously ridiculous. Right now day after day Radio and TV presenters politicians and governors of Britain speak in public and daily are showing their inadequacy to hold their positions in life; by way of the historical and other factual goofs they make regularly, habitually; by their lack of grasp of fairly straightforward English language; by their ideas and suggestions put as means to solve social or political problems; their farrago of errors is in part shameful to be witness to, and also it feels sadly wry and embarrassing to think on what the rest of Europe thinks of us.

A silly pretty insignificant nation talking above its strength and unable to pull rank or to flex muscle. I am glad of this – I don’t support us warring with other nations, not as aggressors as we have done in the last 20 or 30 years.  I am glad God has taken away our capacity to destroy so wantonly – we abused our capacity.

I do believe our government believes it is governing by way of the furores it makes on foreign policy and other issues. In actuality its response times and its take up of issues of import and urgency and so which are actually really pressing, is appallingly poor and is badly at sixes and sevens.

The Russians are able to mock our government and our government’s responses, and able to do so with absolute knowledge and certainty of complete impunity.  Russia, if it is indeed responsible for the nerve gassing of people on British soil, has offended so many of us, but not for the callous cynical murders and attempted murders, no, only for its cheek and presumption in having done so.  Thus our petty and facile natures are exposed like public laundry.

Today’s Tragedy

Just heard a programme on TV speaking about Ancient Greece and interpreting the events, mostly of Athenian history of the 5th century BC through the lens of the, mostly Athenian, drama.

The airing of such a programme presented for its narrator academics an absolutely Golden Opportunity to train that same lens on political and social activity here in Britain (and in the USA) as it is muddling on right now today.

It was a BBC programme; and the BBC has a charge, a duty, not written down but yet more imperative than are mere words, laid upon it by its position as the State Natoinal Broadcaster funded by the people. This charge, this duty being the welfare of the people it serves, and who are the source of its funding and the audiences of its services.

The learned Classical scholars extolled with some gusto and an amount of vicarious pride the allowance of The Athenian State to its dramatists and to its people as a whole (the citizens that is) a liberty of very broad freedom of speech. The learned scholars were at pains to point out the ways in which Athenian dramatists used this freedom of speech so as openly and before the very persons aimed at, so to castigate and rigorously criticise them as politicians, and also the social trends, the fashions and the moods and the actions and decisions of the Demos (the Athenian citizens as a body).

There followed a great deal of broad Athenian history, beginning at the Persian Wars and running down to the Pelopennesian War; and as this history and the programme went along the dramas (which we today have surviving from that time and that place) were referred to and related to those events and actions and attitudes.

All very well.

Here was a bunch of scholarly persons commenting and expanding on, even extolling Greek life, and in particular lauding this openness of Athenian Society of that age, as seen in the Athenian drama and elsewhere; and this bunch of scholarly persons being a group paid, again from the public purse; educated by the State, paid for by the people (at least in large part), and who are holding secure prestigious positions of consderable remuneration and privilege; again all publically endowed upon them; and yet this group clearly ducked this very rare but clear chance to speak in more direct terms to the present and to its dreadful states of affairs in many areas of our society today, but perhaps most particularly in government.

Thus the message coming from this privileged bunch was, for those educated sufficiently to read it, that these scholars were going to be too cautious to rock the boat; too circumspect to put their principles and admirations on the line and so use them, just as they so admire the Ancient Athenians for having used them; in pursuit of castigating and holding to public account the utter shambles and the ignorance and interia and incapacity and heedlessnes, and much more, of our political people in power and in parliament, as they are behaving today right now, and in our daily affairs.

These not alone. The group of scholars might have considered when they discoursed knowingly about how one old Athenian playwright used his works to put before the people of Athens what are the terrible results and effects which redound upon their doers, of shabby and woolly thinking; of thoughtless animosity and callous brutalites, so that the scholars might have made it absolutely crystal clear to anyone watching their show that yes, we too are like as were the Athenians; quick to jump to condemn and to use force and so crush opposition; thoughtless and ill-reasoning beings; led by seductive (untruthful, muddled, cunningly contrived) arguments and down the garden path to a future waiting to rebuke and to chide us for our licencious follies. Just as were the Athenians rebuked and chided by their subsequent history once their sense of themselves had also overstepped the marks of justice and due consideration.

Very markedly this show on TV gingerly avoided any metaphysical background of the Greeks or the Athenians; all instances drawn from the drama were kept very firmily political, empirical, historical; as if these scholars were saying to their audiences that there is nothing of importance besides these material and empirical areas of investigation. This presentation of thought on British TV and Radio and also in our newspapers and in our discussion magaizines is the standard practice in these times; and by tacit agrement amongst those who would have it that they know about such things, any metaphysics is proscribed, usually considered by them to be irrelevant and for some strange reason, dangerous.

This show on Athenian drama then was merely folowing a commonplace status quo in regard to the scope of its subject matter; and also in its levels of real engagement to do good and so atempt by direct reference to improve things it was deliberately silent; and it shied away from any actual gracious mordant controversy or critique of ‘modern times’.

And so these scholars were as it were holding up the recovered treasures of Ancient Athenian life and showing them off to their publics and saying how wonderful they were; but then instead of distributing the knowledge of how to use them to advantage right now, and so maybe giving half-a-chance to our nation for it to pull itself out of this serious nose dive it is making into the ground of hard factual repercussions for delinquent behaviours; instead the treasures were wrapped up and put away by the guys and dolls into a study or a lecture room or a seminar in some place far remote from street life in Britain, from governance, simpy because: why?

Well, these guys and molls are just another part of the problem; they are of the opinion that the trajectory in which we are headed is AOK. Kick religion and metaphusics into touch; micromanage an under-educated mass of citizens; provide distractions; muddle through; etc etc all will be just dandy. What is it these guys and dolls are lacking then? Not intelligence perhaps, or foresight, or even discernment; but what?

I’ll tell you my opinion.

These people could have made a good deal of difference for good and they ducked it. They no doubt had seen these great posibilities but either tacitly and silently agreed together not to bring them to life; or else spoke about them and poohpoohed them, probably derided them. Not our business. Our business is to refer to remote times and to study them and have nothing to say on today’s disaster area called Britain.

As the Lord Jesus said: They ‘walked past on the other side’.

Their lack? That awareness of that very metaphysic to which they deny airtime and even refuse an acknowledgement of it existence. Their beliefs put them in a jail of incredulity, of presumption, of pride, of acceptance of things as they are; a kind of listless Beckett-like and Sartrean-type gloom and doldrums, which they recognise as being definitively the human condition.

The real villains of the piece are the values and the assumptions which come into place in lieu of the spiritual values which these sorts of persons utterly deny headroom to. What is there left, when one denies Christ or any and every realm beyond the mundane and sublunary, but these sordid statements; ‘Might is Right’ and ‘Eat, drink and be merry; for tomorrow we die’ and ‘Life is short brutish and nasty.’ and suchlike.

