teifidancer

The Shock Doctrine Naomi Klein and Alfonso Cuaron

2012-02-15T16:25:00.002Z

A short and impressive film drawing on Naoni Klein's book 'The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism.
Directed by Alfonso Cuaron, director of 'Children of Men'.
Capitalism, it sure does not look as if it's working to me.

One World, one Revolution

Love is Liberation.

2012-02-14T12:30:00.001Z

                                                    Do not try to bind it with words
                                                    let it reveal itself as its contagion
                                                    becomes a soothing plaque.
                                                    Swaying in seasons drift
                                                    touching the void of emptiness
                                                    stretching to infinity, travelling on waves
                                                    abandoned will always
                                                    transcend.

                                                    Everything it meets get filled with gladness
                                                    timeless , destined to rise and rise
                                                    in patterns of endless recurrence
                                                    more than enough to go round
                                                    filling the air with  measureless dizziness
                                                    casting warm shadows on the rest of our lives
                                                    running relentlessly through our veins
                                                    in tomorrows heartbeat for all to share.

Mamos - Heaven's prequel

2012-02-12T15:38:00.001Z

Mamos is the pen name of a revolutionary, christian, activist, teacher , poet, living in the middle of the spiritual desert that is the U.S .
His words offer us a powerful, resonant, fierce immediacy. His poetry for me connects, and he seems to use words like bullets or as seeds for change. Political poetry has a long standing tradition in America and world history. Poetry used as paths of liberation, and as messages of hope.
Daily we hear tales of economic misery, of economic injustice, but voices of opposition are getting louder. I guess we live in an age where there is no time for complacency. Voices like Mamos's provide us with visions of our anger and frustration, and our demand for real change.

Heaven's prequel

A spken word poem inspired by the same piece as the title of Black Orchid's recent zine " Between the zeal of the young and the patince of the old". http://blackorchidcollective.wordpress.com/2011/04/26/reflections_antipolice_seattle/

We won't be revolutionairies,
we'll be the revolution.

We are the fault lines
the divine sign
and when it comes time
we'll be feelin fine

'Cause we'll take your profits
break them
the things we need
we'll make them
we'll put you in the cemetery
if you try to take them.

Because change
is somewhere between destruction and creation.
It's the pent up creativity after centuries of alienation.
It's the bread riot 'cause we need to eat
It's the love dance we start in the street
'cause we can't wait to find a place to meet
ad besides,
we just abolished the whole concept of temptation.

So why are you still here bragging about your nation?
Fuck your orders and your bombs and all your plantations

We are the global upheaval
Nat Turner's sequel
Marx's equal
and heaven's prequel.

And yeah, we're stormin' it-
fuck what's realistic, we're steadily ignoring it
'cause what's on our plate
is way more drastic than 1968
and even back then our graffiti was explorin it
"Demand the Impossible"
not the same old boring shit

Because communism
is somewhere between "where the people are at"
and utopia
between the crowd's spontaneous upsurge
and heaven's door opening
between democratic workers' councils
and the end of work as we've known it

We won't be communists
we will be communism
just like when we wer workers
we breathed capitalism,
ate, drank, and pissed everyone of its divisions
and each day reproduced that horrible condition

when shit pops off we'll be breathing liberation
drinking freedom
and eating emancipation
reproducing prophets
who speak in conversation
not so much laboring
as being our creation
not so much working for it
more like generation
of everything between us
that concieves revelation

More fine words here
http://www.Spiritualdesert.blogspot.com/'

URGENT ACTION . STOP DEMOLITION OF PALESTINIAN HOMES

2012-02-10T12:30:00.004Z

Palestinians in the East Jerusalem town of Silwan are living in fear of imminent eviction. Last week Israeli authorities posted demolition orders on several houses in Silwan's al- Bustan neighbourhood, which they plan to develop into a theme park. With 1,000 people set to lose their homes, this would be the largest single mass demolition since 1967. Three days before the orders were issued, Israel shut down a local football club and a kindergarten.

Please take urgent action to help the Palestinians of Silwan save their homes

Silwan lies just outside the walls of Jerusalem's Old City. Since the early 1990s the town has been targeted for Israeli settlement, largely coordinated by a charity called Elad (the city of David Foundation). For the al- Bustan neighbourhood Elad's plans are to build the "King's Gardens", a theme park for tourists to walk in the footsteps of the biblical King Soloman. But this means sending in bulldozers to knock down the homes of families who have lived there for generations.

Even the British government has criticised the plans. On 30 December, minister for the Middle East Alistair Burt said, " I condemn the decision by the Jerusalem Local Planning and Building Committee to build additional structures in the Palestinian neighbourhood of Silwan... This is another provocative and deeply counter-productive step, the latest in a series by the Israeli authoritis." Yet Burt and the British government have done nothing to back up the comment, and continuesto offer Israel preferential treatment. This sends a message to the Israeli government that it can ignore the criticisms.

Please ask your MP to demand that the government takes concrete action to stop the bulldozers.

http://www.waronwant.org/campaigns/justice-for-palestine/hide/action/17449-take-action-save-palestinians-homes-in-silwan-east-jerusalem

At present many children from Silwan take their toys to school every day, not wanting toleave behind in case their homes are knocked down. Your action will help end this climate of fear

Thak you for taking action to save Silwan

Best wishes
heddwch/peace.

75th Anniversary of the Battle of Jarama

2012-02-07T16:00:00.005Z

This month marks the 75th anniversary of the battle of Jarama in the Spanish Civil War, seven months following the army revolt led by Franco on July 18th 1936. Almost immediately foreign volunteers enlisted in left wing militias to defend the Spanish Republic.
On February 7th the fascists unleashed an offensive on the Jarama Valley, the river was strategically important, and their the aim was of cutting communications between Valencia and Madrid, and hence the Republican Forces.
Jarama was the first battle that the British Batallion of International Brigadiers went into battle, with as many as 500 British volunteers fighting.
Jarama marked the beginning of a bruising and often dispirited campaign. By the end of the first day of battle, the British batallion found itself with less than half the number they had set out with, the next few days were a bloody brutal ordeal.On February 12th the British, deployed in the hills on the east bank of the river Jarama, in a place that became known as 'Suicide Valley", the fascists were able to virtually surround the British Batallion but even though they were outnumbered, they still managed to keep the fascists at bay, but suffered heavy losses.
On February the 18th the brigadiers lauched a counter attack, but this was stopped by the fascists. Despite the poor conditons, the brigadiers managed to stand firm , which resulted in a stalemate situation that would carry on untill the end of the war. Of the 500 brave men only 140 survived, the memory of this battle haunting them for many years later. But the vital road that Franco needed to have cut remained open. I remember those who throughout this conflict their faith and ideals remained intact,with their bravery, sacrifice and committment to their noble cause. Comrades that stood together and fought for good against the evils of fascism.
No pasaran.

The battle of Jarama 1937

A poem by the young International Brigades volunteer John Lepper charts the day's fighting in the Jarama valley .With music by John Webster with Brindaband featuring flamenco guitarist Steve Homes.Followed by two more reflections on this battle.

Battle of Jarama - John Lepper.

The sun warmed the valley
But no birds sang
The sky was rent with shrapnel
And metallic clang

Death stalked the olive trees
Picking his men
His leaden finger beckoned
Again and again

Dust rose from the roadside
A stifling cloud
Ambulances tore past
Klaxoning loud

Men torn by shell-shards lay
Still on the ground
The living sought shelter
Not to be found

Holding their hot rifles
Flushed with the fight
Sweat-streaked survivors
Willed for the night

With the coming of darkness
Deep in the wood
A fox howled to heaven
Smelling the blood.

Jarama Front - T.A.R Hyndman

I tried not to see,
But heard his voice.
How brown the earth
And green the trees.
One tree was his he could not move.
Wounded all over,
He lay there moaning.

I hardly knew:
I tore his coat
it was easy -
Shrapnel had helped.

But he was dying
And the blanket sagged.
'God bless you, comrades,
He will thank you.'
That was all.
No slogan,
No clenched fist
Except in pain.

Jarama Valley - Woody Guthrie

Jarama - A.M. Elliot

Unrisen dawns had dazzled in your eyes,
Your hearts were hungry for the not yet born.
In agony of thwarted love and wasted life,
Through all long misery, from countries torn
With savage hands, you did not shrink or bend,
But marched on straighter, prouder to the end.

Not blindly, fighting in another's war
Lured by cheap promises and dugged with drums,
Striking down brothers in the name of lies,
Slaves of the blackest with all senses numbed-
But clear-eyed, bravely, counting all the cost,
Knowing what might be won, what might be lost.

The rifles you will never hold again
In other hands will speak against the night.
Brothers have filled your places in the ranks
Who will remember how you died for right
The day you took those rifles up, defied
The power of ages, and victorious died.

Comrades, sleep now. For all you loved shall be.
You did not seek for death, but finding it-
And such a death - better than shameful life,
Rest now content. A flame of hope is lit.
The flag of freedom floats again unfurled
And all you loved lives richer in the world.

Civil War Veteran in his own words.

Poems reprinted from
The Penguin Book of Spanish Civil War Verse
1980.

Two earlier posts of interest here
http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2011/07/no-pasaran-75th-anniversery-of-spanish.html

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2011/10/international-brigade-75th-anniversary.html

William S. Burroughs (5/2/14 - 2/8/97) - Happy Birthday Bill.

2012-02-05T16:20:00.002Z

William S. Burroughs - Commisioner of Sewers

That genius Uncle Bill would have been 94 if he was still around. Then again his benevolent spirit still resonates here at teifidancer. Still remembered, this invisible man whose echoes still penetrates todays present. A true subversive always travels in disguise, the masks that are weaved are what shape us. Adventuror's beyond control.Soft voices in rythym still gently explode.
Listen all you boards, syndicates, governments of the world. Pay it all, pay it all back.
those crimson shadows, raising pen to a point, tales of twists , rubs it all out, we sit and wait for silence,
nothing lasts forever, only the usual manoeuvres, in the distance the motionless brake,the dark air carries the cry, moves through memory and saunters by, forbidden words that gather sorcery,and yes no borders are necessary, fragments follow crooked constellations, best to observe, shut out the order, there are no accidents, nothing happens unless someone wills it to happen. Smash the control images, smash the control machine.

Willliam S . Burroughs - Is everybody in?

William S.Burroughs - Twilights last gleaming

Williams S. Burroughs - Pantopen Rose

William S. Burroughs - words of advice for young people.

Poetry of the Spectacle

2012-02-03T15:41:00.000Z

A short film about the alienation of
our lives in modern capitalism
influenced by ideas of the
Situationist International. (by Magenta Netzwerk)-

"The society whose modernisation has reached the stage of integrated spectacle is characterised by the combined effect of 5 principal factors; incessant technological renewal, integration of state and economy, generalised secrecy, unanswerable lies and eternal present - the spectator is simply supposed to know nothing and deserves nothing. Those who are watching to see what happens next will never actand such must be the spectator's condition ."

- Guy Debord.

Here the SPECTACLE is captured and made to expose itself (if even for a brief moment) by turning its most beloved mystifying commodity, the computer, back onto itself to the benefit of language. It slowly dies a dramatic death of Lettritic convulsions.

SPECTACLE

In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived is now merely represented in the distance.

The spectacle is not a collection of images; it is a social relation between people that is mediated by images. The spectacle is capital accumulated to the point that it becomes images.
The spectacle cannot be understood as a mere visual description produced by mass-media technologies. It is a worldview that has actually been materialized.

Understood in its totality, the spectacle is both the result and the goal of the dominant mode of production. It is not a mere decoration added to the real world. It is the very heart of this real society's unreality. In all its particular manifestations - news, propoganda, advertising, entertainment - the spectacle represents the dominant model of life. It is the omnipresent affirmation of the choices that have already been made in the sphere of production and in the consumption implied by the production. In both form and content the spectacle serves as a total justification of the conditions and goals of the existing system. The spectacle also represents the constant presence of this justification since it monopolizes the majority of the time spent outside the production process.

The spectacle is both the meaning and the agenda of our particular socio-economic formation. It is the historical moment in which we are caught.

The spectacle presents itself as a vast inaccessible reality that can never be questioned. Itssole message is: "What appears is good, what is good appears." The passive acceptance it demands is already effectively imposed by its monopoly of appearances, its manner of appearing without allowing any reply.

The first stage of the economy's domination of social life is brought about an evident degradation of being into having - human fulfillment was no longer equated with what one was, but what one possessed. The present stage, in which social life has become completely dominated by the accumulated productions of the economy, is bringing about a general shift from appearing -all "having" must derive its immediate prestige and its ultimate purpose from appearances.

POETRY

The problem of language is at the heart of all the struggles between the forces striving to abolish the present alienation and those striving to maintain it. It is inseperable from the very terrain of those struggles. We live within language as within polluted air. Despite what humorists think, words do not play. Words work - on behalf of the dominant organization of life. Yet they are not completely automated: unfortunately for the theoreticians of infomation words are not in themselves "informationist", they contain forces that can upset the most careful calculations. Words coexist with power in relation analogous to that which proletarians have with power. Employed by it almost full time, exploited for every sense and nonsense that can be squeezed out of them, they still remain in some sense fundamentally alien to it.

Under the control of power, language always designates something other than authentic experience. It is precisely for this reason that a total contestation is possible. The organization of language has fallen into such confusion that the communication imposed by power isexposing itsef as an imposter and a dupery. An embryonic cybernetic power is vainly trying to put out language under the control of the machines it controls, in such a way that infomation would henceforth be the only possible communication. Even on this terrain resistances are beng manifested, electronic music could be seen as an attempt ( obviously limited and ambiguous) to reverse the domination by detourning machines to the benefit of language. But there is a musch more general and radical opposition that is denouncing all unilateral "communication," in theold form of art as well as in the modern form of informationism. It calls for a communication that undermines all seperate power. Real comunication dissolves the state.

