What Kind of Times are These?

Sometimes, when faced with the taunting white of a blank screen, I relish the challenge of inflaming the page with my sage ideas, and I plunge headlong into the world of words, chasing every passage of ideas, every alley of thought, as the shifting flashes of my mind become a moment of creation. 

Then I read what I have written, feel the grey dawn of despair and fall into a hollow reverie where I contemplate the futility of being. It is a powerful effect of my writing, but never the intended one. 

I write mostly to stop the noise, and stay this side of sane*.  If the words are out, they’re not dancing round my head like an army of drunken pixies.  But sometimes, I need to comment on something not utterly fatuous. 

Cameron and Osborne – what the fuck is all that about? I lived under Thatcher, and when that era of division was over I felt, like many others I know, that the world was a lighter place, a patchwork sky of  colour and light.  Ironically so, given that her passing was followed by the rise of The Grey Man, John Major.  I suppose that, in contrast to the previous death-black years of Central Hell, the washed-out grey seemed a sprightly shade of being.

However, with the advent of these two current clowns, I feel that we’re past the grey zone of the spectrum and into something much more of a spectral blackening.  It’s quite insidious, though.  Although they are quite clearly cut from a cloth of unpleasant, there is more than something of the imbecile about them. Thatcher was a diamond-cut madder.  With a majority I found unfathomable.  It was many years before I could be persuaded that anyone who voted for the Wicked Witch of Dulwich wasn’t fabricated from liquid evil. Many, many years.

I’ve not really taken Eton’s own Bert and Ernie too seriously.  Obviously I’ve held them in the contempt that this calibre of vacuous slugshit should be held, but I’ve not felt the imminent danger that was palpable in The Eighties.  I think partly because whenever they’ve posited one of their ludicrous ideas, I’ve hoped that the Lib Dems would never allow it to pass.

Clearly, I am much more optimistic than people assume. And probably much more stupid than I realise.  Because whatever mumbling comes from the MOR footsoldiers of the Yellowers,  they are clearly going to keep rubber-stamping whatever they’re presented with, secretly hoping that the Tories will one day reciprocate, and maybe give them a reach around while aggressively shedding their sticky political load.

Given this, I’d like to think that with the right words  - and not just mine but every dissenting voice – that we can erect barricades to the sustained assault on society which these two goonthugs are imposing.  That a thrusting phrase, a slash of words – aim for the eyes! – a stab of language will not just dissipate into the ether, but will have some real tangible effect.

Because these fuckers are clowns, but much more in the mould of Chucky than Krusty.  They are the shitstain on the white underpants of life, the haemorrhoid bursting the arseveins of society. And they must be stopped.

So, if you ever voted Lib Dem, drop the Judas Brigade a mail and show your displeasure.

And if you voted Tory? You stopped reading a long time ago, didn’t you? You scrotal-faced weaslebuckets.

And if your hands are clean of this mess and you voted for neither, keep up the pressure. Protest, bitch, moan and whinge. You’ve earned the right, my friend. Let your words ring out, and keep ringing. We told them so. We told them so.

*I think I know which side I’m on.  I won’t be so presumptuous as to make an absolute claim.