And to where does such currency lead but inevitably to a) nihilism and thereafter b) premiership of the self and one’s ego; and if I may make a Grand Statement: THIS IS ALL OUR TROUBLE.

Hence it makes aboslute sense in the world these scholars inhabit, not to go out on a limb and risk one’s career or one’s neck in a bold and generous essay to enlighten peole watching their programme. Instead audiences are getting a rareified and remote; wholy dissassociated acount of ancient history; like as though the public was in urgent need of being able to drive but was instead shoved in a back seat and strapped in. No windows to see through.

It makes absolute sense for these scholars to present their show in this way because there is for them, and in their opinion, no higher court than one’s own opinion and no higher good than one’s own welfare. Ipso facto QED.

And why do they think like this? Because they do not expose themselves to the beauty and truth and love and wholesomeness of the Lord as the gospels speak of him. His words and life are to these contemporary people, like as to so many of us right now, a closed book.

The Light of the World, The full and final Revelation of God; The Saviour; The Holy One; The Vine; The Water of Life; He who is so wonderful in what he has done for us and left for us to cling to as solace and hope and as guidance for life, to live it so as to be in accord with His will, in charity and sweetness and light, and in humility and due reasonable service: none of this is in their vocabularies, in the mentalities of these would-be knowing and assured mentors to the world.

Had they had and shown just a little sensitivity to our Lord’s life and teaching; maybe we should have been given a programme which actualy was worthwhile learning from?

Sunday Religion


I heard a woman speak and offer searching questions on

The radio today:

Why is it we exist; why are we here?

My spirit leapt; at last! A voice is primal-seeking

For substance-meaning, life-intentionality.

Ah, me,


This veritable she

Was perorating gravely on her business goals.

Thus it was Sunday listening; post-truth, and being broached

In gauche post-modern style, its unaccomplished mush

And so I thought to write you down this due consideration


Once would there be, and prompt and early, across the nation

A mighty chime to sound out nine, signing the Station

With solemn mind announces time to broadcast likely

Faith-elevated Doctors of considerable sorts,

Them shedding light in general


In those unheard of days, the audience house-trained, taught;

There was the Third, then there was Light, but with the Home

These trinity stopped work and rested on the Sabbath day.

A cornered market – no, in fact, there was no market


The time of Radio 1 and such had not yet come. The jolly pops

From dawn till dawn interminate did not prevail

An only lonely ghostly distant eerie young-like thing purturbed

At nights the waves with white noise, driftings in and out


Where gormless Horace Batchelor would his ruse, his rules purvey

Which guaranteed the gormless listener wins ‘the football pools’;

Another dated phantomesque phenomenon.

Hucks will remember Luxembourg, with squirming warm affection


Ah, simple days, the days when things were seemly sure

Less calculated, more ramshackle, done with much more feeling

The light bulbs dazzled had no shades, uneven ceilings

Slanted; we called it home


Soon was to come – a few years down the line, and yet

Some time before the BBC moves, and reneges to pop

A band of seaward privateers’ rave music; floating shops,

Airwaves with hoardings


These gondoliers at sea (in following money) interposed

Anchored offshore in creaking scrapyard dhous regaling loudly

Daily to local audiences, peppered ads in pandemonium

Of jaunty raunchy music; throngs adored them, heartwards moored them


To first choice to be tuned-to, to hear new emergent singles.

Profuse a BBC bruised haemorrhaged listeners; siren-lures

Having the nation swept from its stalwart standard stuff

And soon by mainforce called, a rapid radio rethink urged


Note the nice art, a canny sort pushed primal force for change

Blithely had gamed things so to go unnamed, indeed had feigned

Had made this phrase: ‘youth-culture, its permissive revolution’;

To overshadow business breaking bad on Redifusion


In fiftysix or seven ITV first breathed, phoned home,

A television channel off the leash, no statesman’s watchdog

Its scheme brought in commercial funds, a copious subsistence

From trifling fancies dressed up nice; mass advertisements


Hot driving seat in living rooms from Bath to Berwick

An instant life change broached from Roche to Lerwick

Its upstart god sprung fully-armed from out the head of commerce

Nor else to be rehoused


Alas, beforehand hegemony made Beeb a sole provider

Customer satisfaction not invented, thus allowed their call,

The scatter of the schedules, broadcast platters of the day,

And people sat and watched or listened, whiled tediums away


Thus Sundays stood yet honoured not in breach but

The observance; and manners, kind polite consideration

Were sweet survivors, the empiric strength of British passions

In great measure respect the essential cue to do religion


Observe commerce was actual nurse and agent blaring boombox

Of overwhelming hectic musics, TV hogmanays

Danced every day from dawn to dusk in civic roundelay

With candied added value:


Broad brags of trade marks cauterise brand listeners’ brains

‘Take anything you want’ said fair concupiscent refrains

Regular as like taxes, death, their come-ons kept on coming

Filing the ears with reared desires: Get ideal homes NOW: Stunning!


And fancy goods, new plastics, Addis, entroviaform,

A world was being opened, prised, by manufactured toys

Jingles in peoples’ hearts were playing on their serial sighs

Releasing passions’ fires, desires; their inmost lurid demons


The thing took off, in avalanche took over common reasons

Ballooned a topsy-turvey land inperative pretension

And expectation, air-castles of dissociation throned

Lusts’ musts above one’s income


These then the borders reivers, buccaneers of creeded hearts

When seeded billion pollens, wrung de gustibus contortions

Astute extortions brash supplanted widespread graced decorum

Allowing kowtow


And crazy chaos, craven customer solicitations

Eliciting by effect ‘anything goes’; and so a rose

By any other name called freedom, stole by traction

In, and brought in faction, leading license by the nose.


The shops, the pops, the over-shoulder hanging locks

Stores, supermarkets, cash and carrys overflows of boose

Open all day, all you can eat, the bottomless coffee cup;

Excess’s palatial wisdom missed its mark, gave us the slip


Instead was bred overplus great furror for ‘one’s inspiration’

And reverend ‘creativity’ the ‘arts and stuff’; the fashion

A renaissance heralded, foreclosed, indulged, poetics

The world, alack, expressed themselves, purloined their fifteen minutes


The planet heard, was vitalised, began monetise our visits

First Spain and The Ballaerics, Greece; ..ah, no, not Aquitaine

Too near, expensive, Aquitaine, set on a merry plane

To Spain we bundled money down its main proverbial drain


Yearly our peregrinations made fast-forward hyper-gains

(Do note my use of idiom; selling fervent latest names

Of cool consumerism; branding-led entcements’ party games

Deck out the passage)


The forward destinations exponentially now ranged

And Florida becomes passē, Antarctic’s silent waste

Or Andean Cordillera give rough remote terrains

In our visions high momentous hove such epic paradigms


Backdrops on which to paint our ‘there’s no limits’ frenzied faze

There are two a penny cruises, let’s process in two by two

Along with psychic holidays from (being my contention)

Comensurate engagement with a ravaged state of things


Our grand New Zealand visit, ah, of course, Lord of the Rings,

And Mechico, Tequilla, drug cartels meet murderers

Safe gated mansions, herded in, with shopping malls hereto

We tour the goldfish bowl!