Power lives of stolen goods. It creates nothing, it coopts. If it determined the meaning of words, there would be no poetry but only useful "infomation." Opposition would be unable to express itself in language; any refusal would be nonverbal, purely lettristic. What is poetry if not the revolutionary moment of language, inseperable as such from the revolutionary moments of history and the history of personal life?

                                           put the mirror to the moment  make us aware,
                                          facilitate, reconcile, get a new idea
                                           the pulsating spectacle , is easy to forget
                                           when the prism cracks, get yourself new silhouette

John Trudell (b. 15/2/46) - An Identity Crisis As Human Beings

2012-01-31T16:30:00.003Z

(

John Trudell is an acclaimed Native American poet, recording artist,vietnam vet, actor and activist whose international following reflects the universal language of his words, work and message. Trudell (Santee Sioux) is the son of a Sastae Sioux father and Mexican Indian Mother. After leaving the military he has given his life to one of full time activism, becoming a spokesperson for the Indian Tribes occupation of Alcatraz Island from 1969 to 1971. He then worked with the American Indian Movement (AIM), serving as Chairman of AIM from 1973 - 1979. In February of 1979, however, a fire of unknown origin killed his pregnant wife, his three children and mother-in law. It was through this horrible tragedy that Trudell began to find his voice as an artist and poet, writing, "to stay connected to this reality".
The filmaker Heather Rae spent more than a decade making a documentary about him, which was released in 2005 Trudell.
The intention was to demonstrate how his political and cultural activities were tied to contemprary history and inspired people.

He has campaigned for the release of the Native American activist Leonard Peltier, who was convicted in 1976 for the 1975 shooting of 2 FBI agents at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. Many believe this conviction was unjust and like many of his forefathers he has been treated abysmally so on February the 4th there will be an international day of solidarity for him

Leonard Peltier though imprisoned for over 35 years, aged 67 and in poor health, is still full of hope. Like Trudell he believes that they are stronger than the miserable conditions that unfortunately they find in their reservations, and the terrible poor conditions their communities live among.
A website dedicated to him can be found here.
http://www.leonardpeltier.net/

Trudell himself uses a powerful fusion of poetry and music to spread his message. Of himself he declares " I'm just a human being trying to make it in a world that is very rapidly losing its understanding of being human." His writings that started as therapy have become acts of war speaking out against injustice in humanity's name, through the experience of his community and that of his ancestors. He has become a powerful champion of indigeneous rights and is part of a growing force for change.

"As human beings, we are given the power of intelligence. And, when we understand and respect that poer by using it clearly and coherently as part of our thinking process, we will be able to create solutions to the problems that confront us individually and collectively."

- John Trudell, (Oct 12, 2008.)
.
Here is a man who has felt and witnesseed tragedy, but continues to act and think consciouslly, outspoken a thorn in the side who refuses to be shut up or let his independent voice be drowned out. It is people like him that for me makes me believe in humanity. With his soft spoken voice his words resonate, and echoe with wisdom, using words as weapons of survival. He also said when he was younger "he fought for a revolution that he believed would lead to freedom. " Well throughout his life he has continued to do so, fighting against injustice, racism and classism, he has burnt his nations flag, this dissenting troubaour still waging his war, still human, still free...

Trudell : Documentary

A Conversation with John Trudell

John Trudell on Leonard Peltier

John Trudell - Crazy Horse

John Trudell - Cry Your tears.

Home page for John Trudell here

http://www.johntrudell.com/

Gary Snyder (8/4/30) - REVOLUTION IN THE REVOLUTION IN THE REVOLUTION

2012-01-29T14:30:00.002Z

The country surrounds the city
The back country surrounds the country

"From the masses to the masses" the most
Revolutionary consciousness is to be found
Among the most ruthlessly exploited classes:
Animals, trees, water, air grasses

We must pass through the stage of the
"Dictatorship of the Unconscious" before we can
Hope for the withering-away of the states
And finally arrive at true Communionism

if the capitalists and imperialists
          are the exploiters, the masses are the workers.
                     and the party
                     is the communist

if civilzation
         is the exploiter, the masses is nature.
                    and the party
                    is the poets.

if the abstact rational intellect
          is the exploiter, the masses is the uncoscious
                    and the party
                     is the yogins.

& POWER
comes out of the seed-syllables of mantras.

Reprinted from
REGARDING WAVE
New Directions 1970.

Holocaust Memorial Day.

2012-01-27T12:30:00.001Z

Today marks Holocaust Memorial Day, on the anniversary of the liberation of the liberation of the Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz Birkenau, where 1.6 million men, women children were killed in the holocaust.
The day aims to remind people of the crimes, racism and loss of life during this holocaust and prevent it ever being forgotten.
Alonside the six million Jewish victims of Nazi perscution, hundreds of thousands of others were targeted by Hitler's regime - incliding trade unionists, lesbian, gay, bisexual and transpeople, (LGBT) gypsies, disabled people and the mentally ill, and others attacked for their race or simply being different.
It is important that we do not forget, but if we look at history this is not the only time that genocide has occured, and history repeats. Humanity continues to turn against itself.
Yesterday for instance was Australia day or for many others Invasion Day, when people remembered the terrible wrongs and crimes against the aboriginal people, then there is Colomus Day on the 8th of October, you see the list is endless.
Somehow  human beings around the world are capable of so much hate, we should work together to prevent this. Remember those who have resisted, shown bravery and courage. We should remember them all.
There is still so much to learn, we should stand united against genocide wherever it occurs.

Some other places and people that the world sometimes forgets.

Siebrenica,

Karabakh,

Bosnia,

Liberia,

Sudan,

Holodonor,

Armenia,

the ethnic cleansing of indigeneous Palestinians,

The Indigeneous Peoples of America,

Checknya,

Congo,

India

and the genocide of slavery

and on and on and on.

We are all human, and we should never forget, where hate and division is fostered we should
strive for equality , peace and justice for the whole of mankind.

First They Came - Pastor Martin Niemoller

First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak ou
Because I was not a communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the Trade Unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade Unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left To speak out for me.

Useful link

http://www.hmd.org.uk/

BLACK MARCH.

2012-01-26T13:04:00.003Z

Rip it up and start again ! ( some thoughts on St Dwynwen's day)

2012-01-25T17:45:00.003Z

Today
St Dwynwen's day
Welsh Patron Saint of Lovers.
Dream of love, dream of fire
the feel of protection, listen to old choruses
sparks of history, people who circumnavigated
with inspired attitude.

Wierd souls - direct manifestations
keep touching, turning,
over and over
ferociously spinning
words to steal
- the scanner verifies
calm amidst the madness,
comprehension becomes jumbled
follow shootings stars, aurora borealis pattern.

      Flashes inspire, lists become endless
      every man and woman a star.
      In world of wonder, ergot blossoms,
      the image has not yet cracked,
      unconscious rambling
      everyday we ressurrect.
      Fingerprints glowing
      the buzz catches the wind.

      The land of my mothers
       the green, green grass
      of home.
      A saints day parade of names
      old relics shape us
      our heritage forever to be hummed.
      In difficult times, lose ourselves
      in imaginations wander
      waiting to be fed
      let ancient currents
      hum
      as day ripples
      in the hill of dreams.

     Write it all down
     sometimes we get what we need
     caught and taken
     Temperature is rising
     head full of elevated
     flickers. . . .
     tonight
     will
     touch palms
     will not starve
     but senses will tremble
     the firebox rekindled
     tomorrow smoulders
     with today's
     afterglow.

    (For Jane)

Memory Loops.

2012-01-22T14:50:00.008Z

           In undulating scrawls

           put pen to paper

           the bright light flickers

           while here and there rises

           upon the surgy tide.

                                Empty pockets,

                                join the dots

                                clean dirty windows

                                picture frame seduction.


           Life's fine thread runs

                      through

                      circling filaments

                      that

                      converge into darkness

                      leave indelible stamp

                    construct a sentence

                      turn into wine

                      wander idly into drift.


                     Echoe  returns

                     reveals hesitation

                     translation is elliptical

                    something to avoid.


                                           Preparation is not necessary

                              as blue haziness overhangs the present blend

                                             don't believe in miracles.

                                                      Luck runs out

                                    the telephone interrupts my answer

                                     now is the time, speech is blurred.

          Outside the moonlight guides

          screams another song

         ( patterns of significance )

         hope, fear, grief, love, delight, regret

         even if ways be crowded and

         perplexed.


                        When profound questioning offers unihibited disclosure

                                   best not to oversimplify

                                   best to carry on . . .

                                   chase half-formed endeavors,

                                  gently across the wall

                                   time for one more dance,

                                   let our thoughts still stubbornly defy the world.


               The department of missing memory

               it's instict is curious

               untethered thought is cast

               night rehearses, futures sleep

              when benefit agency calls back.


           The force of tempestuous winds

              leaves starkness silhouetted

               but tomorrow we build and plan

                as credulity is questioned one more time

               shoplift rays of confidence

                as we wait for reassessment

               all is not lost.

                     We shall continue to be

                     even if the world closes its eyes

                     todays vision blurred,

                     tomorrow becomes a recurring dream

                     let discord be our anchor,

                     and find ways to be free.


     Search for nothing

     find nothing more or less

   those who come from nowhere

     find ways to return.

                                    An old saying proclaims,

                                   " A man's memory is as old

                                 as his first misfortune, "

                                 once started there is no going back.

PIPA and SOPA stopped for now.

2012-01-21T12:52:00.000Z

After days of international pressure online and offline.against internet censorship legislation, the US congress has announced they are postponing votes. This is what happens when people join together. Millions and millions of people united to a common cause.

But make no mistake , this fight is far from over, this is not the end.... to be continued.....

their are still those in murky corridors who want to take away our free speech....

********* *********

Laters.

STOP SOPA share this video with everyone

2012-01-20T11:37:00.001Z

Stand up against these devastating bills that are due to be voted on by the Senate on the 24th of January.
If any of these bills are passed it would essentially shut down websites like youtube and as a consequence probably me and many other blogs. It would even have the powers to block google and facebook.
Sign this petition and help the fight
http://www.mspaintadventures.com/blackout.html
A lot of things get taken for granted, the internet is one of them, we think we are free and can do what we want, but in reality we are very limited and restricted. The United States at this moment in time wants to hinder this even more by censoring the internet, despite wordwide protest. Many others out there are completely unaware that what they take for granted is under attack. What they want to do is basically destroy free speech, by search engine censorship, website censorship. The U.S Justice Department in their attempt to block websites that distribute links to/or hold pirated files.Credit card companies and payment gateways like Paypal could be asked to block payments and companies could be blacklisted by the U.S Justice Department if they attempt to place adds on these sites.
In solidarity websites like Wikipedia and Reddit went dark on Wednesday to protest against this proposed legislation.
Their plans will affect anyone who desires the freedom to browse anonymously, speak freely without fear of retribution, or protest without fear or arrest. SOPA will legitimise censorship in Americas continual quest for domination. If passed the U.S would be able to brand any website as illegal and cut of all support to it. This strikes me as something that dictators and repressive regimes would do. Draconian and not something I would have expected from a Western democracy, but that's what they disguise themselves as I guess.If people dared to openly critisice the U.S Government, well we would not be able to do it online anymore.
Over 9 million people have already signed petitions online and the American Government has made statements appearing to back down. but this fight is NOT over, and we must continue piling on the pressure, and keep telling Obama and his Congress to keep their filthy hands of our free speech and keep it's grubby hands off the Internet.

" Well, we have to imitate China and Syria. for our safety... to catch criminals...uhm... well... its like this see, ... when the States do it, it is OK, right? But when other countries who we do not like do it, then that is bad... yeah, that's the ticket!"

BOLLOCKS TO THAT

STOP INTERNET CENSORSHIP.

Another 2 petitions here.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/stop-sopa-2-2/

http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_the_internet/

The Fight goes on.....

Bradley Manning in his own words.

2012-01-18T11:00:00.003Z

Here are Bradleys words as used in chat logs.
Lamo's bits have been cut out,
so we have Bradley talking to himself so to speak,
talking things through.... it becomes a prose poem
of much depth.
thanks to all at http://wiseupforbradleymanning.wordpress.com/
and those who are keeping his torch alive.

"one of the more significant documents of our time, removing the fog of war and revealing the true nature of asymmetrical warfare."

EXCERPTS FROM CHAT LOGS

hypothetical question: if you had free reign over classified networks for a long time... say 8-9 months... and you saw incredible things, awful things... things that belonged in the public domain, and not on some server stored in a dark room in Washington DC... what would you do?

or Guantanamo, Bagram, Bucca, Taji, VBC for that matter
things that would have an impact on 6.7 billion people

say... a database of half a million events during the iraq war... from 2004 to 2009... with reports, date time groups, lat-lon locations, casualty figures... ? or 260,000 state department cables fromembassies and consulates all over the world, explaining how the first world exploits the third, in detail, from an internal perspective?

