how to advertise an impending social problem

it's not often i see or hear adverts, but today i listened to Owen Jones on an LBC phone-in about homelessness and the monarchy. that was good, but one of the ads made me think...

bear with me for a bit. do you remember the kerfuffle in the tabloid press (and a bit above) about the Health and Safety Executive banning conker fights in school playgrounds? thing is: they didn't. the ban was a condition in most insurance policies (and the 'blame and claim' culture around injuries led most other schools to ban it anyway), so while it wasn't actually law, it became standard practice

anyway: on LBC there was a spot advertising insurance to landlords against rent arrears. (now there's a thought: landlords want insurance precisely because the risk of someone not paying is higher than ever, but that's another story).

so Joe Q. Landlord goes to one of the insurance companies offering these policies and wants, of course, to keep his costs down. the insurance companies want to limit their exposure to risk, regardless of the policy they're selling, and my guess is that they'll insist on a set of qualifications for tenants - the kind that the well-off don't notice and the poor will find hard to reach. the insurance companies won't let a landlord rent to people in tough financial circumstances who need a place to live: or if they do, the premiums will be higher, which the landlord will naturally pass on to the tenants

so apart from excluding some people from the rental market altogether,  it introduces a dynamic where rents become higher, the poorer you get. no government policy was necessary, apart from poorly regulated rental and financial sectors

and all to protect what is mostly unearned income

Middle-class picnic

(written a few years ago but appropriate to post now. sung to the tune of Teddy Bear's Picnic. note: Pilton is the village on the edge of the festival site, and what the festie is referred to when you live in Glastonbury - Pilton Pop)
 
If you go down to the farm today you'd better go in disguise
If you get into the festival you'll never believe your eyes
cos all the twits that ever there was
are gathered there for certain because
today's the day the middle-class come to Pilton

If you get into the Festival, you'll wish you had stayed at home
If you go down to farm today, you'd better be really stoned
'most everyone's a drunken fart
and they will make you suffer for art
cos Coldplay are the main act at the picnic

Glastonbury Festival
is the best of all
when you really wanna get off yer face
There's lots of drugs and alcohol
and you're sure to leave there in a daze

Glastonbury Festival
all the yuppies and twits are getting completely bent
Three whole days and then they'll go back
to their mortgages and jobs
because they're only part-time hedonists

If you go into the bushes there, I hope it is for a snog
Don't go there for a sneaky crap instead of a filthy bog
cos it will end on somebody's shoe
when they give up on the lengthy queue
and that's not how the middle-class have a picnic

If you get near to the pyramid you'd better be armour-clad
If you get into the festival you'll probably meet your dad
cos he was here in seventy-two
and over there was where they made you
cos he forgot to take condoms to the picnic

Glastonbury Festival
is the best of all
when you wanna remember the good old days
The weather's always terrible
unless you like mudbaths on your holidays

Glastonbury Festival
Donates to charity but now you can't climb the fence
and six days on, the pile of litter
is bigger than the Tor
and we'll be tired little teddy bears

don't take it personally

none of this is about me or you
it's a stab in the dark at those demons
our imagination conjures up
when the light's off
before we fall asleep

so let's put everyone in a gigantic bed
and let them dream in the dark
some will see monsters
others will see stars
some will see nothing
(but only the visible parts)

let's wrap them in a blanket
of four parts nitrogen, one part oxygen
and see how they get on
until sunrise
when the dreams stop
and the nightmares begin
for some

but none of this is about me or you
or the people next door
or that lovely girl i saw today
with the hourglass figure and black tights
or your dog
really

but i'm just saying that
to get me off the hook
don't take it personally

burn before reading

you shouldn't read this
but what does it mean?
don't mean shit
if it meant anything
you wouldn't be reading this crap
that doesn't mean anything

there is no salvation
there is no great truth
you're driving this meat vehicle
from one ditch to the other
until one day, the steering fails
and you go over the edge
on a tight bend
crashing down a loose canyon
or something like that