Our living packaged, plasticised, and fibre enervate

Clinically sanitised of course, aesthetically authentic

Swimming in a la carte we glide from furthest shore to shore

Expecting and perplexing, ever self-assured


Soul-lowly hungry Olivers thrust begging bowls out candid

Niggardly tourist passers-by go rogue in togs top-branded

Suffer few coppers flung among, their greasy palms to blandish;

Fairweather Pharisees


Meantime on British shores perpetual marketplaces bulge

Malls pouring through rude customers, cram brimming overstocks,

Ultra-production’s super-saturated sponge in groundswell

Proliferates abounding


A risen surge, such malls had prised an open chink with fists

Which riven, and given early to ITV; pop radio;

Wore flaws, applause a nation roared, so coursed a holy cause:



Its ecumenical secular soaring ubiquity

Gave global wayside shrines, set up with icons brave

And running mad disciples pilgrimaging clustered brawls

Regaling spoiled resources


Surreal: in serial, social, mayhem earth’s resources hauled

Into the trash pond grandly in a throwaway mad mode

Aeons of decades dump waste refuse into lifeblood seas

The wealth of earth attainted unashamedly


Anon along with mirth a ton of cursive dispossession

Alike been squandered, laundered, on our sunny jamboree

Has hit the deck, or rafters, like last chance saloon bartenders;

Our Sunday suits got crumpled


Like those machines which gobble up our splendid fumefree cars

Issue their metal boxes, crushed, a mess, like our lame days

Comfort confines us likewise, then next straight we goes our ways

Into a wooden casket


Sundays were freed, unfettered, but their term dreadfully dull

Suddenly all distraction ceased, fell great industrial rest

Everything closed except for Church, from Aldershot to Hull

Time’s nomads stranded


Argives becalmed on shores awaiting embarkation winds

Feeling delay right heavy, waiting weighing spirits down

Nonetheless drear ennui its patent wholesome scourge effected

And rebel sorts considered


Clash of the Titans pitches held no teleported sway

Cash of the Raybans hovered still some six decades away

Nor a collateral clatter broke alarmingly each day

We turn our calendars


Enstamped another senior mode was franked by gratitude

A harbour-bar prospective shimmered elsewhere, lit horizons

Death strewed a light, and Sunday silence plumbed it sounding

Impromptu on it


Unwelcome day then Sunday, empathised as death companion

Locus The Church itself bore faithfully among its grounds

Sunday then, messenger, brought bad news conscious foremost –

So shoot it down


Foster palava, drown with sentient onboard raid incursions

Throw out Messiah with His Sea of Gallilee

Go expurgate life, then instate insatiate yens elsewhere;

This chair?


Footware? Or drive-by shooting holiday? Have an affair?

All the regalia paraphernalia whose hallmark flogs obsession

Possessions and acquisitions told in Legion manifest

Contestants for this turf are manifestly extreme unction


Knockabout, throwitout, no tomorrow Saturnalias

Daily shillelaghs, accordions, ukeleles, ceilids

Noise for the boys, twirled parasoles for girls;

Meanwhile real-life sore wars bankroll a planet


Incident days come in and bearing brandished urgent colour

Manic swing flashing lights, slip-tags bright messages on fastenings

Chucking delights at acolytes excited like hyped children;

Kind winning voices


Selling, extolling, excelled in cultivation, going maundering

On strolls inconsequential; absence strewed amongst the lilac fields

Soft-scented fined imaginings wind a pungent garland;

Comatose, and you feel a million dollars


Everyone’s up for everything in this vaunted pastoral

Golddiggers, action-figures, up for millionnaires

Impudence streaming, passes round the sweatmeat cream eclairs

Groomed for impugning


The actuality of solid matter-of-fact:

Oh, what a tawdry world we live in – what we make of it

Make stinking-fish of religion, and then attribute its doors

With wars, destructions, drop it in the junk room


Pass it away, inter it. Dance, devour life’s action, serve it!

Putting away oneself, one’s best election promise

Out of a wassail bowl pour off full stoup of tribulation

Raise up your knees


Let’s all go round and round in hula-hula stupor schmooze

Hopelessly thinking nothing, nothing thinking stands to lose

Carving up glories of the earth, a theme park run amuck

There’s naught religion gives us matters like the monster truck


Our ends are all economic, money matters satistify

Easing this nightmare whisper, a carpet lifting on the stair

As wanton winds make an entry, send up loathsome chilly air

Caught on the chest, come contrary, appalling Bacchic cheer


A session of concession gives respite, prorogues the day

Semesters thence forthcoming find despite another way

Scattered with thorns laid acrid bare, embraced and laced with tears

Harbinger confirmation, evidence to all your fears


Passing on rotten batons, futures going to unfulfilling

Hear resonate in backwoods ungent anastasia trilling

Is it a demon, does it bode contrition, something billing?

Acute Salvation


Takes up your arm, salutes you, illywhacker; able willing

To take a side, and know the side you take’s the winning

Because provides a gift of love forever; forever-forgiving; thrilling!

The Lord, The Lord, is lowly.

We Shall be Known Hereafter

We shall be known hereafter, dreadful breakers, mayhem makers,

Overreaches, overtakers

In the groove of stalking planet earth, like skulking leather predators

Hoving around, moved to compound, its goodly sphere; abandon’s devastators

Nothing revered, no, nothing, nothing holy


Everything lowly, commonplace, trips trifling en passant

Whisks in that famous fifteen minutes glibly mildly away

As everyone’s gift-wrapped peep, attention-span


An age in which the niggards think themselves The Man

In their private hearts, whose glittering parts are contraband

Ending in the can


Takers of too, too, much, exploiting several, all the futures

Of heritage, and this the now; a ransacked trade resource

Ruled open-season


Beyond good reason

We do not even feed our have-nots gracefully. Some go

Without, but others, they get gouts, and blow out elephantine.