Hilary Clinton, and several thousand diplomats around the world are going to have a heart attack, when they wake up one morning, and finds an ntire repository of classified foreign policy is available, in searchable format to the public...

uhm... crazy, almost criminal political backdealings... the non-PR versions of world events and crises... uhm... all kinds of stuff like everything from the buildup to the Iraq War during Powell, to what theactual content of "aid packages" is: for instance, PR that the US issendind aid to Pakistan includes funding for water/food/clothing... that much is true, it includes that, but the other 85% of it isfor F-16 fighters and munitions to aid in the Afhanistan effort, so the US can call in Pakistanis to do aerial bombing instead of americans potentially killing civilians and creating a PR crisis

theres so mush... it affects everybody on earth... everywhere there's a US post... there's a diplomatic scandal that will be revealed... Iceland, the Vatican, Spain, Brazil, Madagasgar, if its a country, and its recognised by the US as a countyr, its got dirt on it

it's open diplomacy... world-wide anarchy in CSV format... its Climategate with a global scope, and breathtaking depth... its beautiful, and horrifying...

and... its important that it gets out... i feel' for some bizarre reason.

it might actually change something

i dont believe in good guys verses bad guys anymore... i only a plethora ofstates acting in self interest... with varying ethics and moral standards of course, but self-interest nonetheless

i mean, we're better in some rspects... we're much more subtle... use a lot more words and legal techniques to legitimise everything

its better than dissapearing in the middle of the night

but just because something is more subtle, doesn't make it right

i guess i'm too idealistic

i think the thing that got me most... that made me rethink the world more than anything was watching 15 detainess taken by the Iraqi Federal Police... for printing "anti-Iraqi literature" the Iraqi Federal Police would not cooperate with US forces, so i was instructed to investigate te matter, find out who the "bad guys" were, and how significant this was for the FPs... it turned out, they had printed a scholarly critique against PM Maliki... i had an interpreter read it for me... and when i found out that it was a benign critical critique titled "Where did the money go?" and following the corruption trial within the PM's cabinet.. i immediately took the information and ran to the officer to explain what was going on... he didn't want to hear any of it... he told me to shut up and explain how we could assist the FPs in finding MORE detainees....

verything started slipping after that... i saw things differently

i had alays questioned the things worked, and investigated to find the truth... but that was a point where i was a part of something. i was actively involved in something that i was completely against.

but i was part of it...
and completely helpless...

event occurs in 2007,
i watch video in 2009,
with no context,
do research,
forward indfomation to group of FOI activists,
more research occurs, video is released in 2010, those involved come forward to discuss publically, even add them as friends on FB. without them knowing who i am.

they touch my life, i touch their life, they touch my life again.. full circle

i just couldn't let these things stay inside ofthe system...and inside of my head

i recognised the value ofsome things.

knew what they meant..dug deeper

i watched that video cold, for instance

at first glance it was just a bunch of guys getting shot up by helicopter... no big deal... about 2 dozen more where that came from right. but something struck me as odd with the van thing... and also the fact it was being stored in a JAG officers's directory... so i looked inyo it, eventually tracked down the date, and then the exact GPS co-ord.. and it was like ok, so thats what happened.. cool... then i went to the regular internet.. and it was still on my mind... so i typed into google, the date and the location.

and then i see this

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/13/world/middleeast/13iraq.htn

( this is NEW YORK TIMES REPORT OF INCIDENT as it DIDN't happen.

i kept this in my mind for weeks. probably a month and a half... before i forwarded it to them

it was unreal.. i mean, i've identified bodies before.. it's rare to do so, but usually it's just nobody

it humanized the whole thing... re-sensitized me

i dont know... im just, wierd i guess
i can't seperate myself from others
i feel connected to everybody.. . like they were distant family
i care?

i probably shouldn't have read sagan, feynman, and so many intellectual authors last summer...

(sigh)

we're human... and we're killing ourselves... and no-one seems to see that....
and it bothers me

apathy

apathy is far worse than the active participation
i prefer a painful truth over any blissful fantasy.
i think i've been traumatised too usch by reality, to care about consequences of shattering the fantasy
i'm not brave, im weak

like i've said before... im not so much scared of getting caughtt and facing the consequences at this point... as i am of being misunderstood, and never having the chance to live the life i wanted to...

well, it was forwarded to WL and god knows what happens now, hopefully worlwide discussion, debates and reforms... if not.. then we're doomed...as a species

i will officially give up on the society we have if nothing happens

the raction of the video gave me immense hope. CNN's iReport was overwhelmed... Twitter EXPLODED

people who saw, knew there was something wrong

i want people to see the truth
regardless ofwho they are
because without infomation
you cannot make onformed decisions as a public

if i knew then, what i knew now.... kind of thing...
or maybe im just young, naive and stupid

im hoping for the former
it cant be the latter

because if it is
... we're FUCKING SCREWED

well,

IT SHOULD BE BETTER

its sad
i mean what if i were someone more malicious
i could've sold to russia or china, and made bank

Why didn't you

Lamo asks.

because it's publc data, Bradley replied

i mean, the cables Lamo asks

it belongs in the public domain
infomation should be free
it belongs in the public domain

because another state would just take advantage
of the infomation.... try and get some edge

if its out in the open...
it should be a public good...

i'm just me
im crazy like that.

END OF EXTRACTS

Bradley Mannings punitive treatment in his own words

Jack Omer - Song for Brasley Manning

The truth is out there
another world is possiblee
Bradley is a brave man,
time to set him free.

another good link
http://www.bradleymanning.org/

2 earlier posts from me on Bradley here

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2011/12/solidarity-with-bradley-manning.html

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2011/03/bradley-manning-forgotten-man_11.html.

Rosa Luxemburg ( 5/4/1871 - 15/01/19) Revolutionary of Passion..

2012-01-16T12:30:00.005Z

Yesterday was the anniversary of Rosa Luxemberg being shot and murdered When her body was thrown into the Landwehr Canal in Berlin. She has continued to inspire, a rousing figurehead to many.
Born in Russia, she was a Marxist theorist, philosopher and economist and activist of Polish Jewish descent who became a nantralised German citizen. She became a member of the Social Democracy of the Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania (SDK Pil), and then the Social Democrat Party of Germany (SPD), and the Independent Social Democratic Party (USPD) and the Communist Party of ermany (KPD).
In 1915 after the SPD supported German involvement in Word War I, she and Karl Liebnecht co-founded the anti war Spartacist League which became the Communist Party of Germany.
The Spartakists attempted an uprising , and subsequently she and Liebnecht were singled out by the authorities and she and other supporters were captured and murdered.
Her faith was a socialist idea that combined the powerful passion of both mind and heart. She devoted herself to the cause of revolution,and its preparation. She lived and breathed its fire, with selflessness and devotion, in every waking moment she dedicated herself to its cause. Standing bravely up for freedom with a strong powerful intellect. An individualist, she formulated her own ideas, using her own words to energise and radicalise the people and bring about a socialist revolution. She argued that " The mass strike is the first natural, impulsive form of every great revolutionary struggle of the proletariat and the more highly developed the antagonism is between capital and labour, the more effective and decisive must mass strikes become. The chief form of bourgeois revolutions, the fight at the barricades, the open conflict with the armed poor of the state, is in the revolution today only the culminating point, only a moment on the process of the proletarian mass struggle."
She followed no leader, was no ones puppet and when she criticised Lenin, it was in relation to dictatorial aspects. She said " Terror has not crushed us. How can you put your trust in terror."
She quoted Leon Trotsky saying
"As Marxists we have never been idol worshippers of formal democracy." She went on
"All that really means is: We have always distinquished the social kernal of social inequality and lack of freedom hidden under the seet shell of formal equality and freedom - not in order to reject the latter but to spur the working class into being satisfied with the shell, but rather, by conquering political poer, to create a socialist democracy to replace bourgeois democracy - not to elininate democracy altogether....... but socialist democracy is not something which begins only in the promised land, after the foundations of socialist economy are created, it does not come as some sort of Christmas present for the worthy people who, in the interim, have loyally supported a handful of socialist dictators. Socialist democracy begins simultaneously with the beginnings of the destruction of class rule and the construction of socialism. It begins at the very moment of the seizure of poer by the Socialist party. It is the same thing as the dictatorship of the proletariat. Yes, dictatorship! But this dictatorshiip consists in the manner of applying democracy, not in its elimination, but in energetic, resolute attacks upon the well-entrenched rights and economic relationships of bourgeois society, without which a socialist transformation cannot be accomplished. But this dictatorship must be the work of the class and not of a little leading minority in the name of the class - that is, it must proceed step by step out of the active participation of the masses, it must be under their direct influence, subjeected to the control of complete public activity; it must arise out of the political training of the mass of the people."
Possibly her believe in democracy is what failed her philosophically, nevertheless the questions she posed still worth looking at today. She also wrote " the revolution is the sole form of war, and this is also its most vital law - in which the final victory can be prepared only by a sense of defeat.".
She had determination by the buckets and a steely willful commitment. A combatant who strove for peace, who did not hesitate in her beliefs, to speak and proclaim with her own independent reason her own opinion. For that alone I respect her.Her idellible mark has been left on the world, who combined ideals with action, so or long may Red Rosa be remembered.

Red Rosa

Epitaph by Bertolt Brecht is a short poem written by Bertolt Brecht in honour of Rosa Luxemburg.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosa_Luxemburg

Further Reading

Rosa Luxemburg: A reapraisal - Lelio Besco
Andre Deutsch, 1975.

Rosa Luxemburg: A life
- Elizvieta Ettinga , Beacon Press 1987.

"either capitalism will continue, with fresh wars and a rapid plunge intp chaos and anarchy, or else capitalist exploitation will be abolished." Rosa Luxemburg 14/12/18 Rote Fahne

"Revolutionary idealism .... can be maintained over any period of time only through the intensely active life of the masses themselves under conditions of unlimited freedom." Rosa Luxemburg

American Activist Rachel Corrie The Girl with DREAMS (Murdered By Israel...

2012-01-15T14:39:00.000Z

Jack Spicer (30/1/25 - 17/8/65) - Extact from: A Textbook of Poetry / Rimbaud.

2012-01-13T10:45:00.001Z

Jack Spicer - Rachel Burgess

                                                          from: A Textbook of Poetry

1

   Surrealism is the business of poets who cannot benefit by surrealism. It
was the first appearance of the Logos that said, " The public be damned,"
by which he did not mean that they did not matter or he wanted to be
crucified by them, but that really he did not have a word to say to them.
This was surrealism

   But even the business of ignoring the public is the business of the poet
and not the surrealism of the poet. The surrealism of the poet could not
write words.

    To be lost in a crowd. Of images, of metaphors (whatever they were),
or words; this is a better surrender. Of the port who is lost in the crowd of
them. Finally.

16

    it does not have to fit together. Like the pieces of a totally unfinished
jigsaw puzle my grandmother left in the bedroon when she died in the
living room. The pieces of the poetry or of this love.

   Surrealism is a poem morethan this. The intention that things do not
fit together. As if my grandmother had chewed on her jigsaw puzzle
before she died.

     Not as a gesture of contempt for the scattered nature of reality. Not
because the pieces would fit in time. But because this would be the
only way to cause an alliance between the dead and the living. To magic
the whole thing toward what they called God.

     To mess around. To totally destroy the pieces. To build around them.

                                                                 Rimbaud

They said he was nineteen; he had been kissed
So many times his face was frozen closed.
His eyes would watch the lovers walking past
His lips would sing and nothing else would move.

We grownups at the bar would watch him sing.
Christ, it was funny with that childish grace
He sang our blues forus; his frozen lips
Would lift and sing our blues out song for song.

Intemperance of heart and of the mind
Will block their progress to the last abyss
Unwinkingly; they listen to the wind
And find ceiling in the throat.

image by

R.H Quaytiman.

The collected |Books of Jack Spicer:
Ed.Robin Blaser.Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press,
1975

Guantanamo Remembered : 10 years on

2012-01-11T17:30:00.004Z

Despite a pledge by US President to close Guantanemo Bay by 1 January 2010, today marks the day that this illegal prison was first opened, where prisoners, the majority of whom have been released without any charge whatever, have faced years of abuse and detention without trial. Many ssailed with coerced confession, with many have have benn treated to ordeals that amount to torture. In many cases even the circumstances of their detainment are questionable.
It stands in contradiction with agreements and standards of international law.
A total of 779 men have been held since it was opened. Today around 171 prisoners remain detained.

Amongst them is a British resident by the name of Shaker Aamer

who continues to be held despite long being cleared for release. His wife and children await his safe return in London.
For more details about this individual and other cases go here.

http://www.reprieve.org.uk/

Amnesty International has described the legacy of Guantanamo Bay as a "decade of damage to human rights," across the world. " Guantanamo has politicised justice internationally by portraying detainess as having no human rights " Amnestyy has said.

Guantanemo Bay : A decade of damage to hunan rights - amnesty international

10 years on: End detentions at Guantanomo Bay - Amnesty International

So today marks 10 years of evading the law, 10 years of hiding justice.
Today also marks the day where
Wikileaks Reveals Secret Files on All Prisoners

http://wikileaks.org/gitmo/

Despite the inhuman conditions that inmates have been contained, they were able to pass one another messages, using pebbles to scratch messages into foam cups they got with their meals. They were not however passing along escape plans or infomation about future attacks. They were sending each other poems. They have used words not weapons as power, but often their thoughts were destroyed. But many persevered . How their words survived shows their will and determination.
In the words of Seamus Heaney;

"Poetry has been defined as the imagination passing back against the pressures of reality, and these poems from Guantanemo are vivid proof of the rightness of that definition. Here are voices crying de profunis, yet the very fact of this articulation constitutes a victory, a guarantee of the spirits indomitable aspiration towards freedom and justice."

The U.S authorities have long tried to suppress peoples voices yet they failed to crush these. The human spritt is resiliant, it finds a way. Many carry political messages, but equally others speak of religious faith, home and longing and their thirst for freedom and justice.

This remarkable book ' poems of Guantanemo ' was published by the University of Iowa in 2007.
To order it go here.
http://www.uiowapress.org/books/2007-fall/falpoefro.html

To My Father - Abdulla Thani Faris al Anazi

To years have passed in far-away prisons,
Two years my eyes untouched by kohl.
Two years my heart sending out messages
To my homes where my family dwells,
Where lavender cotton sprouts
For grazing herds that leave well fed.