the potholed road's still going to be there
paved with good intentions
ready to trip the unwary
you can try to read the signs
you'll figure out what they say
but only when it's too late

fuck the road less travelled
and the other one too
(not that it means anything)

if you read this far
sorry for wasting your time
with this crap
but i did try to tell you

two short planks

as i carve this clear, straight oak
the bright metal edge reveals
shapes hidden within
adding by taking away
shavings curl away like tiny caterpillars
to stick to my socks
and i am happy

and there's you.
you say you've shaped yourself
your perfect life runs on rails
your greasy smile slides over shiny teeth
you've got it all worked out
i don't think

i trust the wood
the wood is honest
the wood is natural
the wood lives
quite unlike you, except
the missing parts
tell the whole story

the day the President's head fell off

do not laugh, nay, do not scoff
the President's head has fallen off!
he tried to think a little, but
the cervical vertebrae were cut

the rest of him still tried to walk
but look! the severed head could talk!
his aides ran about in a terrible spin
and tried to stop the infernal din

it shouted "Make America Great"
it yelled about a wall of hate
the White House rang the CIA
and pleaded "come and save the day!"

"his head has fallen off, they said
the rest of him, it should be dead
but it's still blundering about
come quickly! help us sort it out!"

the CIA and FBI
asked not the reason why
wondered why the fool's not dead
"his brain was gone! he's got no head"

they called the greatest scientist
"you sort it out!" they did insist
he groaned and tugged his long grey beard
and mumbled "yes, it's as i feared"

"he never used his brain, you see
and now it's gone, his body's free
to stumble blindly here and there
but look! what's that? oh no! HIS HAIR!"

the hair was crawling across the floor
heading for the nearest door
it cried "oh yes! i can escape
from life atop that stupid ape!"

"the hair can talk!" they all exclaimed
"yes, indeed, but i can't be blamed
for all the stupid things he's done
please let me leave. it isn't fun"

the head was lying quite inert
but his hair was active and alert
then someone had a bright idea
"hey listen - let me make this clear"

"the hair talks sense, but the man's insane
he clearly doesn't have a brain
the only thing that i will ask
is: can we make a President mask?"

in Hollywood they worked so hard
and made a head of orange lard
"a perfect likeness!" they exclaimed
and put the new head on a plane

they glued the head on to the trunk
then afterwards got really drunk
"that could have been an awful mess
but look! it's been a great success"

so it's the hair that runs the show
it looks the same, but you should know
it's vastly more intelligent
than that idiot who was President

so now the country is in order
no wars, no wall across the border
and those of you who are appalled:
be thankful that he wasn't bald

the black hole

you know what?
i'm stuck here alive
or something like it
like it or not

others turn inwards
and escape their private bell jar
by turning off their lights
a murderer and corpse in one
hanging the pain on the rest
left mourning our absent friend
i can't hurt people like that

but: how many of us are accidental humans?
what twinkle were we in our fathers' eye
that made him forget to keep it in his trousers?
should you have been here?
do you know?
i do. i shouldn't. that's the truth

but here i am
being punished for a crime i didn't commit
by being here
by getting older
watching it all go by
and feeling that keen loss
of someone who did what i couldn't
and the cold ripples of hurt amongst his friends

but to not exist
to never have been
to vanish without trace
a life down the collective memory hole
just gone, not mourned, no sadness or loss
could i turn off that sparkle
and drift off into the empty black hole
of not being
i could live with that

spaceflight

long live the earthbound astronauts
the ones who never made it
never left the ground, except in dreams
who looked to stars they would never reach
and smiled

there's one over there, walking the dog
with a twinkle in his eye and a waggy tail
he's growing carrots on Mars
with his faithful space-dog by his side
while his coffee gets cold

you passed one at the checkout
you could hear those barcode beeps she made
it wasn't a till
she was flying one of those sci-fi film computers
in her discount starship

and with a click of the mouse
you fly through that vast space of zeroes and ones
you can be an astronaut too
we're all on this spaceship
stuck