Scoop up stout


Bland stoups of goodies ever filling waste-bin hoppers

With oddities, sprayed shocking pink potatoes, pull in spent out shoppers;

As clods of clay in Africay go gnawing husk; remainders


Our rotten fruits demonstratively shall declare our works

We cannot, dare not open-up ourselves, summon compassion

That way bare weakness lies, brings down on us derision


Believes our vision: prisoners of our own defaults; and pinioned

By told opinion, sold, given over, to the venal self

To the shops, the sex, the holidays, those weirdo neoprenes


As like to our strewed litter do we dissipate our days

Clogging the oceans, landscapes, on the beaches centre-stage

Unsightly rolls; death-warrants sealing our touch curse


Work prophesies, betoken nudges, jog contingency

Into profusion here and now; the rest’s content illusion

Ecology can cope, we like to soap, the systems stand robust;



Confusions in our brains effect us not see it

Blown inwardly, scope fails upon what staggers there

Our constant holiday thingy spins-out desert-island enclosures

Refuses to avail us


Assailed by tropes, hysteria, clung to common iron idols

Pining in our delights, our slight identities depend

On pay-for-later raptors, brokers ineffectually sure-

Shot smoothers-over, sink us into shifting sands


Ours are the Emperor’s New Clothes, cataleptic Never Lands;

Feed troves of catastrophic fineries and pokey trinkets;

Cursed and nursed, cajoled, conflated


Badlands are plagued by harbingers of famines, forced pretensions

All expectations turn round straight to consternation; dagger

Our pomp whenever chequered weathers wester, interposing,

And can’t deliver


We have no sense; no tense or tenor, scope or common context

Our days are centrifuged along a winners-take-all vortex

Self-made, are wreckers, wrecked by thinking haughty creeds


Our palisades no longer stand, lie garbaged on the ground

Onetime on these was hung our stout assurance, aegis old

Now rudely we make shelter makeshift, huddled in a fold:

Behold society!


Cliquing together, thronging destitutes en mass

Uncritical, unconstrained, we place disaster at the door,

Raise warzones of our own, admit them supplement hard nature,

Bearing with their continuance, ponder no comeuppance


Wrecks we’ve wreaked on ourselves, the savagers of Gaia

Too derelict and cowardly gladly shunning homely fact

Cover ups cowl us cowering; misbehaviour under cloaks

Denies it all


Unwilling of a remedy, couched comfortably in languish

Pained at the pitch of heaving seas fobbed offloads of our trash

Oceans of plastics, magnitudes of wastrel wandering gulag:



All ours, to those who come, engenders death

Backlogs from generations, those who skulk in disregard

Abrupt a curse of nemesis cascades in avalanche

Of maelstrom legacy


Lost to ourselves; ourselves have lost the noble highway,

Lo, we did think to handle, angle, wrangle, for ourselves

Instate a twopenny takeover despoiling nature’s groves

We two-bit hustlers


Backs to the future, faces to marketplaces,

Solidly going-alone on autocratic power thrones

Stones become gold return again slowly to lowly stones

Wash-up fordone washed-up on sterile shores


Thinking to think containment over nature seized

By purse we capture worlds that we secure allures delights

Yet something is greater here than ransomed infrastructures:

It is our humble Lord


On earth is he heritor, provident cosmic stakeholder

Investor invested, dressed in bleeding tender charis

Whom by us never should have been rebuked, nor crossed, forsaken

Wonderful Counsellor, pastor-protector, dear directing hand

“By their fruits; so shall ye know them”: OR: Our Designs are Whom we Are

I wrote recently a few verses on automobiles and their shapes and about how these shapes reflect an outlook assumed to be conducive to selling cars by their manufacturers; and which shapes do seem to have become successful economically for these makers.

The shape in particular which so many manufacturers have gone for is a general one which tends to their portray cars as being as if ‘predatory animals’ engaged in hunt and so brightly alert and ready to pounce. This of course is a figure of speech of mine, and it describes a general impression taken from the tendency of the latest cars to be in profile sloping downwards towards the front and their window lines and their other lines also sloping to meet this dipping profile; as if it were that extrapolated these lines would meet about 20 or 30 foot in front of the car.

Such a design, I tried to say, I believe tells us about whom we might be, and how we see ourselves; and in this case concerning car design, it tells us that as drivers we want to be seen at least to be assertive, thrusting, fast, and ‘a cool player’ on the road. And this is an important factor in what sells cars, because it is what appeals to many drivers at the present time.

I now want to extend these theses about cars to our use of design on consumables, products and services, in general; and to show, I hope, how design (and other conventions, dresses, packaging) in its details reflects our presuppositions and our prepossessions as consumers, and so is affecting our day to day interplay with others in society.

I have come to believe that almost all of the design and ‘get-up’ we make and meet with in daily life is indicative; indicative of our mental states and so more broadly, I see design as showing us whom we think we are; individually, as societies and as sentient human populations.

The best approach to explaining myself to you and at the same time beginning to argue my case is I believe to offer you one by one a number of specific and telling examples; ones which would be hard for you to disagree with concerning what I suggest are their subliminal statements, and maybe also their attractions to us.

First up: Superhero Movies.


Superhero movies clearly are highly stylised and so have been intensely subjected to ‘angled presentation’ from a deign perspective. Their technical elements include:

  • Much use if CGI
  • Much use of fast action
  • Short shot scenes
  • Close ups
  • Mock-ups of apocalyptic destruction
  • Busy ‘dynamic’ mood music background
  • A super-suit and other ‘hero’ paraphernalia
  • A dominant public role/presence in society
  • Much mayhem and continuous action


Superhero movies have only surfaced as a trend in the past 20 or 30 years. What is now achievable technically in visual and other effects has been one leading driver of their emergence. But why not the ballet, the opera, etc; which has almost equal potential to benefit likewise from use of technical movie effects?

The answer is obvious; ballet and opera are very much so minority delights and the numbers of their followers are insufficient to fund a use of expensive state of the art equipment skills and personnel to put them onscreen as fully fledged fantasies.

From this observation we can infer that Superhero movies are and have to be popular entertainments; in order for them to be profitable investments for their backers.

Thus these types of movie, them having to be popular, to some extent then they are required to appeal to popular tastes and also at the same time in some degree they also are helping set popular trends. They thus are feeding trends into society as well as subsisting for their enjoyment upon trends already prevalent there. No-one would disagree with this I think.

It is of note that Superhero movies are almost all based on comic book stories and ideas; comic books which once were, in the UK at least, 50 years ago when I was young, almost an exclusive preserve of child or maybe teenaged readers. The important thing is that once these ideas and superheroes appealed almost only to minors who of a course possessed only immature outlooks and behaviours.

A question then arises: why has their audience moved over the years and so broadly into a population which is adult and by the law is considered mature responsible and fully-developed?

Now some great works of art have in the past been buried in the mists of their times;  the works of Vivaldi for instance were ‘rediscovered’ in the 20th century more or less solely at first by Ezra Pound, poet and companion in versifying to the great T S Eliot.