O Flij, explain to those who visit our home
How I used to live.
I know your thoughts are swirled as in awhirlwind,
When you hear the voice of my anguished soul.
Send sweet peace and greetings to Bu'mair;
Kiss him on his forehead. for he is my father.
Fate has divided us, like the parting of a parent from a newborn.

O Father, this is a prison of injustice.Its iniquity makes the mountains weep.
I have committed no crime and and and am guilty of no offense.
Curved claws have I. But I have been sold like a fattened sheep.
I have no fellows but the Truth. They told me to confess, but I am guiltless;
My deed are all honourable and need no apology.
They tempted me to turn away from the lofty summit of integrity,
To exchange this cage for a pleasant life.
By God, if they were to bind my body in chains, if all Arabs were to sell their faith, I would not sell mine.

I have composed these lines
For the day when your children have grown old.

O God - who governs creation with providence,
Who is one, singular and self-subsisting,
Who brings comfort and happy tidings, Whom we worship-
Grant serenity to a heart that beats with oppression,
And release thisprisoner from the tight bonds ofconfinement.

Is It True? - Osamas Abu Kamir

Is it true that the grass grows again after rain?
Is ittrue that the flowers will rise up again in the Spring?
Is it truethat birds will migrate home again?
Is it true that the salmon swim back up their streams?

Is it true. This is true, These are all miracles.
But is it true that one day we'll leave Guantanemo Bay?
Is it true that one day we'll go back to our homes?
I sail in my dreams. I am dreaming of home.

To be with my children, each one part of me;
To be with my wife and the ones I love;
To be with my parents, my worlds tenderest hearts.
I dream to be home, to be free from this cage.

But do you hear me, oh Judge, do you hear me at all?
We are innocent, here, we'eve committed no crime.
Set me free, set us free, if anywhere still
Justice and compassion,remain in this world!

Time for this symbol of injustice to fall.

Margaret Thatcher, her legacy, a personal view, a poem, and some tunes.

2012-01-10T17:27:00.004Z

In light of the new film about the monster that is Margaret Thatcher starring Meryl Streep, and the current revisionism and attempts to humanise her , thought I'd post this little piece.
I was 11 years old when she was first elected to power as prime minister on the 4th of may 1979 and aged 23 when her tenure as prime minister ended on she finally was beated and resigned on November 28th, 1990.
It was during her reigh, I guess that my political leanings were formed. I saw her and her Conservative government plunging Britain into deep recession, devastating our industries and social services, that to this day have not recovered entirely. Throughout her tenure I heard daily reports of mass unemployment, eventually trebling to well over 4 million, with job vacancies the lowest ever. I was told at school to study and work hard, but for what, because with her in power I saw no future.
It has been said that Margaret Thatcher was the only Prime Minister who could claim to have destroyed more of Brtains industry than all of Hitlers bombs during the Second World War. I saw her attempts at destroying the welfare state, closing hospitals, operating a policy of divide and rule. Driven by a right wing passion that bordered on the fanatical, that saw her pursue policies that denied people a right to a job on a living wage and to adequate housing, education and health care.
As a result of her obscene policy of spending £10,000 million on a new generation of Trident nuclear missiles I joined C.N.D ( the campaign for Nuclear Disarmarment) inspired by the brave women of Greenham Common and other peace campaigners. On top of this I saw her blatant war mongering and then she actually led us into war, which was the Falklands fiasco, with as many as 255 British men being killed in this futile war, with many young men from here in Wales, being sent to die for her pathetic cause. In her attempt to raise patriotic fervour,and her drive for instant popolarism, I saw her for what she really was.

It was because of her constant attacks on weaker members of society ( yes she was a bully) that I was drawn to movements that helped protect these people and the poor from a government deaf to reason and blind to compassion.
I noticed who her friends and allies were, her support for fascist like repressive regimes ( South Africa, Chile) and the hidden hands of big business and corporate power backing her in the shadows.
I began to see what she and her party stood for as evil, plain and simple. I began to read writers and philosophers for inspiration, like Marx, and read Aneurin Bevan who said in 1938 " From Parliament itself nothing can be expected. It is jaded and cynical. It can be stirred from outside and only from outside." I looked for others to join in opposition to her policies, and that was when I joined the Labour Party Young Socialists who I thought at the time would enable me to pursue this idea. Later however when new labour was elected I saw Thatchers breath stalking the Labour Parties policies, and I rejected that party as well.
At the time , I was daily incensed by her actions in particular with her devastating attack on the miners who dared to take her on. She chose to crush them and anybody else that stood in her way. I remember the bitter summer of 1984 when mining communities were battered and beaten. Where she utilised the police and the powers of the state in brutal fashion. Her attempts to turn our country into fortress Britain with her constant undermining of our civil liberties.

I remember too her introduction of the Poll tax designed again to attack the poor.

So we marched and took to the streets determined to get rid of this horrible woman who proudly declared that she was not for turning, not prepared to listen. Today when I look at Cameron , I see her spectre, when the people get angry again and resist, they offer us riot squads, plastic bullets and water cannons, whilst robbing us of our benefits. I see Thatcher when Cameron attempts to place additional burdens on the low paid, cutting our public servces, imposing drastic cuts, with their policies of privatisation and support for profiteers, bankers and the evils of capitalism.
The people are screaming again, and it looks like history is repeating. But we carry on resisting.

When I see Cameron smile, Blair smile I see her smile. her sneer, her total lack of compassion.
Her legacy one of aggression and authoritarianism, that leaves me to this day contemptuos of all things tory, and when the demented creature that is Thatcher finally crokes it, I and millions of others will remember her cruelty and what was done in her name and dance merrily on her grave, for every person that wears a black tie their wwill many more wearing party hats. This is what happens when monsters time is over.
Back in her day we had a right wing press that supported and colluded with her, but many diverse coalitions of resistance bought about the end of her time in power, today we have the internet and with it the rise of alternative forms of social media. We can beat the tories again, outside all is not lost, when they try to push us down , we must push back, and united we can again defeat them.

Here's and old poem I found, I wrote back in about 83/84 ,would have been my first attempts at poetry, so rather crude and basic i'm afraid, but was about 16, but underlies the passion I had at that time, looked through some others, think I'll leave them at the bottom of the the drawer.

Thatcher the Milk Snatcher!

Darkness flows everytime I see her
Thatcher, the milk snatcher
her smile like something evil incarnate
a grocers daughter who steals our change.
With her stormtroopers and her jackboot heels
creates division and fear.

This witch is not for turning
with friends in even darker places
in fascist South Afica, Chile, El Salvador.
Her will is simple ; it is to crush .
She eats babies for breakfast
steals from the poor, sells anything of worth.

Her opinion, makes me reel, makes me spin
makes me scream,makes me extreme.
Everytime she walks, it's like a curse
in this land of fading hope and glory
but I rejoice when I hear the people shout,
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out.

written 83/84 sometime.

I will not be goin to see the film, I've been sick of her for far to long, my thoughts
still hold far too much derision.
Laters.

John McCullough - I'll dance on your grave Mrs Thtcher.

Pete Wylie - The day that Thatcher dies.

Hefner- the day that Thatcher dies.

Class Actions - M is for Maggie ( Anti -Iron Lady Rap)

VASCO CABRAL (b.1926 - 24/8/05) - Last adeus of a forest-fighter/ O ultimo adeus dum combatente

2012-01-08T12:30:00.001Z

Vasco Cabra has been called the first Guinean intellectual. He was a poet and political prisoner, a leader of the PAIGC ( African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde ) and a freedom fighter in the war for independence, an economic minister and Vice- President of the new nation, and the founder of the National Union of Writers in Guinea-Bissau. He was a member of the Youth Unitary Movement in Portugal, which opposed the fascist dictatorship, and as a result of his involvement was arrested and imprisoned. Vasco Cabral's earliest poems, striking in their determination to end Portugese domination over Guinea-Bissau and Cabo Verde, date back to 1951, though all came to published in 1981. He became a man of letters and was a follower of the political leader Amilcar Cabral who he was jailed with. Amilcar Cabral was dedicated to uniting different kingdoms ( and therefore different ethnic groups) , percieving that this would eliminate the ills of Guinean society - what he called the " Portugese economic infrastructure", which had its foundation in the exploitation, and division of dominated people. His ability to integrate with Guineans and Cape Verdeans in one single anti colonial movement and maintain unity was pretty impressive.
Vasco passed away in Bissau at the age of 79 in time to see that the anti-colonial endeavors he had followed, had become part of the process where old empires kept falling and did not retain their power.

That afternoon I left and you remained,
we felt, us two, the saudade's sorrow.
I suffered the bloody truth of your tears.
You're not my only happiness, amor,
I left you there for love of Humankind
but, seeing your tears, my heart took upon the pain
you bore, and ached bitterly at your moans,
so yes,its why I left you and remained.

Believe I never left, that you gave me
the gift of yourself; then the pain and grief
will be no more than nightmares, quickly gone.
Believe I never will forget your love,
and, if I am the one your love burns for,
carry the hope that one day I'll return.

Naquela tarde em que eu paeri e tu ficaste
sentimos, fundo, os dois a magoa da saudade.
Por ver-te as lagrimas sangrarem de verdade
sofri na alma um amargor quando choraste.

Ao despedir-me eu trouxe a dor que tu levaste!
Nem so o teu amor me traz a felicidade.
Quando parti foi por amar a Humanidade
Sim! foi por isso que eu parti e tu ficaste!

Mas se pensares que eu nao parti e a mim te deste
sera a dor e a tristeza de perder-me
unicamente um pesadelo que tiveste.

Mas se jamais do teu amor posso esquecer-me
e se fui eu aquele a quem tu mais quiseste
que eu conserve em ti a esperanca de rever-me!

(1955)

Reprinted from
FOR VASCO
poems from Guinea-Bissau
The Heaventree Press
2006

A further book is
Vasco Cabral - A luta e a minha primavera: poemas
( Oeiras: Africa Editora), 1981.

More on Amilcar Cabral here

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Am%C3%ADlcar_Cabral

Benjamin Zephaniah (b.15/08/58) - What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us

2012-01-05T13:42:00.005Z

Yesterdays sentencing , gives us nothing to celebrate. In the words of Ms Lawrence " How can I celebrate when my son is buried? Had the police done their job properly I would have spent the last 18 years grieving for my son rather than fighting to get his killers in court.". If their had not been so much institutionalised racism, perhaps Stephens killers would have been jailed much earlier, but the police failed to arrest anyone at the time, back in 1993. Where's the justice too for Lakhvider " Ricky" Reel , murdered 4 years after Stephen, and the many other victims of racist violence.
Two have know been convicted for Stephens brutal murder,( Gary Dobson and David Norris) time for the rest of them Neil Acourt, Jamie Acourt and Luke Knight to be sent down too.They should not be allowed to rest easy.
Their sentences should be long, despite the fact that they were juvenille at the time, they have shown no remorse, consistently lied and flaunted and paraded their arrogance. Shown themselves as the cowardly racists they are.
Sadly the ugly reality of racist hatred still lingers. It needs to be crushed and condemned at all times. Only then can we really move on. Perhaps the media can stop pandering to the venomous views of the historian David Starkey and others like him ( the odious newspaper 'the Daily Mail and its many rabid columnists is particularly alarming ) who contribute largely to perpetuating racist belief. Not all racists fit the stereotype of a skinhead in bovver boots anymore, they come in all shapes and sizes. For some rascist abuse is a daiy reality. We cannot tolerate it anymore, we should not let hatred consume us, and if that means banning the British National Party and other racist organisations, so be it.
I leave you with this , that the brilliant Dub poet Benjamin Zephaniah, wrote back in 1999, still pertinent, still raising questions.

What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us.

We know who the killers are,
We have watched them strut before us
As proud as sick Mussolinis',
We have watched them strut before us
Compassionate and arrogant,
They paraded before us,
Like angels of death
Protected by the law.

It is now an open secret
Black people do not have
Chips on their shoulders,
They just have injustice on their backs
And justice on their minds,
And now we know that the road to liberty
Is as long as the road from slavery.

The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us how to love each other
And never to take the tedious task
Of waiting for a bus for granted.
Watching his parents watching the cover-up
Begs the question
What are the trading standards here?
Why are we paying for a police force
That will not work for us?

The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us
That we cannot let the illusion of freedom
Endow us with a false sense of security as we walk the streets,
The whole world can now watch
The academics and the super cops
Struggling to define institutionalised racism
As we continue to die in custody
As we continue emtying our pockets on the pavements,
And we continue to ask ourselves
Why is it so official
That black people are so often killed
Without killers?

We are not talking about war or revenge
We are not talking about hypothetics or possibilities,
We are talking about where we are now
We are talking about how we live now
In dis state
Under dis flag, ( God Save the Queen),
And God save all those black children who want to grow up
And God save all the brothers and sisters
Who like raving,
Because the death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us that racism is easy when
You have friends in high places
And friends in high places
Have no use whatsoever
When they are not your friends.

Dear Mr Condon,
Pop out of Teletubby land,
And visit reality,
Come to an honest place
And get some advice from your neighbours,
Be enlightened by our community,
Neglect your well-paid ignorance
Because
We know who the killers are.

Reprinted from Too Black , Too Strong
Bloodaxe 2001.

