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Desensitised to violence, aggression becomes the norm. Testosterone fuelled fantasy, a captive audience beckons. Blood, sweat, tears, pain. Applause, rewards, kudos, fame. A terminal practice, of pursuing optimal damage. Belligerent behaviour concealed, packaged as extreme entertainment. Vulgar, futile, conceited, barbaric.
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From the streets to the state, harm reduction to benefit all and sundry. A call to an end of unnecessary means, a widespread intervention from harvest to consumption. Controlled production and distribution, Diamorphine on prescription. A call to an end, a time for a change, they've tried Methadone, it doesn't work for everyone. A way to reduce adulteration and smuggling – to decrease dealing, exploitation and overdose. An opportunity to promote stability and rebuild confidence, to lessen criminal activity by those with addictions. Diamorphine on prescription, it's now more than obvious that this is the logical step forward!
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The Grand National, a grand disgrace? Legendary blood sport charade. The world's greatest steeplechase, a public event that it's time to cease? A purposefully hazardous course creates predictable suffering, that seemingly harmless flutter secures another year's funding. So death may not be the intended result, but too commonly occurs as an unacceptable by-product.
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A focus on attainment with seldom time for reflection. Intervals spent dreaming provide zero achievement. For moments of squander, discomfort will follow. Consider yourself first before thinking of others. A desire for equilibrium, contentment, fulfilment. Met by cravings for success, remembrance, elevation. Progress or selfish? Inflicted or innate? Do we comprehend such motives and perceive their effect? A balancing act, a charade of sorts, jumping through hoops to achieve results. Self-governing forces, are we playing or played? In an uncertain world, we buy into this game.
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Strutting, flexing, posing, shouting. Drink, mosh, fight, puke. A release for anger? To act big and brave? An excuse for aggression? Is this why you came? Bravado, beer and moshpits. Prove yourself by swinging fists. Ignorance, cheap shots and false smiles. Ruining this for everyone else. Seeking credibility through machismo and vanity. So proud to appear different, so desperate to be known.
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The words that fall from my lips, are spoken in my mother’s tongue. The destruction they bring has only just begun. Where there is comfort they shall bring pain, where there is contentment let there be strife. A twisting of torment to ensure her legacy, the ghost of the past, the whore of Finchley. There will be no society, neither big or small. Each word shall reinforce division, each act to cement her will. So savage the blows, so sleight her hand. Can’t walk? Crawl! Can’t crawl? Die! The ghost of the past, the whore of Finchley – still with us today!
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Resurrected under condemnation, set ablaze with fresh flames of discontent. Daunting times, different lives, circumstantial change – awaken, arise. Past mistakes, lessons learnt, friendships strained – rebuild, regroup. Slate cleaned, we start again, moving forward, driving on. Not for nostalgia, nor for potential gain. Total crust violence, a third wave takes shape.
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Eight hours of your time gone, another day passes. Your work recorded in digits for breadline wages. Question their system, excuses are given, an emotionless diatribe, rehearsed to precision – we’re in a recession, a time for endurance, be happy you have work, don’t grumble, get on with it. Cutbacks from the bottom up, there’ll still be room at the top. A pay freeze for the workers, same old perks for their bosses.
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Yes sir, I disagree with every word you say. Each order brings resentment, each act hastens your demise. We are tired of inadequacies, pained by that which we once had being taken away. Neglect of those you represent, to whom you made a promise and betrayed. How long can this reign last before it's stricken by decay? As your structures begin to crumble, a new hope begins to thrive. Numbers increase, ideas flourish, movements gather weight. Anticipating total collapse, there's nothing left, no remains to be saved. No regrets or hesitation, the only outcome can be change.
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Work. Require state assistance? Prove your entitlement. Failed assessments grant corrupt enhancements. Physically disabled, poor mental health, substance dependent, fit for service? Broken society unable to function, further oppression is not the solution. Forced labour, reduced payments – regressive practice labelled welfare reform. Work.
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Think of something, available in an instant. Information, products, entertainment. For such luxury comes a price – vulnerability, monitoring, exploitation. A space where anyone can participate, yet with little assurances or control. Acts occur behind a veil of anonymity – blurring moral boundaries, conscience and social norms. Interactive media improving global communication, lowering interpersonal skills and breaking local connections. Advances in web technology have impacted on our lives, the true benefits and costs of which appear yet to be determined.