but Houston, we have a problem
there's no fuel left for dreaming
we're stuck here on the ground
all except those special ones, that is
they're already gone

dog eat dog

the latter day descendants of Adam Smith
think of themselves like a Star Wars Sith
wrapped round our faces like a vampire squid
bugging and recording everything you did
to protect their place in the gilded tower
while cash & carry politics cements their power

they buy both sides, the reds and the blues
and the companies that supposedly report the news
it's all about controlling the way you think
with bread and circuses and plenty to drink
they'll keep you in debt from birth to grave
and tell you it's freedom to be a slave

well of course you're free to question it all
but careful buddy, because you might fall
through the massive great joke of the safety net
so the rest will see just what you get
so the others will point and say you're the one to blame
but the others won't know, as they scrape and strive
how to free their thoughts and be truly alive

so you're fucked one way and you're fucked the other
like they'll fuck your kids and they fucked your mother
fucked from the start and fucked to the end
fucked by your enemy and fucked by your friend
fuck unto others before they fuck unto you
or maybe just fuck it all... that's what i do

the last post

if Bukowski wrote a facebook status
he'd say
fuck you, motherfuckers
i'm sitting here with
a whore
a thief
a con artist
and a congressman
drinking whisky
just the two of us
as the world presses its nose
against the empty glass

we try and try
but trying is the problem
he would say
i am stuck and i'm trying
to stop trying

he would write
i fell under a pile of letters
sent by sms
on my anything but touch screen

if Bukowski wrote a facebook status
but he wouldn't
motherfucker

and he's dead anyway

clear, simple, and wrong

(with a tip of the hat to H L Mencken: "For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.")

angry? don't know why? let me help

it's him over there
yeah him, the one who doesn't look like you
or her, who doesn't dress like you
doesn't speak like you
doesn't think like you
is full of other colours
than your own darkness

forget for a minute that
they have two eyes, a nose and a mouth
and clothes, and words, and thoughts
and skin
and hearts

but they're not like mine, you say
they don't deserve
it's all their fault
they're too poor to be worth anything
and what they have, they took from me

yes, they stole your air
your gravity, parents, children, breath
they took your shitty job
because you didn't want it
honestly, who does?

but: who would you blame
if everyone was like you?
if everyone was looking for someone to blame?
someone would blame you
for all the shit
you try to wipe from your grubby, worn conscience
on to someone else

who, really, is just like you
and not like the heartless lizards in suits and castles
who give you all the shit you'll ever need
and laugh at you
throwing it at anyone but them

all their answers are clear, simple, and wrong
but to you, fumbling around
behind your angry blindfold
they feel good

almost half asleep

we sleep. we all sleep
we sleep one third of our lives
two days of every six
four months of every year
asleep

one third of you is in those dark dreamy mists
one third of you does no harm
one third of you is never busy
one third of you does not lie
one third of you does not make sense
one third of you talks to no one
except you

your waking self knows less than all
your waking self is busy
your waking self fucks up
your waking self tells lies
sometimes

don't tell me you know yourself
don't tell me it's possible
don't tell me you dream out loud
don't tell me i know me
you only know you two-thirds
the rest is asleep

dreams of home

and in my dream
i found myself floating in space
looking down on this rock
even the homeless call home

i saw no borders
except between the natural and the humanised
the wild and the tamed
the untouched and the soiled
by the hand of modern man

and that timeless womb
it was changing before my eyes
fading into darkness
emerging into light
death and life one in that cosmic breath
forever

but was that a thunderstorm
or that terrible flash of Trinity
that might mean the end?

was that a water cloud
or withered soil drifting
from our garden to the empty sea?