For more Benjamin Zephaniah go here
http://www.benjaminzephaniah.com/content/index.php

'' Jazz is our religion '' documentary ( 1971 )

2012-01-04T13:28:00.003Z

U.K, 1971.
Directed by John Jeremy, documentary focuses on the photography of Valerie Wilmer, while various voices, Rashid Ali, Bill Evans, Marion Brown, Dewey Redman and others comment, with jazz poems by Langston Hughes and Ted Joans.
For some their is a mystical faith in their devotion and service to music. Take a look at the work of John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, Sun Ra and a multitude of others.
Does it have to have soul to make it real? Probably, but in jazz in particular there is a diverse devoted breed. There are many false prophets,and some refuse to follow any leader, many wrong turns and blandness that follow the order of money and corporate marketing machines that I refuse to worship.
I follow unities notes and chords, and all those who push the boundaries a bit. The tone of endless freedom , to me is a love supreme.

Jack Kerouac ( 12/3/22 -21/10/69) on Slim Gaillard - ' There You Go-Orooni'

2012-01-02T16:25:00.001Z

Jack Kerouac
(playing with consiousness )

Slim Gaillard was the perennial MC and hipster about town, whose impact and influence in the bop n beat generation of the 1940s ant the 50s is hard to exagerrate. Born in Detroit in 1916, he was a singer, songwriter, pianist , saxophonist and guitarist, noted for his immaculate appearance . As well as speaking eight languages, Arabic, Syrian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Armenian, Portugese and fluent Greek he had time to invent a new one, 'Vout' a hipster slang generated by adding -'oroonie' to every significant word, he became known for his use of alliteration and his dazzling wordplay, with his hip nonsensical but inventive patois leading things.He was not however just a mere novely act, his playing was good enough for him to contend and play with many of the all time jazz greats. A true polymath, in periods away from music he worked as a cook, an airline pilot and a merchant seaman.
At the time of Americas witchhunts by the so called moral majority, Gaillard became a target. Among one of his songs to be singled out as being a prime cause in the decline of morals amongst the country's youth were the ultra-suggestive Drei Six Cents (actually Yiddish for thirty cents) and even the more sinister Cement Mixer with its onomatopoeic 'putti, putti. In other songs he alluded to all manner of dubious activities. Subversive stuff to some , eh. His song 'Yep Roc Heresay''is considered one of the first Jazz songs in Arabic. He carried on doin what he did, recording with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie among many. Carried on regardless with his outrageous humour which manifest throughout his work , energetic, exciting. Gregarious and overflowing with tales, and wild vernacular eruptions.
In later life he settled in London , where he turned on a new generation of British players.
Often when life gets to serious when I need a little distractions from dark reality I play his records for a bit of a lift, listen to some cool , unexpected sounds. A nice cocktail for the senses when engaging in lifes balancing acts. Improvised scatterings, interplay arrives at a truly international language. A joy to listen to a truly original voice. Hip idiosyncracy with a dash of versatility, I'll forgive him 'Absolute Beginners' brilliant book turned into shoddy film,oh and 'Charlies Angels'!! we all make mistakes, he simply walked his own way.
He died in London on February 26th 1991.
I will leave you with some words from todays sponsor Mr Jack Kerouac.

Slim Gaillard

'But one night we suddenly went mad together again; we went to see Slim Gaillard in a little Frisco night-club. Slim Gaillard is a tall, thin Negro with big sad eyes who's always saying, 'Right-orooni' and 'How 'bouta little
bourbon-orooni.' In Frisco great eager crowds of young semi-intellectuals sat at his feet and listened to him on the piano, guitar, and bongo drums. When he gets warmed up he takes off his shirt and undershirt and really goes. He does and says anything that comes into his head. He'll sing 'Cement Mixer, Put-ti Put-ti' and suddenly slow down the beat and brood over his bongos with fingertips barely tapping the skin as everybody leans forward breathlessly to hear; you think he'll do this for a minute or so, but he goes right on, for as long as an hour, making an imperceptible little noise with the tips of his fingernails, smaller and smaller all the time till you can't hear it any more and sounds of traffic come in the open door. Then he slowly gets up and takes the mike and says, very slowly, 'Great-orooni... fine-ouvati... hello-orooni. . . bourbon-oroonie. . . all-orooni. . . orooni. . . how are the boys in the front row making out with their girls-orooni. . . . orooni. . . vauti. . . orooirooni. . . ' He keeps this up for fifteen minutes, his voice getting softer and softer till you can't hear. His great sad eyes scan the audience.
Dean stands in the back, saying, 'God! Yes! and clasping his hands in prayer and sweating. 'Sal, Slim hnows time, he knows time.' Slim sits down at the piano and hits two notes, two Cs, then two more, then one, then two, and suddenly the big burly bass player wakes up from a reverie and realizes Slim is playing 'C-Jam Blues' and he slugs in his big forefinger on the string and the big booming beat begins and everybodystarts rocking and Slim looks just as sad as ever, and they blow jazz for half an hour, and then Slim goes mad and grabs the bongos and plays tremendous rapid Cubana beats and yells crazy things in Spanish,in Arabic, in Peruvian dialect, in Egyptian, in every language he knows, and he knows innumerable languages. Finally the set is over; each set takes two hours. Slim Gaillard goes and stands againsy a post, looking sadly over everybody's head as people come to talk to him. A bourbon is slipped into his hand. 'Bourbon-orooni- thank -you-ouvati. . . ' Nobody knows where Slim Gaillard is. Dean once had a dream that he was having a baby and his belly was all bloated up blue as he lay on the grass of a California hospital. Under a tree, with a group of coloured men, sat Slim Gaillard. Dean turned despairing eyes of a mother to him. Slim daid, 'There you go-orooni.' Now Dean approached him , he approached his God; he thought Slim was God; he shuffled and bowed in front of him and asked him to join us. 'Right-orooni,' says Slim; he'll join anybody but he won't guarantee to be there with you in spirit. Dean got a table, bought drinks, and sat stiffly in front of Slim. Slim dreamed over his head. Every time Slim said, 'Orooni,' Dean said, 'Yes!' I sat there with these two madmen. Nothing happened. To Slim Gaillard thewhole world was just one big orooni.'

Extract from
'On the Road'- Jack Kerouac
Andre Deutsch 1958.

Vout Oroonie Folks!
VoutOroonie!

Dreix Six Cents- Slim Gaillard

Cement Mixer - Slim Gaillard

Yep Roc Heresay -Slim Gaillard Quartette.

Jazz Juke Box

George Melly interview with Slim

Arena 1983.

George Melly shows somes hort films made in 1940's ,sublime .

Slim Gaillard live 1947.

LET FREEDOM RING

2012-01-01T14:23:00.001Z

Octavia Paz (31/4/14 - 19/4/98) January First/ Primero de enero

2012-01-01T09:00:00.003Z

The year's doors open
like those of language
toward the unknown,
Last night you told me:
tomorrow
we shall have to think up signs,
sketch a landscape, fabricate a plan
on the double page
of day and paper.
Tomorrow, we shall have to invent,
once more,
the reality of this world.

I opened my eyes late.
For a second of a second
I felt what the Aztec felt,
on the crest of the promontory,
lying in wait
for time's uncertain return
through cracks in the horizon.

Butno, the year had returned
It filled all the room
and my look almost touched it.
Time, with no help from us,
had placed
in exactly the same order as yesterday
houses in the empty street,
snow on the houses,
silence on the snow.

You were beside me,
still asleep.
The day had invented you
but you hadn't yet accepted
being invented by the day.
- Nor possibly my being invented, either.
You were in another day.

You were beside me
and I saw you, like the snow,
asleep among appearances.
Time, with no help from us,
invents houses, streets, trees
and sleeping women.

When you open your eyes
we'll walk, once more,
among the hours and their inventions.
We'll walk among appearances
and bear witness to time and its conjugations.
Perhaps we'll open the day's doors.
And then we shall enter the unknown.

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1 January 1975

Las puertas del ano se abren,
como las del lenguaje,
hacia lo desconocicido.
Anoche ne dijiste:
manana
habra que trazar unos signos,
dibujar un paisaje, tejer una trama
sobre la doble pagina
del papel y del dia.
Manana habra que inventar,
de neuvo,
la realidad de este mundo.

Yatarde abri los ojos.
Por el sgundo de un segundo
senti lo que el azteca,
acehando
desde el penon del promontorio
por las rendijas de los horizontes
el incierto regreso del tiempo.

No, el ano habia regresado.
Llenabo todo el cuarto
y casi lo palpaban mis miradas.
El tiempo, sin nuestra ayuda,
habia puesto,
en un orden identico al de ayer,
casas en la calle vacia,
nieve sobre las casas,
silencio sobre la nieve.

Tu estabas a mi lado,
aun dormida.
El dia te habia inventado
pero tu no aceptabas todavia
tu innencion en este dia.
Quiza tampoco la mia.
Tu estabas en otro dia.

Estabas a mi lado
y yo te veia, como la hieve,
dormida entre las apariencias.
El tiempo, sin nuestra ayuda,
inventa casa, calles, arboles,
mujeres dormidas.

Cuando abras los ojos
caminaremos, de neuvo,
entre las horas y sus invenciones.
Caminaremos entre las aparienciones,
daremos fe del tiempo y sus conjugaciones.
Abriremos acaso las puertas del dia.
Entraremos entonces en lo desconocido.

a l de enero de 1975.

Reprinted from

Vuelta ( 1976)

Happy new year,lets try for another world.
don't let the bastards grind you down,
spread solidarity
heddwch/peace.
Let freedom ring
and truth and justice prevail.
Its o.k to say no.

Bob Black: The Abolition Of Work.

2011-12-28T14:12:00.003Z

I guess work is done by most out of necessity, not by choice. When I have worked however I did not define myself through my work or my pay packet. Some people are lucky, today I spend time doing things I find useful and simply enjoying it, but without money perhaps we'd all be rich.
Anyway had my letter from the benefit agency, like many up and down the country, must say there timing is impeccable, so soon it looks that I might be conscripted.
All this is work where there is nothing.

Watch your thoughts, for they become words,
watch your words, for they become actions,
watch your actions, for they become habits,
watch your habits, for they become character,
watch your character, for it becomes destiny.

" The most wasted day of all is that during which we have not laughed."
- Sebastion D.N.Chamfort.

Willam Empson (27/09/06 - 15/4/84 ) - Let it go.

2011-12-26T18:24:00.001Z

It is this deep blackness is the real thing strange
  The more things happen to you the more you can't
   Tell or remember even what they were.

The contradictions cover such a range.
   The talk would talk and go far aslant
       You don't want madhouse and the whole thing
        there.

1949

Simon Munnery's Cluub Zarathustra 1996.

2011-12-26T12:00:00.000Z

Back again
Bored of the festive T.V offerings ,so here's a clip that was piloted for Channel 4 but was never actually shown.So here's some surreal experimental comic caberet from yesterday, featuring the talents of Simon Munnery, Kevin Eldon and Stewart Lee.
I find it rather enjoyable.
Hope you enjoy it too.

Cluub Zarathustra Pilot Part 1

Club Zarathustra Part 2

oh go on then merry christmas.

2011-12-24T12:25:00.000Z

David Roviks - A Christmas Song.

The Waitresses - Christmas Wrapping

Its sure is difficult to avoid. I for one wont be posting anything for a while because the library I use will be shutting down for Christmas.Where I'll be hanging out, the computer will be off limits unless I can do some gentle persuading. A time of year when I usually feel like some kind of traitor, because I don't enter into the spirit of things. I't not that I'm a toatal misery guts, I just don't get this time of the year
And when I have a little herbal smoke too much, and possibly a little too much egg nog, the inevitable happens, and their is usually some almighty clash. I like it if it snows, but that's about it, I can see my family at any time of the year, I love them like my friends but even then I hesitate about staying a whole 24 hours with them. And anyway their for life, not just for Christmas.
Their lovely , but god they like an argument, so do I , I suppose, but lets face it certain peoples lifeheld beliefs are very difficult to change, especially in this holiday period, beliefs can get rather entrenched a bit.
Reasons for my dislike of this time of the year are the usual suspects, the seasonal fakery, the waste of paper, the misery that explodes , and the annual artificial need to guzzle and consume vast amounts, whilst people commodify and profiteer from our faked jollity. Santa the manufactured symbol that resides right next to the sick heart of capitalism and consumerism.
Blessed Saturnalia, roast chestnuts underneath the pagan tree..... oh dear oh me.... But children love it I suppose , this shindig of excess. Their sun will rise anyway, rudolph will leave eat all the carrots and someone will have bamdoozled the sherry.
I suppose it is is a time when many do genuinely take some time out to celebrate their faith, fair enough , but the original meaning seems to have got lost a long time ago now.
I will probably end up feeling a little tired and emotional by Monday, looking for some kind of solace. Won't make the old mistake of admitting myself into a mental asylum , but i'm sure their will be many nervous wrecks by the end of the weekend , who'll join the queue. And if anyone force feeds me the Queens speech one more time I will truly be upset.
But i'm also keen on reflection at this time of the year, a little introspection, why i'm a hypocrite too, got my bag of greenery sorted out, and will probably be hitting the bottle too.
Anyway whatever you do, take it easy out there, and yes , have a good time, follow your dreams, your currents, each according to your need. Have some fun. Stay positive and stay human.
But remember too as this holiday period approaches The Salvation Army is planning for increased demand for its services for vulnerable peopleand con-dem cuts will spell misery for millions of people right into the new year. Sorry to be a damp squid, however if I dont have time to say it, wish you a happy peaceful new year. The times are a changing , and another world is inevitable. In these times of austerity and as our debits increase.lets try to make poverty history ( an old message still as urgent as before) and let hope reign. Kick out the Tories.We don't have to take what our leaders want to deliver,so if its your kind of thing merry Christmas, Chanukkah, solstice, Yuletide, Saturnalia, Kwanzaa, Festivus... or anythin else you care to celebrate. Think I've said enough. Laters...... heddwch/peace

Follow earth's whimper.