So is this late entry into the popular lists for Superhero movies a belated general public recognition of the quality of those once kid’s-only comic stories?  And this question carries in along with it another related question: Can stuff which was extremely widely read by millions of juniors, and at first intended more or less as only ‘junk’ consumption; rise to a level in a space of 50 years so as to be on a par in artistic value to say The Four Seasons or The Gloria?  Is public perception of their enjoyment and value sufficient for them to be set beside Vivaldi’s works; or is there something missing from this suppositional situation?

You might be beginning to see how this question of design, as it is presently done and enjoyed by us today, bears upon and opens up like a can of worms a host of knotty conundrums to be considered upon?

Had we to say that yes, there remains something yet lacking to fill up the space between the eminence of the works of Vivaldi and the meteoric rise to broad enjoyment of Superhero movies; then we should be in danger, given the former status of these heroes as being as children’s literature, of heading in a direction which suggests a possibility that our peoples in society, and so society itself, has moved towards a rather more callow and immature state of being over the years?

That package of bulleted technical characteristics I marshalled into a list above here is a package which is likely to appeal very much to children; lots of spills and melodrama, action, push-and-shove, colour, lights, busyness and noise; not far off a straight out cartoon show such as the old Hanna Barbra stuff used to be.

(Since the 1970s in UK – and elsewhere, for they come from elsewhere also – cartoons have been considered to be for adult consumption also. Family Guy, The Simpsons, Max Headroom, Spitting Image are just a few.  These too seem to have ‘grown up’ or else their audiences have ‘rejuvenated’?)

This acceptance into the adult fold of Superhero movies and of cartoons has been accompanied by an addition of ‘adult content’ to them. These additions in the main have been of a cynical and amoral kind, brusque and strongly-assured in opposition to and in criticism of what might be termed (a little on the soft side) as being traditional Christian values. These are values which once had been widespread, and paid lip service to out of fears of ostracism, even by that minority who would have had them abolished.  Although today’s world in UK sees these values daily being openly disregarded, rubbished, attempted quashed, and labelled dead, and redundant.

This is happening in– as they would have it – the highbrow press and media, as much as it is in the popular news and views, Christian values are non gratia passé items.

So, nowadays we watch movies and cartoons which once were considered children’s viewing; only with an element added of somewhat tainted and cynical content, specially for we adults to consume.

These cartoons and movies remain very much ‘dressed-up’ in the same manner as they had been ‘dressed up’ formerly for kids – see my list of bullets above.

What then might the adoption by adults of this set of design features mean culturally and socially for us as a people?

Does it mean for instance that we have seen clearly that there is no high or low in art or in behaviour, or in the presentation of elements and so of their design; that all art and all behaviour is AOK unless the law intervenes, or has potential to intervene? As said John Lennon, are we then to say: ‘Whatever gets you through the night”?  Are we now thus liberated from our former restrictions and so have we come to feel and to see that hectic exuberance and erratic behaviour is cathartic and so is able to ease the tensions of the day for us when we watch them on screen?  With nothing in us having been lost or altered?

And that other stuff, such as Vivaldi, let it be good, our crash bang Superhero movies are just as good. John Lennon again ‘Nothing is real; there’s nothing to get up about’?

These examples of Superhero movies and of adult cartoons are just two in common circulation amongst those tens of thousands of patterns for design which are popular, and made popular by us, in the present day. Some more areas are:


  • PC games
  • Fantasy Warrior fiction books
  • Car design
  • Architectural design
  • Advertising of products/services
  • Exotic Holidays/Cruises
  • Technologic Equipment
  • Clothing
  • Partying Peripherals
  • Gambling/Casinos
  • Medicines/Salves etc
  • Treatments
  • Tanning
  • Tattooing
  • Massage
  • Exercise Gyms
  • Sports Equipment
  • Sport in General
  • News and views
  • Paper Magazines
  • TV Shows


All of these things, which together comprise, for most of us, most of our lives, are similarly ‘levelled’ so as to have acquired an acceptance which say 50 years beforehand they did not generally possess in people’s minds.  This acceptance is not a gain of ‘respectability’ nor of a ‘rise in aesthetic or moral value’ of any kind; and indeed all such values as respectability and ethos etc have become very much so no-go areas for us, and are gone.

Instead have come into favour such things as ‘renowned notoriety’ and ‘assured pushy aggressiveness’; and being self-engaged (having “attitude”); and in general being careless of incident (stuff happens), all things now being ‘par for the course’  so that ‘anything goes’, and so on etc. This all together might umbrella-ed under one word: ‘cool’.

I think maybe our prosperity and our relative political freedoms have possibly made us revert so as to have become once again infantile somewhat, and so we have become retrograde in our development as a people.  So much so that once carefully cautious radio stations which would have been prudent about the limits of what might be used in public (swearing, obscenities, grossness, and so on) now let pass some of the most distasteful remarks and options as  being in accord with their standard practices. And allowed in any part of the broadcasting day also

And are we not hypocrites when we stop the ears of our children and scold them for their language and words and behaviours, yet we glibly feel no compunction about ourselves allowing into our consciousness thoughts expressed publicly by others which are appalling and make one feel besmirched even from just having heard them said?

Our design criteria manifestly demonstrate our parlous state. There are the ‘pagan’ architectural lusts for display of personal or else corporate or civic power and for stamping that power into a landscape – the shard, the gherkin and other blemishes.

There is a trend for wearing clothes which are ripped and shabby as being the height of fashion; a trend which shows to me that we have become a people who has forgotten how it was to have to dress in such a fashion because the wealth was not there to back-up one’s folly.  Likewise casinos and gambling are a glitzy and enticingly advertised confidence trick; supported avidly by government for the tax return income it provides the government. These things are simply a tax on the poor; the very persons most adversely influenced by all this ‘return to immaturity’ we have embraced.

The national hysteria, one which has been created by and since orchestrated by commerce and government so as to become for us an adoration of all things sport and sportspersons; this is likewise a wheeze by which vast sums of ordinary people’s money is siphoned off into pockets with too much money in them already.  It is nothing more than a vast diversion from what is far more real urgent and rewarding – which is called life.

Clubs, merchandise, regalia, outfits, followings, collections, publications, clothing, everything sports-centred in garish and scattergun offers and marketing; and all done with a huge ungenerous tongue in cheek by The Big Players in commerce who are using us, abusing us, and laughing up their sleeves at us; thus they rub salt into the wounds.

I sometimes think we ordinary people are merely used as fodder, for our purchasing power and our productivity at work; marshalled by Boards and Chairpersons so as to be mis-educated into being their bankrollers as consumers; and that we are given by them no more or better thought. I feel that they are an insult to us and that we just do not, will not, see that this is so.

Our so-called prosperity – we have lost by it so much by it; so much.