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Each action requires recording, with a reference number assigned. Many become included, their roles ambiguous and undefined. A reliance on a process, with little room for leverage, reduces singularity and creates confusion. Mistakes are pinned on the structure, its workings or the user, by those skilled in the arts of avoidance and blame refusal.
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Alba, the chains are on, strike the master from the throne. Release the yoke that burns like a cross, reclaim that which you once lost. Invoke your right to be a freeman and live safely in your sovereign land, bullshit! The colours shift but the power remains, one man loses another gains. The look of the man who draws the line the in the sand will always be different to he who dies by his hand. Freedom, it isn't freedom, it isn't freedom, it isn't freedom till it's... Freedom. The chains are on – Roddy Neithercut.
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Down from the glen came the marching men, with their shields and their swords. To fight the fight they believed to be right, overthrow the overlords. To the town where there was plenty, they brought plunder, swords and flame. When they left the town was empty, children would never play again. From their graves I heard the fallen, above the battle cry. By that bridge near the border, there were many more to die. Then onward over the mountain, and outward towards the sea. They had come to claim the Emerald, without it they could not leave – Originally by Thin Lizzy.
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If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man. You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me. The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say. I don't share your greed, the only card I need is the Ace of Spades. Playing for the high one, dancing with the devil, going with the flow, it's all a game to me. Seven or eleven, snake eyes watching you. Double up or quit, double stake or split, the Ace of Spades. You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools, but that's the way I like it baby, I don't wanna live forever – and don't forget the joker! Pushing up the ante, I know you got to see me, read 'em and weep, the dead man's hand again. I see it in your eyes, take one look and die. The only thing you see, you know it's gonna be the Ace of Spades – Originally by Motörhead.
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Dark night nothing to see, invisible hand in front of me. Scared to death there's someone near, scared to move but you can't stay here. You know me, evil eye. You know me, prepare to die. You know me, the snakebite kiss. Devil's grip, the iron fist. Flying horse don't make a sound, flying hooves don't touch the ground. Walk in circle lose your track, can't go on but you can't go back. Moon eclipse and you know why, ghost rider in the sky. Beast of evil devil's hound, tooth and claw they pull you down – Originally by Motörhead.
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A castle built on sand will weather no storm, a monument of greed shall be hated tenfold. A king of shit, a “Global Scot”? A title bought, not earned by worth. A site picked remotely, environmental cost ignored, locals urged to leave, if not by gold then force. Dealt preferential treatment, given lavish praise, backed by local business, handed an honorary degree. Showmanship, blunder, outrageous claims. Intimidation, slander, moral-less play. A king of shit, a total cunt. A vanity project of epic proportions, a let-down to so many by those entrusted.
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Seeking to release, stress, tension. Exhale the rage, disappointment, resentment. Purge – expel, dispose, cleanse. A cathartic process, venting built-up aggression, conveying a message, administering anger.
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Dirty words, filled with hurt, forged with hate, against the weak. Segregation, disaffection, stigmatised, demonised. Where do we stand? Have we progressed? As language evolves, do we consider what we say?
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This elaborate deceit has prevailed and served well for decades, yet it is nothing more than a tissue of lies, a sticky web of shit where we're increasingly taken for granted, with less and less respect in return. A strained relationship in the process of breaking down, and if trust built the foundations then abuse will surely undermine them, for just as the cracks widen, the tipping point will come. The iron fist may still be worn, institutions and systems still go on, but the sands of time slip away, just as night turns to day. So grab what you can, while the goings good, trample us in the shit, with your snouts in the trough. Go on my pretties, eat up your fill, expand your bloated bellies, till you can run no more. Then our pain is your pain, then your law is our law. As alienation grows, so increase your foes – our pain is your pain, your law is our law. Only then you will see, true democracy. A pit of shit brought to bear, is all that's left for us to share. So rejoice and celebrate, for bringing us to this state, watching as all that we built comes crumbling down. Your wealth is built upon the poor.
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