2011-12-21T11:47:00.003Z

Pentre Ifan - Pembrokeshire

David Cameron says
the U.K is a Christian Society
"and we should not be afraid to say so"
during a speech on the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible.

Be grateful
depends from which basket
one has borrowed
this same country
that has abolished universal jurisdiction
that elects a government that preaches
an eye for an eye
moral collapse mirrored in politicians lies.

On this longest night
celebrate love
the sun's rebirth
as spirits of fire,
spirits of air,
grant secret wishing prayer.
Man speaks of faith
trapped in ideological indulgence,
outside
time is stilled,
slips backwards
towards journeys end.

Quarks
act irresponsibly,
a puzzle of perception
within or without.
Take away our parachutes
and love is the key
that does not oppress
justice shared among neighbours,
and hope that convinces even the bleakest of nights
nature too has a soul, a voice.

I follow earths whimper
shining through humanities glimpses
her beauty for all to share
fix me up a murmour
and long echoes that search for peace
nature's spirit does not discriminate
and the great world rolls on interminably
in the still of the night follows diversity
uniting us together to lifes real necessities
it is possible for our minds to reel in wonder
reasons whirl along the changing seasons .

Happy Winter Solstice

" Who , out of the theory of the earth and of his or her body
understands by subtle analogies all other theories."

- Walt Witman.

A Festive Phone Call

2011-12-19T12:08:00.005Z

As part of a National Month of Festive action against Atos , there is now taking place a mass telephone complaint to Atos. Starting on Monday 12th December, this campaign is running up until Christmas, benefit claimants, disabled people and their supporters will be ringing both local and national Atos Offices to complain about theor obscene treatment of sick and disabled people.

Sometimes talking to someone at this time of the year can make a difference, it's that seasonal radiance that makes some of us shout, some of us scream.
for more infomation about this talkback go here.

http://benefitclaimantsfightback.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/a-rolling-festive-phone-in

Mr Cameron and his allies like a bit of division, heaping more and more burden on those in society that cannot defend themselves. In times of hardship, the conservatives historically look out for scapegoats, at a time when our elected leaders (M.Ps ) have the audacity to demand thousands more pounds in expenses.
Matbe greedy politicians should look inwards before targetting the more marginalised in society.
There is much hypocricy.
If your feeling strong, how about some solidarity with some people who are at moment in time are being pilloried and stigmatised.
Seasons greetings.

Thomas Evan Nicholas ( Niclas y Glais) (6/10/1879 -19/4/71) - To a Sparrow

2011-12-18T12:00:00.002Z

                                                                   TO A SPARROW

                                                               ( Swansea Prison 1940)

                                                Look, here's another bread-crumb for your piping,
                                               And a piece of apple as a sweetener.
                                               It gladdens me to hear your steady pecking;
                                               It's good to see your cloak of grey once more.
                                               You've travelled here, perhaps, from Pembroke's reaches,
                                               From the gorse and heather on Y Frenni's height,
                                              And mabe on grey wing you've trilled your measures
                                              Above fair Ceredigion at dawn's first light.
                                              Accept the bread: had I a drop of wine
                                               Pressed from a distant country's sweet grape-cluster,
                                              We could take, amid war's turbulence,
                                              Communion, though the cell lacks cross and altar.
                                               The bread's as holy as it needs to be,
                                                Offering of a heart not under lock and key.

Translated from the Welsh by Joseph P.Clancy
reprinted from Twentieth Century Welsh Poems, ( Gomer,1982)

Born at Llanfyrnach. T.E Nicholas was a congregational minister and a founding member of the Communist Party of Great Britain, and was a political journalist as well as a poet. He was twice imprisoned, not the first or last Welshman to be imprioned by spurious charges.'To a Sparrow ' was a poem he wrote whilst incarcenated.
Main themes of his poetry were of injustice that stemmed from his strong socialist faith.The Spanish Civil War gave rise to his verse denouncing fascism. In later life translated the internationale into Welsh.
It was whilst in prison though that he wrote some one hundred and fifty sonnets. The smallest incident would provide inspiration. Denied writing paper , he wrote on the slate in his cell, and on toilet paper. Main themse were of injustice and the power of capital. 'Cana'r Carchar' Prison Songs and 'Llygad y Drws' (referring to the eye hole of the prison door) were both collections that were written whilst he was in prison.
He continued writing into his old age, his support for left wing causes undimmed.
Ke died in Aberystwyth in 1971 aged 91.

Solidarity with Bradley Manning

2011-12-16T13:53:00.002Z

It was back in March that I first wrote about the case of Bradley Manning. Back then I called the post Bradley Manning - the forgotten Man, well since then things have not improved for Bradley Mannings lot, but at least the whole world is watching now.
Bradley Manning is being detained on suspicion of blowing the whistle on the Empire's dubious activities, by allegedly disclosing embarrasing U.S State Deparment cables.
He is due for a pre-trial hearing later today. Tomorrow, but especially here in Wales ( for we consider him one of us) there will many autonomous solidarity actions for Bradley across the globe.
Tomorrow will be Bradley' 24th birthday - a day that his supporrters will gather, many will gather outside Ft Meade and U.S embassies wordwide.
Not sure however if he will get anything resembling justice and freedom soon. Barak Obama has already come out saying that he is guilty, even before a trial. To many though, he is a hero.
He spent almost 4 years at Tasker Millward Comprhensive School in Havefordwest, Pembrokeshire, Wales, his mother Susan still lives in Pembrokeshire. If he was ever freed and returned to Wales I am sure he would get a warm welcome.
Since his imprisonment he has been subject to punishment that has amounted to torture during his 18 month detention, which has included solitary confinement and denial of sleep and exercise, undermining his mental condition. It does not look that in the U.S.A he will get a impartial trial, the government seem to have already assumed his guilt.
Guilty or not, he is in prison for anyone who has ever protested against U.S wars of aggression and British ( and other countries ) complicity in these wars.
Whatever the outcome we will not forget him. Surely exposing war crimes cannot be a crime, his alleged leaks have subsequently acted as a jump start to freedom movements springing up worlwide. The world needs whisleblowers, because then we really will have a world without fear. You cannot hide the truth.

New song by Graham Nash
about Bradley Manning

Collatteral Murder - leaked Video clip.

earlier post

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2011/03/bradley-manning-forgotten-man_11.html

good links

for further infomation

http://wiseupforbradleymanning.wordpress.com/

http://www.bradleymanning.org/

Possibility!

2011-12-15T17:44:00.002Z

Omar Vega

Parlophone EP 8765 - Logue and Kinsey - Red Bird (side two)

2011-12-13T14:16:00.000Z

Christopher Logue (23/11/26 -02/12/11) - Some Poetry and some Jazz (R.IP)

2011-12-13T14:06:00.002Z

Very late with this post, was round my mates ken's last night where we shared a few smokes and a beer, we like to talk about poetry and jazz, he was there back in the day, mid 60s on the edge of Ladbroke Grove, we talked about old black and white memories, improvised imaginings.
We listened, shared.... talked about powerful writers, we agreed that Christopher Logue had been good, a poet who succesfully merged jazz and poetry together, he had copy of red bird on tape, it was on it's last legs but still inspired. Mr Logue he had a fine voice clear, like an actor.Quite posh
His poetry like himself beyond categoriation, resolute with strong moral anger. My mate Ken said he'd written for Ken Russell another old rogue gone, acted too. His words public and dramatic, focused and confrontational,seriously mocking,above all darkly humourous, we liked that...
Also a pacifist, he too had walked on aldermaston , became a war poet but remained a man of conviction. A pornographer who saw no contadiction.
Remembered by some as 'spaghetti eating fanatic' in the film jaberwocky.
Another original gone. Silent or spoken - verse performs.
R.I.P

The song of the Outsider

This city and its citizens are green.
Quickly, those who come from far off
and enter the city, turn green.
Many have rushed here suffering dangers unnumbered,
just to be green. And othe, with contacts,
with money, with skills that are wanted,
And have brought their children, dogs and servants,
so that all they possess shall be green.
Only one dweller herein,
only one, has not become green.
How much he would give to be green!
If he could be green, why nothing would matter.
He suffers from this. He may well go Pop!
As night, beneath the huge green stars,
he goes about crushing young greenies
to ease his hatred and fears.
It is bad to do this. He knows it is bad.
And thinking of his evil deeds he sheds
deeply felt tears 'If only I was green,' he says,
'life would be like a children's game.'

To a friend in Search of Rural Seclusion

When all else fails,
Try Wales.

Rat, O Rat...

never in all my life have I seen
as hadsome a rat as you
Thank you for noticing my potatoes.

O Rat, I am not rich.
I left you a note concerning my potatoes,
but I see that I placed it too high
and you could not read it.

O Rat, consider my neighbour:
he has eight children (all of them older
and more intelligent than mine)
and if you lived in his house, Rat,

ten good Chritians
(if we include his wife)
would sing your praises nightly,
wheras in my house there are only five.

Air for the Witness of a Departure

A high wind blows
over the long white lea
lover
O lover
over the white lea.
Knows
who knows where my love is riding?

Thrush in the maybloom
high winds blow
O
over the long white lea.
Knows
who knows where my love is riding?-
riding
riding over the long white lea.

'Woke up this morning '

Woke up this morning
In the middle of winter
Salt in my coffee
Swat in my hair.
The letter said: She's dead,
We know you will miss her.
Woke up this morning
In winter in winter.

Started my answer
But failed to remember
The sound of her voice
Or the shape of her head.
Wrote I was sorry
Will be there on Thursday
found myself busy
Sent flowers instead.

Several years later
I met her while dreaming.
Fingernails bitten
Her hands in her hair,
Lovely as ever:
I have to get started!
She shouted: Get started!
And parted the air.

Woke up this morning
In the middle of winter
Salt in my coffee
Sweat in my hair
All I could think of
Was sleeping beside her
And how she wore nothing
In winter in winter.

Reprinted from

Seleced Poems - Christopher Logue
faber and faber, 1996

Parlaphone L.P Christopher Logue and Tony Kinsey ( side 1)

Guardian Obituary
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/dec/03/christopher-logue?newsfeed=true.

William Styron ( 11/6/25 - 1/11/06) - Darkness Visible (an extract)