News as Spoon-fed Scrapings

By their fruits; so shall ye know them

You reap what you sow

Your sins will find you out

Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh

  1. Class-based News

A Tale of Two Stories

There are two threads to this story. The first thread was the ‘news story’ I heard broadcast on BBC Radio 4 News at 13.00hrs today 3rd February 2018; the second thread is this story as it is written here in BBBC News website (URL above) accessed at 19.00hrs on the same day.

The two threads refer to the same item of news but differ markedly in their details. This second thread of 1900hrs has been toned-down; maybe sanitised a little? after protest perhaps? as there rightly ought to have been given the slant and contents of the initial thread of the story, as this was broadcast to a nation on the one o’clock news on BBC Radio 4 today.

The initial thread claimed only a single break-in and a single theft and haul of items occurred.  The second thread amplifies this single break-in to a ‘series of break-ins’, and this series occurring over the period between 22 and 24 January; that is, over a course of several days.

Note that on neither the initial nor on the second thread was there any content explaining the delay of up to 12 days before knowledge of these break-ins reached BBC News.  Nothing has been said in either version concerning when the thefts were first discovered; nor about why the delay in reporting the loss to the BBC News; nor was there any statement concerning what security measures were in place so as to deter or to prevent thefts of this kind.

To my mind it is likely, since, as we shall show, the first thread differs so widely from the second thread, that the revision has to have come from someone at the Canterbury Trust storerooms who is senior and who was not happy with the one o’clock bulletin – the initial thread. And if this is so I can see why the person was unhappy.

However whether this second thread represents a more accurate description than the first of this affair of the theft, I believe remains an open question.

Along with a single break-in as stated in the original thread, the thieves were described as being seeking ‘old metal’ like ‘pipes and scrap’; i.e. plain commonplace metal thieves. The first thread went on saying: the thieves came ‘by chance’ upon the stores of ancient artefacts, and were not actually seeking them out. The thieves were then ‘likely not to know the true value of their haul of artefacts, and so were likely to ‘offload them for pennies. Listeners were asked to ‘beware’ and to ‘look out for the loot being put on sale at boot sales, etc’ and ‘for a few pennies’,‘ a fraction of their true money worth’.

The words I have put in speech marks in the sentences above represent the gist of what was reported on BBC News at 1 o’clock on Radio 4, and may be not the actual words; although certainly their exact tenor.

A spokesman also is said to have said at 1 o’clock that the theft was a ‘national disaster’.

All of the above reportage has been retracted in the description of the theft given in the second thread, which is to be found on BBC News website (URL given above) and in its stead a story quiet unlike it has been posted there.

Not just several break-ins, but the value of the goods stolen, the archaeological artefacts, are now stated to be negligible in money worth; but yet inestimable in worth to the nation and its heritage.

The thieves are now breaking-in especially to steal the artefacts; not for lead piping etc etc.  The theft of artefacts appears to have been far more expansive and widely pillaged than the initial thread would have had the theft. Many more boxes and stores were ransacked than in the initial version.

The ‘national disaster’ citation has been erased. No mention of boot sales nor of requests that the public look out for the artefacts at such places. The money value the thieves might get for their loot is retained as being ‘a few pennies’ but this ‘few pennies’ seems now to be said to be the general and true estimate of their commercial worth, as the second thread has it.

The initial thread seemed to be saying that the artefacts stolen were very valuable commercially but that they would ‘lay heavily on the hands ‘of the thieves who might find difficulty offloading them and so might sell them for a mite of what they are actually worth.

Two very different accounts then: having in common their offering of absolutely no criticism of the Canterbury archive managers and their apparent lack of security; nor any explanation of the near two-week delay in the BBC reporting the theft(s). These remain mysteries tackled by neither account. A hiatus or two then; what one might call selective reporting or else selective information released by the Canterbury trust – or both.

It’s worth analysing a little these two threads and their differences and their similarities.

As I have suggested – the second version attempts it seems to ‘cover-over’ the first version’ and if so the first version I presume was disagreeable to the furnisher of the second version.

Certainly the change in the status of the thieves – from commonplace metal thieves stumbling upon something much classier, into high-level art plunderers aiming at high-end plunder; this change represents a noticeable feature of social class bias.

The blundering metal thieves who have, it seems, so little education and so few appropriate connections that they were likely to dispose of their high-end loot at car boot sales and so on; ignorami striking lucky as it were – this is all clearly a set of assumptions driven by social class differences, coming in all probability from a person of prejudice at a higher social class than the supposed dumb metal thieves.

The dumb common metal thieves would not know the inestimable true money value of the loot; and so would offload it cheaply, goes the initial narrative.

Likewise the initial narrative saying that the theft was a ‘national disaster’ is clearly a consideration made by a person whose perspectives on life are rather askew; maybe from a person rather obsessed by petite bourgeois values and so being what common people call a little ‘hoity-toity’.

The second version avoids mentioning the ‘national disaster’ angle and contextualises the theft to it being a severe blow to the national heritage, which is somewhat more measured and accurate.

The thieves have been absolved of their ignorance in the second version, and no social class assumptions on the thieves are made in it. In the second version the intention of the thieves to steal heritage artefacts, the thieves’ prolonged access to the finds store and their freedom to rummage massively throughout large areas of storage of artefacts, all this is discovered to us.

In the second narrative the monetary value of the artefacts stolen is low and so as a motive they become unable to have incentivised the thieves to steal them.  Unless of course the second statement like much else in this second version, seems to have been issued as a corrective to the first version; and I fear, in the case of the money value of the artefacts being very low according to this second version, this claim in fact represents a falsehood. A falsehood probably told so as to encourage the thieves to dump their loot as it being not worth the hassle. Or else, or maybe also, told so as to tone down the great magnitude of the robbery in terms of hard money lost.

For think; the thieves intended to steal this artefact loot; they were present three days doing so; the second version states this as fact. And so why should such care be taken and time spent at risk of being spotted, deliberately to steal artefacts whose money value is pennies?  No, I believe the artefacts are extremely valuable in money terms; possibly, even probably, stolen to order – stolen with a buyer or buyers, or at least a specialised marketplace, in the thieves’ minds beforehand.

So from version 1 to version 2 we have gone from stupid blundering working class chancers taking this heritage loot on the off chance it might fetch something; and into a prolonged deliberate robbery of masses of specialised artefact loot by thieves possibly having a marketplace in mind beforehand in which to realise the high monetary value of the goods.

Whichever way one looks at this affair; and whichever version a reader prefers, it remains that a great dereliction of care and stewardship has been allowed to go unnoted in the media. The Canterbury trust has not stored its finds sufficiently safely and securely. It has been slow to report the theft.  It has allowed thieves on its premises for three days running undiscovered.