maybe we are all one
in our varnish-thin layer of breath
connected by watery memories

and what was once me fell down
into the abyss of despair
for our broken empathy
cannot see into that crowded, primeval dark
on the other side of that unfeeling rock
where the other half live, and die

if only

i am your morally ambiguous decision
come back to haunt your elastic conscience
you may try to escape me
but i'm still there
lurking in the shadows of your murky mind

i'm your unpaid debt to that friend
i'm your spineless jobsworth decision
i'm a rung on the ladder of promotion
i'm every time you kept your mouth shut
i'm every time you shouted 'shut up!'
i'm the gnawing itch in your bone marrow
you'll never scratch me

somewhere, there is a list
of every shitty compromise
your shrinking soul has eaten
it's there with the onion-skin slices
peeled tearless from your heart
with every sale
and every bargain

but we are not heroes
ours is no noble cause
we have no war, no great campaign
to balance the karma account
just the endless tick, tick, tick
of life ebbing away

but we are safe
to do nothing of any importance
except sleep the sleep of the insignificant grey
and forget what we once were
or might have been
if only

fret level 5

i'm burning all my credit cards to stay awake
the broadband has gone mouldy
a whole pack of sanity towels is blocking the road
but there's drugs to lock us up
and prisons to keep us sane
hooray

i've bought lots of nothing at a very good price
people who value nothing will buy it
i'll borrow some more from the bank
of the last river on earth
where i'll phish your identity
take that

next week there will be timebombs
and incendiary pauses
and all the words you can ever eat
so let's imprison some tourerists
in a maze of twisted logic
last orders please

i'm waiting for last year's great sensation
to arrive on the back of a cataclysm
i apologise for not being afraid
tesco value and the x-factor should fix it
and a raised fret level too
bye bye

choose drugs

(with a nod and a wink to John Hodge, of "choose life" fame)

choose drugs
choose Prozac, Seroxat, Diazepam
choose alcohol, ketamine, oxycontin
choose television, magazines, pop-talk radio
choose internet porn and kitten videos

choose lifestyle articles
choose aspirational values
choose, desire, acquire, expire
choose anaesthetics and distractions
choose scapegoats and this year's demons
choose drugs

choose only government drugs
get out of it, not into it
do not disrupt your programming
do not ask awkward questions

do not connect
do not choose that lonely slippery path
do not drop the layers between you and love
do not feel that grief, anger, despair and doubt
do not speak out about it
do not believe in anything
except what you are told
we will tell you who, what, when and how
but never why

and we tell you not to believe
and we tell you not to trust yourself
and we tell you that it's a dog-eat-dog rat-racist world
and we tell you the truth
with lies and fake news

you must not connect
you must not question
you must not wonder
you must be busy
and tired
and angry
and depressed
and alienated
and disheartened
and disempowered

but this pill can help
so you don't feel the ache
from running on the spot
so you don't get dizzy
from running round in circles
so you don't feel down
from keeping up

choose drugs
but only our drugs
buy them here
kerching

today i will...

and today, i will do everything
i will make that plan
complete that idea
do the half-done job
succeed

i will run backlit through a perfect sunny field
with my perfect wife
our perfect children
and our perfect dog
she will glow like a tampon advert
i will be indestructible
like, japanese 4 x 4 pickup indestructible
but still caring and loving

my online timesaving app
will be the Next Big Thing
my designs will break the mould
that has grown all over our sleepy conscience
you will buy them and feel good
for a while
until something else comes along

i will make my one-off, throwaway virtual friends laugh
with my witty comments
my wacky ideas
but not my smelly socks
it will give my ego the empty calories it craves
but these fished compliments stink after a few days
and sometimes the likes are just like missed bites

the plan is brilliant
only i can pull it off
it's going to be hard work
the idea fits me perfectly
it will succeed

i will be popular with the ladies
admired by the men
invited to speak on that round red carpet
about doing more with less
until you do everything with nothing
until the point is pointlessness

i will bask in my borrowed success
i will lean cynically back and look at the world
judge it and find it boring
it won't meet my double standard
of apathetic genius

i will water my organic, permacultural, no-dig social media profile
effortlessly
with tears of compassion
on the seeds of destruction
until i have time for nothing else

but first i must get out of bed

don't start here

i'm travelling back to familiar places
forwards in time to new ones
things are never the same

can i buy a ticket to the past, please?
i took a wrong turn, missed my connection
was too short-sighted to see the signpost
on this one-way street less travelled

when is it past the point of no return?
when it's pointless, is there a soul train to catch?
there's no map showing the halfway point
am i even driving? is the ticket real?
why has the clock stopped?