2011-12-11T15:03:00.001Z

When I was first aware that I had been laid low by the disease, I felt a need, among other things, to register a strong protest against the word 'depression'. Depression, most people know, used to be termed 'melancholia', a word which appears in English as early as the year 1303 and crops up more than once in Chaucer, who in his usage seemed to be aware of its pathological nuances. ' Melancholia' would still appear to be a far more apt and evocative word for the blacker forms of the dosorder, but it was usurped by a noun with a bland tonality and lacking any magisterial prescence, used indifferently to describe an economic decline or a rut in the ground, a true wimp of a word for such a major illness. It may be that the scientist generally held resposible for its currency in modern times, a Johns Hopkins Medical School faculty member justly venerated - the Swiss born psychiatrist Adolf Meyer - had a tin ear for the finer rhythyms of the English and therefore was unaware of the semantic damage he had inflicted by offering 'depression'' as a descriptive noun for such a terrible and raging disease. Nonetheless, for over seventy-five years the word has slithered innocuously through the language like a slug, leaving little trace of its intrinsic malevolence and preventing, by its very insipidity, a general awareness of the horrible intensity of the disease when out of control.
As one who has suffered from the malady in extremis yet returned to tell the tale, I would lbby for a truly arresting designation. 'Brainstorm', for instance, has unfortunstely been preempted to describe, somewhat jocularly, intellectual inspiration. But something along these lines is needed. Told that someone's mood disorder has evolved ito a storm - a veritable howling tempest in the brain, which is indeed what a clinical depression resembles like nothing else - even the uninformed layman might display sympathy rather than the standard reaction that ' depression' evokes, something akin to 'So what?' or 'You'll pull out of it' or 'We all have bad days.' The phrase 'nervous breakdown' seems to be on its way out, certainly deservedly so, owing to its insinuation of a vaque spinelessness, but we still seem dstined to be saddled with 'depression' until a better, sturdier name is created.
The depression that engulfed me was not of the manic type- the one accompanied by euphoric highs - which would have most probably presented itself earlier in my life. i was sixty when the illness struck for the first time, in the 'unpilor' form, which leads straight down. I shall never learn what 'cause' my depression, as no one will ever learn about their own. To be able to do so will likely for ever prove to be an impossibility,so able complex are the interingled factors of abnormal chemistry, behaviour and genetics. Plainly, multiple components are involved - peerhaps three or four, most probably more, in fathomless permutations. That is why the greatest fallacy about suicide lieds in the belief that there is a single immediate answer - or perhaps combined answers - as to why the deed was done.
The inevitable question 'Why did he (or she) do it? usually leads to odd speculations, for the most part fallacies themselves. Reasons were quickly advanced for Abbie Hoffman's death: his reaction to an auto accident he had suffered, the failure of his most recent book, his mother's serious illness. With Randall Jarrell it was a declining career cruelly epitomised by a vicious book review and his consequent anguish. Primo Levi, it was rumoured, had been burdened by caring for his paralytic mother, which was more onerous to his spirit than even his experience at Auschwitz. Any one of these factors may havelodged like a thorn in the sides of the three men, and been a torment. Such aggravations may be crucial and cannot be ignored. But most people quietly endure the equivelent of injuries, declining careers, nasty book reviews, family illnesses. A vast majority of the survivors of Auschwitz have borne up fairly well. Bloody and bowed by the outrages of life, most human beings still stagger on down the road, unscathed by real depression. To discover why some people plungeinto the downward spiral of depression, one must search beyond themanifest crisis - and then still fail to come up with anything beyond wise conjecture.
The storm which swept me into a hospital in December began as a cloud no bigger than a wine goblet the previous June. And the cloud - the manifest crisis - involved alcohol, a substance I had been abusing for forty years. Like a great many American writers, whose sometime lethal addiction to alcohol has become so legendary as to provide in itself a stream of studies and books, I usealcohol as the magical conduit to fantasy and euphoria, and the the enhancement of the imagination. There is no need either to rue or apologise for my use of this soothing, often sublime agent, which had contributed greatly to my writing;although I never sat down a lne while under its influence, I did use it - often in conjuntion with music - as a means to let my mind concieve visions that the unaltered, sober brain has no assess to. Alcohol was an invaluable senior partner of my intellect, besides being a friend whose ministrations I sought daily - sought also, I now see, as a means to calm the anxiety and incipient dread that I had hidden away for so long somewhere in the dungeons of my spirit.
The trouble was at the beginning of this paticular summer, that I was betrayed. It struck me quite suddenly, almost overnight; I could no longer drink. It was as if my body had risen up in protest, along with my mind, and had conspired to reject this daily mood bath which it had so long welcomed, and, who knows? perhaps even come to need. Many drinkers have experiencd this intolerance as they have grown older. I suspect that the crisis was atleast partly metabolic - the liver rebelling, as if to say, 'No more, no more' - but at any rate I discovered that alcohol in miniscule amounts, even a mothful of wine, caused me nausea, a deperate and unpleasant wooziness, a sinking sensation, and ultimately a distinct revulsion. The comforting friend had abandoned me not gradually and reluctantly as a true friend might do, but like a shot - and I was left high and certainly dry, and unhelmed.
Neither by will nor by choice had I become an absteiner; the situation was puzzling to me, but it was also traumatic, and I date the onset of my depressive mood from the begining of this deprivation.Logically, one would be overjoyed hat the body had so summarily dismissed a substance that was undermining its health; it was as if my system had generated a form of Antabuse, which should have allowed me to happily go my way, satisfied that a trick of nature had shut me off from a harmful dependence. But, instead, I began to experience a vaquely troubling malaise, a sese of something having gone cockeyed in the domestic universe I'd dewt in so long, so comfortably. While depression is by no means unknown when people stop drinking, it is usually on a scale that is not menacing. But it should be kept in mind how idiosyncratic the faces of depression can be.
It was not really alarming at first, since the change was subtle, but I did notice that my surroundings took on a different tone at certain times: the shadows of nightfall seemed more sombre, my mornings were less buoyant, walks in the woods became less zetful, and there was a moment during my working hours in the late fternoon when a kind of panic and anxiety overtook me, just for a few minutes, accompanied by a visceral queasiness - such a seizure was at least alarming, after all. As I set down these recollections, I realise that it should have been plain to me that I ws already in the grip of the beginning of a mood disorder, but I was ignorant of such a condition at the time.
When I reflected on the curious alteration of my consciousness - and I was baffled enough from time to time to do so - I assumed that it all had to do somehow with my enforced withdrawal from alcohol. And, of course, to a certain extent this was true. But it is my conviction now that alcohol played a perverse trick on me when we said farewell to each other: although, as everyone should know, it is a major depressent, it had never truly depressed me during my drinking career, acting instead as a shield against anxiety. Suddenly vanished, the great ally which for so long had kept my demons at bay was no longer there to prevent tose demons from beginning to swarm through the subconscious, and I was emotionally naked, vulnerable as I had never been before. Doubtless depression had hovered near me for years, waiting to swoop down. Now I was in the first stage- premonitory, like a flicker of sheet lightning barely percieved depression's black tempest.
I wascon Martha's Vineyard, where I've spent a good part of each year since the sixties, during that exceptionally beautiful summer. But I had begun to respond indifferenty to the islands pleasures. I felt a kind of numbness, an enervation, but more particularly and odd fragility - as if my body had actually become frail, hypersensitive and somehow disjointed and clumsy, lacking normal coordination. And soon I was in the throes of a pervasive hypochondria. Nothing felt quite right with my corpereal self; there were twitches and pains, sometimes intermittent, oftenseemingly constant that seemed to presage all sorts of dire infirmities. (Given these signs, one can understand how, as far back as the seventeenth century - in the notes of contemporary physicians, and in the perceptions of John Dryden and others - a connection is made between melancholia and hypochondria; the worlds are often interchangeable, and were so used until the nineteenth century by writers as various as Walter Scott and the Brontes, who also linked melancholy to a preoccupation with bodily ills.) It is easy to see how this condition is part of the psyche's apparatus of defence: inwilling to accept its own gathering deterioration, the mind announces to its indwelling consciousness that it is the body with its perhaps correctable defects - not the precious and irreplaceable mind - that is going haywire.

In my case , the overall effect was immensely disturbing, augmenting the anxiety that was by now never quite absent from my waking hours and fuelling still another strange behaviour pattern - a fidgety restlessness that kept me on the move, somewhat to the perplexity of my family and friends. Once, in late summer, on an airplane trip to New York, I made the reckless mistake of downing a scotch and soda - my first alchol in months - which promptly sent me into a tailspin, causing me such a horrified sense of disease and interior doom that the very next day I rushed to a Manhattan internist, who inaugurated a long series of tests. Normally I would have been satified, indeed elated, when after three weeks of high-tech and extremely expensive evaluation, the doctor pronounced me totally fit; and I was happy, for a day or two, until there once gain began the rythmic daily erosion of my mood - anxiety, agitation, unfocused dread.
By now I had moved back to my house in Connecticut. It was October, and one of the unforgettable features of tihis stage of my disorder was the way in which my own farmhouse, my beloved home for thirty years, took on for me at that point when my spirits regularly sank to their nadir an almost palpable quality of ominousness. The fading evening light - akin to that famous 'slant of light' of Emily Dickinson's, which spoke to her of death, of chill extinction - had none of its familiar autumnal loveliness, but ensnared me in a suffocating gloom. I wondered how this friendly place teeming with such memories of (again in her words ) 'Lads and Girls', of laughter and ability and Sighing,/ And Frocks and Curls', could almost perceptively seem so hostile and forbidding. Physically, I ws not alone. As always Rose was present and listened with unflagging patience to my complaints. But I felt an immense and aching solitude. I could no longer concentrate during those afternoon hours, which for years had been my working time, and the act of writing itself, becomming more and more difficult and exhausting, stalled, then finally ceased.

William Styron's house in Connecticut.

Therev were also dreadful, pouncing seizures of anxiety. One bright day on a walk through the woods with my dog I heard a flock of Canada geese honking high above trees ablaze with foliage, ordinarily a sight and sound that would have exhilarated me, the flight of birds caused me to stop, riveted with fear, and I stood stranded there, helpless, shivering, aware for the first time that I had been stricken by no mere pangs of withdrawal but by a serious illness whose name and actuallity I was able to finally to acknowledge. Going home I couldn't rid my mind of the line of Baudelaire's, dredged up from the distant past, that for several days had been skittering around at the edge of my consciousness: 'I have felt the thewind of the wing of madness.'
Our perhaps understandable modern need to dull the sw-tooth edges of so many of the afflicions we are heir to has led us to banish the harsh olld fashioned words: madhouse, asylum, insanity, melancholia, lunatic, madness. But never let it be doubted that depression, in its extreeme form, is madness. The madness results from an aberrrant biochemical process. It hhas been established with reasonable certainty ( after strong resistance from many psychiatrists, and not all that long ago) that such madness is chemically induced samid the neurotransmitters of the brain, probably as the result of systemic stress, which for unknown reasons cause a depletion of the chemicals norepinephrine and srontonin, and the increase of a hormone, cortsol. With all its upheaval in the brain tissues, the alternate drenching and deprivation, it is no wonder that the mind begins to feel aggrieved, stricke, and the muddied thought processes register the distress of an organ in convulsion. Sometimes, though not very often, such a disturbed mind will turn to violent thoughts regarding others. But with their minds turned agonizingly inward, people with depression are usually dangerous only to themselves. The madness of depression is, generally speakin, the antithesis of violence. It is a storm indeed. but a storm of murk. Soon evident are the slowed-down responses, near paralysis, psychic energy throttled back close to zero. Ultimately, the body is affected and feels sapped, drained.
That fall as the disorder gradually took full possession of my system, I began to concieve that my mind itself was like one of those outmoded small- town telephone exchanges, being gradually inudated by floodwaters: one by one, the normal circuits began to drown, causing some of the functions of the body and nearly all those pf instinct and intellect slowly to disconnect.
There is a well-known checklist of some of these functions and their failures. Mine conked out fairly close to schedule, many of them following the pattern of depressive seizures. I particularly remember the lamentable near dissapearance of my voice. It underwent a strang transformation, becomming at times quite faint, wheezy and spasmodic - a friend observed later that it was the voice of a ninety-year old. The libido also made an early exit, as it does in most major illnesses - it is the superfluous need of a body in beleagured emergency. Many people lose all appetite; mine was relatively normal, but I found myself eating only for substistence: food, like everything else within the scope of sensation, was utterly without saviour. Most distressing of all the instinctual disruptions was that of sleep, along with a complete absence of dreams.
Exhaustion combined with sleepnessness is a rare torture. The two or three hours of sleep I was able to get at night were always at the behest of the Haleion - a matter which deserves particular notice. For some time now many experts in psycho-pharnology have warned that the benzodiazpine family of tranquilliszers, of which Halcion is one (Valium and Ativan are others), is capable of depressing mood and even precipitating a major depression. Over two years before my siege, an insouciant doctor had prescribed Ativan as a bedtime aid, telling me airily that I could take it casually as apirin. The Physicians' Desk Reference, the pharmeacological bible, reveals that the medicine I had been ingesting was (a) three times the normally prescribed strength, (b) not advisable as a medication for more than a month or so, and (c) to beused with special caution by people of my age. At the time of which I am speaking I was no longer taking Ativian but had become addicted to Halcion and was consuming large doses. It seems reasonable to think that this was still another contributary factor to the trouble that had come upon me. Certainly , it should be a caution to others.

At any rate, my few hours of sleep were usually terminated at three or four in the morning, when I stared up into yawning darkness, wondering and weithing at the devastation taking place in my mind, and awaiting the dawn, which usually permitted me a feverish, dreamless nap.I'm fairly certain that it was during one of these insomniac trances that there came over me the knowledge - a wierd and shocking revelation, like that of some long-beshrouded metaphysical truth - that this condition would cost me my life if it continued on such a course. This must have been just before my trip to Paris. Death, as I have said, was now a daily prescence, blowing over me in cold gusts. I had not concieve precisely how my end would come. In short, I had not concieved precisely how my end would come. In short, I ws still keeping the idea of suicide at bay. But plainly the possibility was around the corner, and I would soon meet it face to face.
What I had begun to discovef is that, mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the grey drizzle of horroe induced by depression takes on thequality of physical pain. But it is not an immedately identifiable pain, like that of a brokrn limb. It may be more accurate to say that despair, owing to some evil trick played upon the sick brain by the inhabiting psyche, comes to resembe the diabolical discomfort of being imprisoned in a fiercely overheated room. And because no breeze stirs this cauldron, because tere is no escape from this smothering confinement, it is entirely natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion.

Reprinted from :-

Darkness Visible - William Styron ( Cape 1991).

Remember a lot of people with mental health problems never actually seek professional help. Sometimes when sought the help is not what is needed. Even though William Styron's book helped demystify the subject, there is still serious stigma attached.This book helped me though when I too was suffering and would strongly recommend it. The complex wrestling of the human soul is often difficult to avoid. But it always seems to arrive uninvited.
Attracts some like a magnet.
New tactics emerge , sometimes they work, every small step is because you are living. Every day one of survival. It forces us to look, join the dots, life as one big balancing act. The wave can be broken, peaked and moved over. Best to avoid the dodgems!
More on William Styron here.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Styron

Mumia Abu-Jamal - Another Nameless Prostitute Says The Man is Innocent.