All the talk and accusations have been upon the thieves; none has been on the dereliction of the Trust at Canterbury. If it has not been dereliction; then the Trust should explain how it has not been a dereliction to the public, of whom ultimately these finds and artefacts are the property.  No-one else pays for the digs that found them and the care, work on, and custody of the finds – part of the National Heritage.

But honestly, thinking on things, it is not a loss but only a change of ownership.  Just as when I myself die my lovely library will be broken up and dispersed into others hands, just in the same way as many items in it have been in other hands before they were in mine; so too our National Heritage inevitably, given that human life prevails, will end up in other hands. Either in the form of generations of British yet unborn or else like the Elgin Marbles and the Sutton Hoo treasure, our heritage eventually will be passed on to another custodian, maybe, probably, broken up and dispersed.

What goes around comes around.  Perhaps these same stolen artefacts might surface into other public custody in other nations or in ours at some time in the future; and when the thieves have died and the guys they sell them to also have died, maybe there will be some auctions at which later generations at the Canterbury Trust are present and who buy some back, not noticing nor even aware of the fact that once long ago they were in the collections of their forebears at Canterbury?  Who really owns what? As Shakespeare tells us:

“He who dies pays all debts”

Politics: The New Olympic Sport

It is a blanket stitch-up action game

In which jumping without a parachute

Is the prominent future


No-one is expected to survive the land.


It is a guessing-game of telling tales and masking truth

A Call my Bluff involving desperate consequentials

Is all about destroying mended fences


Setting the people free, whether the people needed


It’s a guarantee and a jamboree for sinking ships

Displayed on a graph sequentially as national income

The dippy scoff at the dips diagrammatically reshaping


Tired pauper action trips to buffered trading zones


Here is a coin the currency in this trading game

It is of no value, it offers substantively no gain

It has no name


And no-one in charge presumes to lend it any weight


The name of the game in play: legerdemain inflation

Being subtitled: parade of bland stagnation

Prices are rising chasing unsurprising borrowing


On a dead-end street called ‘queer’


There’s rigmarole, and there’s much grey-suited mock confession

And bags of comforting unwarranted delusion

There’s certainly no solution


Being diligently, elegantly, sought for


There’s a host of squandered aces, vegetable talk

Being made the most of by the best designer libel folk

That’s all there is


All’s fudge


No-one has grip to clasp, no proper competence to grasp

A plan; no aptitude, dysfunction, semi-lassitude,

Resolves not one fragile slice of pumpernickel sandwich


A complete and hand-made handbag-fisted brass disaster

Gone over the top warfare with only sticking plaster

The Disservice Economy and its Bad Goods: Powering the Global Money Engine 7

Taking Control – Infringing Personal Space/Responsibility/Scope of Action

A broad topic; and a slight diversion from furthering our main themes about scams and their disservices Nonetheless, a very worthy topic; one which deserves a volume on its own; one which everyone has had some experiences with; let’s give an everyday example.

Contracts and Agreements

In a world so global, so anarchic in a chaotic sense; with so many players out there; and so many of them feared to be lowballers; these factors mean that agreements are in more demand than ever, even by small and maybe relatively insignificant transactors and their transactions.

In general, more and more, people are feeling safer behind an agreement; a sort of wedge or barrier is set up by a formal and signed document like this; distancing the relationship; setting it more-so in stone and thereby giving a perception that parties are able more easily to hold one another to account.

Of course, as ever, the law and recourse to law is for the rich folks, and we smaller fry settle just for a quarrel; the rich folks are the class of persons who resort to civil law actions, and they do so as much as a stonewalling and delaying tactic; semi temporarily, semi-permanently.

Charles Dickens, in his novel called Bleak House, writes about the British Court of Chancery as it was in his times in mid Victorian days.  He satirises the lengthiness of the progress of civil cases there by citing a fictional case he names Jarndyce versus Jarndyce, a family squabble over a deceased person’s legacy, as to who should inherit it. The case is dragged on for generations of Jarndyces; and the inheritance money is consumed almost wholly by legal fees. No-one has won but the lawyers of Chancery.

Dickens satirises public administration of justice and of licensing etc by him creating The Circumlocution Office; a place where words go round and round redundantly and perpetually to no avail for anyone but the employees paid to produce them.

This tardiness of ‘swift’ justice taking donkey’s years to settle any big civil cases – it is taken full advantage of in our times by corporations who go to war with one another – so that these disputes in law become a status quo in themselves; and thereby they enforce a stalemate, usually one agreeable to both parties; and costing a fortune but yet often far cheaper for these corporations than any of them facing, say, losing a Brand name or a domain;  or having to recall billions of items of product or else settling for a smaller reach and lesser grasp on the marketplace.

For the small person and for the big monolithic business alike, the comfort of legal words being in force, either in a courtroom or else via a signed agreement, is found to be in the struggle to gain control of things; so as to be more assured of being able to direct the future to the ends parties desire.

Everyone who risks money or commodities or resources for the sake of making profits always craves more certainty; and this craving pressures them ever more into becoming ever more control freaks.  Some are not bad people; they just don’t like nerves that trusting to gentlefolk’s agreements jangle; those word of mouth ‘arrangements’ which turn perilous when civilities break down between clients and their customers.  So we all go for more control – and so we go for agreements – which at least on paper – seem to offer just that.

The moving finger writes

And having writ moves on

And nought you do can yet retrieve but half a line

When it’s in black and white; problem solved.

Some of the people who use agreements are not so good people. They may be go-getters; riders roughshod over, grasping money aggregators; they all might have reasons for their predations perfectly justifiable in their own estimations; but their striving for control brings about strife and unbalanced inequities into play in their contractual agreements – they want more than control – they want dominion.

The chief victim is usually the small guy who is set in agreement with the big guy; the big guy having the services to offer which the small guy cannot do without for running her business.

In this category you find in your own daily lives:

  • Mobile Phone Network Operators
  • Internet Service Providers
  • Insurance Companies
  • Banks
  • Online Payment Transaction Services
  • Gas, Electricity, and Water Companies
  • Local Authorities
  • Software (OS) companies


These are just a few examples off the top of my head.

None if any of us know what are the exact terms we have signed our souls away to in our agreeing terms and conditions with these monsters. We have a vague inkling, an instinct, which tells us that the odds in these agreements are stacked against us.  The documents of these agreements are very often interminably long in length and tend to worry out the very last detail in an obsessive compulsive way. We just hit the checkbox and install.

Naively maybe we leave the regulation of such lengthy and complex contracts to Federal or to National Government; and so we look to the public administration to keep these gobbling giants in check. Thus we tend to blame governments when a giant corporation ‘gets away scot free’ with a lawful but unethical scam in its terms and conditions, over a course of many years and unimpeded.  We could not be bothered to protect ourselves and then Big Brother has let us down and so we ignore the guilty party and thrash about ineffectually upon Big Brother – who sits back and in due course passes a regulation outlawing the once-lawful scam.  This is how things tend to work.