... what day is this?

well, if you're going to hell
you might as well ride first class
drink yourself stupid with the blinds down
pay someone else to take care of your problems

but i'm broke and on this fucking bus
so cheap you can't see out the windows
going backwards in space to a past i don't want
going forwards in time to a place i don't know

if Einstein was beside me
i'd punch that fucker in the nuts
with maximum black hole gravity
and sit him on a beam of light
see how he likes it when time stands still
and space suffocates you
relatively speaking

one hump or two?

(i'm taking part in NaPoWriMo)
   

i want to get to the point, i said, i like short, direct poems
i don't want to mess about
this is getting complicated
 

slow down, she said, take your time
let your mind glide over my narrative arc
your thoughts caress my rounded stanzas
your words tease my soft and swollen rhymes
lie back and let me ride your intellect
i want it inside me

all i wanted was a friendship with benefits
no heavy stuff, quick witty meetings with no zips or buttons
sheets awash with lurid fantasy
sexy glances into metaphors
scanning until our cheeks went red
and our minds sore from grammatical friction

it's ok, she told me. these things develop
i never knew we would get here
i was only in it for the laughs

so i carry on writing
short snappy ones or long laboured ones
whether i like it or not
i'm fucked either way

the unthinkable

i will write a poem
that cannot be read
impossible to dissect
analyse, or criticise
with no content
no person, no subject
no theme and no time
or rhythm or rhyme
confounding all logic
making no sense at all
not even madness
not even sane
not even there
not even unreal

as i write it
i will vanish
you will never know
who wrote it
if you read it
you will join me
i'm nowhere
we're nothing
it begins here
goodbye

the charge of the Leave brigade

(with apologies to Tennyson)

half a life, half a law
half a world backward
all in the chaos of Leave
raved the sick sundered
"Back to the Future, Brexiteers!"
"Slaughter the laws", they howled
into the chaos of Leave
dived the sick sundered

"Forward, to our glorious past!"
was ever there such dismay?
not that the fifty-two
saw the ignorant blunder
theirs not to hear the reply
knowing not the reason why
against both EU and I
into the chaos of Leave
fell the sick sundered

Dover to the right of them
Dunkirk to the left of them
Cliffs right in front of them
blinded, they blundered
stormed at with lies and guff
common sense was not enough
no time for the tricky stuff
Leave the country in the rough
did the sick sundered

"Give up, you lost, get over it"
"Brussels is a load of shit"
"i don't like darkies" is really it
Remoaners often hear
all the world wondered
oh, that this was just a joke
that Leaves us tired, split and broke
English, Welsh and Scot
blinded half by a screen of smoke
panicked and wondered
but the way back was blocked
by the sick sundered

Brussels to the right of them
Strasbourg to the left
EU now behind them
moved on but they wondered
why those stupid British pricks
behaved like selfish fucking dicks
the Empire dream still makes them tick
the crimes forgotten, outlook sick
now all they had left
the sick sundered

when will their minds be changed?
a wild charge of a horde deranged?
all the world wondered
Leave divided from Remain
childrens futures down the drain
thank the sick sundered

your worst best friend

i am your enabler
i am here to help
i will smooth out the bumps on your road to self-destruction
i will make sure you are comfortable in your private hell
i will hold your hand all the way
so i will never be lonely
so i will never feel out of control

my power is to steal yours
my intentions are the best
you will believe i am your friend
the one who never speaks uncomfortable truths
who is always by your side
hanging on till the end
when it is over for you

i will follow you to hell
i will drive the car for you
i will say what you want to hear
i will stay between you and that nasty world
i will run things for you
it will be my pleasure

i will feel lonely when you are gone
i will have nobody to call my own
i will no longer be distracted from my own misery
i will mourn our friendship
i will be alone
poor me