There is inherent in the motto ‘business for business’ sake’ a certain predatory urge; normally an urge to obtain something pretty childish, such as having for oneself ‘the biggest piece of pie’, or else being ‘number one in the queue’; or else scaling an Everest of financial ascent ‘because it’s there’.

It’s a free-for-all to be top of the tree, top dog, king or queen of the castle. And that means in our society the assembling of others and the marshalling of them so that they work hard for you and get you where you want to be. So at bottom this kind of ‘success’ is about control and dominion over others; qualities which are the chief characteristics of what we call power.

Like Pavlov’s dogs, those who would be reigning monarchs of the world learn soon and by rote that the way to their dream is paved by those employees and other subjects whom they are able to coerce or persuade, force or chivvy, to spend all their efforts in getting them there.  Almost immediately the first lesson such ambitious persons learn is that to win they have to dominate others.

Hence the aggressive stance of many large corporations, towards their own employees and especially towards their big shot rivals; and because the small person has no big guns of her own, particularly towards the small people by whose custom their marketplaces are measured and acknowledged.

Everyone has noticed how when you want to complain or to drop the services of a large company, that there seems to be so many obstacles placed in the way to your finding the right area or the appropriate information to be able to do it.  Everybody has seen how the guy you are talking to about leaving is trying to sell you a ‘better deal’ rather than to lose your custom.  And those emails one gets from these big companies, which inform you of your bills or of changes to your package, as it were unilaterally, and without any quick easy access to recourse to be had for yourself – these are very annoying.

The way that anything you might use unexpectedly and which is not in your particular package, is jumped upon instantly by these megalith’s billing departments and cashed in upon, as if an expensive coin had been found by them lying around on the roadside, and which they have quickly picked up and pocketed.

Dialling an 07845 number? Aha! That’s a premium code – slap 50 cents a minute on that call!

Access that TV Channel or stream that movie – aha! That’s not on the freebie lists – $10 for that – put it on her bill!

It seems sometimes to be a game involving evasions and a keeping of an ever-vigilant dog-eye out for bear-traps and snake pits ready to ensnare you. Just like the guys on eBay who never give a full image view of what they have on offer; or do their very best to show it as much bigger or better than it really is: ‘caveat emptor’ says the law – ‘let the buyer beware’.

So everything becomes, is becoming a silly commercialised Game of Thrones, where treacheries are rewarded and arise as being par for the course – provided, that is, that the victims or their friends don’t catch up with you and act the part of vigilantes.

Our valours in these days are not measured by our bravery, our openness or our uprightness a persons, companies; it is awarded to those whose daily practice is a sly cleverness and an underhanded con-trickery, belonging to the smart guy who knows a bit too much.  Net result, too many of us are trying to outdo too many others of us.

The paradigm for ‘success’ in these terms then, is in fact compiled of an array of traits which people once deprecated as being ‘bad form’ or else sometimes as being ‘dastardly’.  The terms sound quaint because they are presently considered outmoded; and just the same are their significations as reprimands for bad behaviour outmoded; yet these are the same behaviours which were once labelled dastardly or bad form which are right now ‘cool’ and ‘ace’.

And so agreements are tending more and more to be worded in disingenuous ways so as deliberately to ‘stitch up’ any unsuspecting victims who out of a careless remiss decide to sign it.  I have spent some considerable time reading through such agreements, in order to proof them or to explain or to comment on them to people.

The levels of chicanery and of sheer malicious trickery which many of the writers of these agreements get up to would shake any young idealistic person’s foundations to behold.  I am experienced in and so inured somewhat to this nastiness, but nonetheless my reading through these documents is often an exercise in angry indignation which rages at how unfeelingly coercive and oppressive can be many so persons who see that they have a distinct advantage over another weaker person in a business relationship.

I pray that these people may live to find out and to mourn their own murky natures. Them being appalled, that they may recant and repent and attempt reparations for their having lusted with single-eyed focus on self and with their double-tongued approach having attempted a fly-trapping of others. Amen.

Why The News?


What has it got to do with us?

The ‘shutting down’ of America; …go bust!

As far as any Enlishman might mourn

The Turkish and the Kurds arming for conflict

Might they withhold did we serve them an edict?

And what are we to do with such rare knowledge?

If it be knowledge worthy of the pillage?

So that we have a handle on a world’s happenings?

So that we intervene in Catalonia?

Or damp the forest fires of California?


So let us tut-tut-tut – that beast, Myanmar!

So we feel vindicated?

And not exasperated

At levels of distress, great avalanche of war and suffering

Exposed to us without being safe from buffering

No, all we do is sorb, consume, we masticate

The hovering gloom

It’s another overproduced consumerist commodity

A bother, wasted effort in the newsrooms

A catalogue of woes promoted for a doleful quality

What handle might we have, as say, control?

A handle opens, gives access, or closes,

Yet we are surely seated in Read Only mode

No editing permissions, wholly indisposed,

No clout, no shout, nor say,

In what goes on in other lands, afar and now, today

And so a lickerish burn of fire replaces

Concern, a certain prurient itch, a frisson

A hint inquisitive, a trace amount salacious,

So that perhaps we might hold forth, as seer loquacious

Be spaciously expansive spouting out accounts

Some hours in depth; a show in which we show

Intricacy, involvement, being in the know

And do a bow, show off; remark and learn, O, hero

How high your mauve faur impresses others

Oppressive stamp your ready grip on things

You who abet, and hold no useful purpose

Events run slippery as water through our hands

Changing from day to day acordingly as fans

New strands are chasing, whither for to cast

Construe the issues.

Remotes choose us our views, form our forecasts

Some game; some blast.

Grandly, we joust to have to have control, our hands on zero,

Yet often not a player even in our own back yards

A Putin might as well be heard as hear of Nero

So far as anything we do or say pertains, imparts,

Or bears upon the facts:

A sort of guessing game for curious people

To think so much of, think it consequence

Not least to keep abreast attests self-estimation

Projecting luche importance onto foreign tales

Told out of school by tutors about truant pupils

Form-masters of high lessons make patrol, confuse

Truth faith with pledged support to closed world views

As rulers recommend them

News servers would suppose their places to be masters

Themselves wearing plain clothes, drab robes that hang

As dreary fare like governmental figures’ deathly hues

Of staid insufferable greying mock-authority

As wearing gloves to hide ones hands, their human frailties

That twitch working the slot machines, react, respond

Professing homiletic drools of compentence

Manhandling manufactures of mind-maddening news

They handle it like a fence

Receives a lot of holy stolen goods too hot to handle

The whole shebang and rigmarole not worth a candle

A parliament of fools, chancers disguised, all fervour-crazed

Who like to look the part

Whom by their facile art

Another damn fine mess they’ve got us into.