2011-12-09T09:00:00.014Z

Today is the 30th anniversary of Mumia Abu -Jamals incarcenation and is also the eve of International Human Rights day. Across the world anti-death penalty activists, lovers of justice and freedom and people of good conscience will protest at the violation of Pennylvania inmate Mumia's constitutional rights.
This date marks the anniversery of the night that Jamal was shot, arrested, beaten up and framed for the murder of a Philadelphia Police Officer called Daniel faulkner. 30 years later this political prisoner , critically acclaimed journalist ( before his imprisonment he was the President of the Philadeplhia Association of Black Journalists) and became one of the world's most recognised death row inmates awaits a decision by Federal District Court Judge William H.John Jr, on his petition for a writ of habeas corpus. Hopefully he will finally get some justice and a full hearing by the federal court.
Mumia was born in 1954 in Philadelphia and was given the slave name Wesley Cook. At 14 he joined the Black Panther Party and was already showing signs of his strong articulateness and passion. Becoming known for his outspokenness and his work as a radical journalist, mostly on radio as the 'voice of the voiceless', bringing him unwanted attention from the F.B.I and the local police.
He moved on from the black Panthers and became a supporter and spokesperson for the Move Organisation founded by an African American named John Africa a black back to nature group with an anarcho primitist outlook that rejected the system. It's members and supporters faced a daily onslaught against them for a number of years, being systematically tageted for their beliefs and on numerous occasions faced violent retribution from the state.
His support of this organisation and his reporting of unpopular causes which included exposing the violence of the state as it manifests in entrenched poverty, endemic racism, police brutality and celebrating a peoples unending quest for freedom led him to lose his job as a radio journalist, so he took up taxi driving in order to provide for his family. So one could imagine that he already was a marked man.
On Dec 9th 1981 he had just dropped a client off when he heard gunshot and saw people running. One of whom was his brother a Billy Cook who ran towards him, he then he saw a police officer aiming a gun at him, he was shot and beaten, and later was charged with the murder of Officer Faulkner who had died from gunshot wounds only a feet away from where Mumia himself had fallen. Mumia himself remained in critical condition for a period of time, but his case was rushed to trial within 6 months .A trial that Amnesty International condemned as failing to meet even the most minimal standards of fairness, and that is an understatement.The trial was a farce with witnesses constantly changing statements, vital evidence being buried, proceedings markedby racism, inept prepresentation andto cap it all a bigoted and prejudiced judge. There was no way that Mumia was going to get the justice he deserved, and he was found guilty and sentence to death.
One of the key prosecution witness was a prostitute with a long history of arrests and her testimony contadicted previous statements and that of other witnesses. A man was with dreadlocks was seen running fron thescene, Mumia has dreadlocks, there are so many doubts. Several prosecution witnesses from his trial have since recanted their testimony , furthermore another individual Arnold Beverly has since subsequently confessed to killing Faulkner. Mumia has always maintained his innocence.
One reason for them finding Mumia guilty was like others he stood up against repression, for civil liberties and the government and the police simply wanted to silence an activist long known for exposing corruption.. With their attempts to silence him we can see double standards , because this is not the message they dare preach to the rest of the world. But their 30 year conspiracy of silence has not worked

I believe he was a victim of a miscarriage of justice and had been systematically targetted by the police and the authorities in order to beget his silence. He has not been silenced despite the U.S Governments best efforts, Mumia is still writing, still speaking out, opening up the eyes of the people to the injustices of the system that imprisons him, still a powerful voice of the voiceless, a champion of the oppressed. Becomming a potent iconic figurehead for many. Writing numerous publications with his revolutionary spirit intact and releasing a series of broadcasts live from his prison cell, through the Prison Radio Network. Link at bottom. You can imprison somebody but you cannot kill their spirit.
In December 2001 his death sentence was oveturned but not his conviction, so still he is not free.
An online petition for President Barck Obama 'Mumia Abu- Jamal and the Global Abolition of the Death Penalty' was signed by over 20,000 people from around the world. Tomorrow let us also remember that internationally political opponents to nation states continue to face wrongful imprsonment too.

Today in Britain between 5.00 - 7.00 pm campaigners will assemble at Speakers Corner and make their way via Marble Arch and Oxford Street tothe US Embassy in London and will demand the unconditional and immediate release of Mumia Abu- Jamul. Many similar actions will take place across the globe,joining an international chorus who are actively calling for his immediate and unconditional release.

' Another Nameless Prostitute Says The man is Innocent'
                              For Mumia Abu -Jamal
By Martin Espada

The board-blinded windows knew what happened;
   the pavement sleepers of Philadelphia, groaning
in their ghost-infested sleep, knew what happened;
                    every black man blessed
        with the gashed eyebrow of nightsticks
                     knew what happened;
      even Walt Whitman knew what happened
             poet a century dead, keeping vigil
    from the tomb on the other side of the bridge

                  More than fifteen years ago,
        the cataract stare of the cruiser's headlights
                the impossible angle of the bullet,
                the tributaries and lakes of blood,
Officer faulkner dead,suspect Mumia shot in the chest,
       the nameless witnesses who saw a gunman
       running away, his heart and feet thudding.

               The nameless prostitute know,
       hunched at the curb, their bare legs chilled.
           Their faces squinted to see that night
     rouged with fading bruises. Now the faces fade
Perhaps an eyewitness putrifies eyes open in a bed of soil,
       or floats in the warm gulf stream of her addiction,
         or hides from the faged whispers of the police
                   in the tomb of Walt Whitman
                  where the granite door is open
                  and fugitive slaves may rest.

         Mumia: the Panther beret, the thinking dreadlocks,
dissident words that swarmed the microphone like a hive,
            sharing meals with people named Africa,
singing out their names even after the police bombardment
                    that charred their black bodies
         so the governer has signed the death warrant.
       The executioner's needle would flush the poison
                   down into Mumia's writing hand
              so the fingers curl like a burned spider;
        his calm questioning mouth would grow numb,
and everywhere radios sputter to silence, inhis memory.

                   The veiled prostitutes are gone,
             gone to the segregated balcony of whores
But the newspaper reportsthat another nameless prostitute
says the man is innocen, that she will testify at the next hearing.
   Beyond the courthouse,a multitude of witnesses chants,
pray, shouts for his prison to collapse, a shack in a hurricane.
                   Mumia, if the last nameless prostitute
                 becomes an unravelling turban of steam,
                if the judges' robes become clouds of ink
                      swirling like octupus deception,
                if the shroud becomes yourAmish quilt
            if your dreadlocks are snipped during autopsy,
                 then drift above the ruined RCA factory
                            that once birthed radios
                         to the tomb of Walt Whitman
                         where the granite door is open
                           and fugitive slaves may rest.

Philadelphi, PA/Camden, NJ, april 1997

Mumia Abu -Jamal Radio Broadcasts

http://www.prisonradio.org/mumia.htm

Other Links

http://www.freemumia.com/

http://www.millions4mumia.org/

http://www.mumialegal.org/

Home page of John Africa's MoveOrganisation
http://www.onamove.com/

Link to excellent film on the case
by acclaimed director Marc Evans here

http://www.inprisonmywholelife.com/intro

" This message comes toyou from the depths of America's dungeons, from the cages in Babylon's bowelsthat are in a sense, America's own 'Taten Trakle', Wings of death where men await execution by electrocution.
As radical journalists we have another tale to tell - it is a tale not of plenty but of loss, of torture and injustice. In short it is a tale of the oppressed, but it's also a tale of brighter tomorrows, of seas aflood with life, of air sweet to the lung, of forests green, of health, of hope, of freedom and peace, for all the worlds people.
We can create islands of liberated consciousness,afloat with truth of peoples sentiments for dignity and freedom, free from the systems slur of terrorism. We can produce you progressive portraits of the possible so that a better tomorrow may dawn."

- Mumia Abu-Jamal.

Further Reading :-

Mumia Abu-Jamal , Death Blossoms: Reflections of a Prisoner of Conscience, Plough Publishing House 1997

David Lindroff - Killing Time: An investigation into the Death Row Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal.

Amnesty International - The Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal , Seven Stories Press.

Expect Us! - Bill Allyn

2011-12-06T13:47:00.002Z

Heretic Productions brings you an extraordinary piece of Poetry by Bill Allyn

Expect us

Once we were weak, but now we stand tall.
Millions of citizens, heeding the call.
Demanding our freedom, the birthright of all.
The Arab Spring turns to the American Fall.

We're the 99, and we'll never forgive.
Well never forget how you've made us live.
Expect us at your door, prepare to defend!
The reign of the moneyed and privileged now ends.

Once we were few, now we grow by the hour.
The lamb sheds its mask - the emperor cowers.
The wolf bares her teeth, the hunger devours.
The gleaming skyscrapers, the ivory towers.

We're the 99. and we'll mever forgive
We'll never forget, how you've made us live.
Expect us at your door, prepare to defend!
The world of the moneyed and privileged now ends.

There's no "job creators" a "trickle-down" bust.
And time's running out for your greed and your lust.
You've earned no respect, and squandered our trust.
From this day forward, you must expect us!

We're the 99, and we'll never forgive.
Well never forget how you made us live.
Expect us at your door, prepare to defend!
The reign of the moneyed and privilged now ends.

" Throughout human history, as our species has faced the frightening terrorising fact that we do not know who we are, or where we are going in this ocean of chaos, it has been the authorities - the political, the religious, the educational authorities - who attempted to comfort us by giving us order, rules regulations, informing and forming our minds to their view of reality.To think for yourself you must question authority and learn how to put yourself in a state of vulnerable open-mindednes, chaotic confused vulnerability to inform yourself ".

- Timothy Leary.

Ted Hughes (17/8/30 -28/10/98) - The God

2011-12-04T12:00:00.000Z

You were like a religious fanatic
Without a god- unable to pray.
You wanted to be a writer.
Wanted to write? What was it within you
Had to tell its tale?
The story that has to be told
Is the writer's God, who calls
Out of sleep, inaudibly: 'Write'.
Write what?
Your heart, mid-Sahara, raged
In its emptiness.
Your dreams were empty.
You bowed at your desk and you wept
Over the story that refused to exist,
As over a prayer
That could not be prayed
To a non-existent God. A dead God
With a terrible voice
You were like those desert ascetics
Who fascinated you,
Parching in such a torturing
Vacuum of God
It sucked goblins out of their finger-ends,
Out of the soft motes of the sun-shafts,
Out of the blank rock face.
The gagged prayer of their sterility
Was a God
So was your panic of emptiness - a God.

You offered him verses. First
Little phials of the emptiness
Into which your panic dropped its tears
That dried and left crystalline spectra.
Crystals of salt from your sleep.
Like the dewy sweat
On some desert stones, after dawn.
Oblations to an abscence.
Little sacrifices. Soon

Your silent howl through the night
Had madeitself a moon, a fiery idol
Of your God
Your crying carried its moon
Like a woman a dead child. Like a woman
Nursing a dead child. bending to cool
Its lips with tear drops on her finger-tip.
So I nursed you, who nursed a moon
That was human but dead, withered and
Burned you like a lump of phosphorus.

Till the child stireed. It's mouth-hole stirred.
Blood oozed at your nipple,
A drip feed of blood. Our happy moment!

The little God flew up into the Elm Tree.
In your sleep, glassy eyed,
You heard its instructions. When you woke
Your hands moved. You watched them in dismay
As they made a new sacrifice .
Two handfuls of blood, your own blood,
And in that blood gobbets of me,
Wrapped in a tissue ofstory that had somehow
Slipped from you. An embryo story.
You could not explain it or who
Ate at your hands.
The little god roared at night in the orchard,
His roar half a laugh.

You fed him by day, under your hair-tent,
Over your desk, in your secret
Sirit-house, you whispered,
You drummed on your thumb with your fingers,
Shook Winthrop shells for their sea voices,
And gave me an effigy - a Salvia
Pressedin a Lutheran Bible.
Youcould not explain it. Sleep had opened.
Darkness poured from it, like perfume.
Your dreams had burst their coffin.
Blinded I struck a light.

And woke upside down in your spirit-house
Moving limbs that were not my limbs,
And telling, in a voice not my voice,
A story of which I knew nothing
Giddy
With the smoke of the fire you tended
Flames I had lit unwitting
That whitened in the oxygen jet
Of your incantaory whisper.

You fed the flames with the myrrh of you mother,
The Frankincense of your father
And your own amber and the tongues
Of fire told their tale. And suddenly
Everybody knew everything.
Your God snuffed up the fatty reek.
His roar was like a basement furnace
In your ears, thunder in the foundations.

Then you wrote in a fury, weeping,
Your joy a trance-dancer
In the smoke in the flames
'God is speaking through me,' you told me
'Don't say that,' I cried. 'Don't say that.
That is horribly unlucky!'
As I sat there with blistering eyes
Watching everything go up
In the flames of your sacrifice
That finally caught you too and you
Vanished exploding
Into the flames
Of thestory of your God
Who embraced yo
And your mummy and your daddy,
Your Aztec, Black Forest
God of the euphenism grief.

Reprinted from

New and Selected Poems 1957-94

Manchester walkabout.

2011-12-02T10:12:00.000Z

What a lovely thing a movement is
when the currents of unity smell
and voices speak with optimistic roar
side by side, the young and old
shooting out branches to oppose
tory dereliction.
The hiss of collective breath
with hungry eyes
communities dreaming together
swarming with warmth
and much hospitality.
Lover bought an accordian
needs must, we lugged it through the streets
a little indulgence perhaps,
but we are not yet broken.
People grow fierce
learn how to paint the sky
committed though in debt,
we are as strong as tempered steel.
As spirits rised, canal crossed
popped into music stores
to overload senses
already worked overtime.
But long shadows are growing
tory spite charges at Winter's cold blast
disconnected themselves from the people.
They will not kill our spirit
they will not banish our care.

Idris Davies "Do you remember 1926" Poem animation

2011-12-01T11:24:00.001Z

lest we forget.

Earlier post on Idris Davies here.

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2010/02/idris-davies-poet-of-people.html

2011-11-29T12:42:00.003Z

Remember the public sector workers strike will cost economy 1/10th of the royal wedding.
Cameron seems to think people are going to take what he is doin to this country lying down, well its clear that the people are not, it is he who is unwilling to compromise, still talking to the public like their idiots, he'd rather spin the media, he critisises the unions when he himself is on a sticky electoral mandate, ordinary people did not make this economic crisis. Up in the North at moment, joining Manchester's people in their time of struggle.
A total of 29 unions will be walking out across the U.K, the biggest Industrial action in Britain since the 1970's.
The tories protect their own, up to 3 million workers are trying to protect the future.

Solidarity with all those out tomorrow.

United we stand
Divided we fall.

William Price (4/4/1800 - 23/1/1893) - Unconventional Welshman.

2011-11-26T12:51:00.002Z

painting by A.C Hemming in 1918
held in Wellcome Collection,
London

I currently live in the present and hopefully the future, but often visit the past for inspiration, especially to those before us who have gone wild with their ideas.
One individual that I have recently been fascinated by is one Dr William Price. Archdruid, healer, political activist, non-conformist, vegetarian, animist, cremator, and abundant dreamer of schemes.
Born in 1800 to an Anglican clergyman in the village of Rudry , Monmouthshire he became a radical in almost everything he did.
From his early days he displayed signs of an evident refusal to obey societies so called norms, often roaming naked across the mounrains close to his home. By the age of 20 he was fluent in many languages and his journey towards a life of rebellion was formed. In addition to being an incredibly forward thinking vegetarian who also oppsed practices such as vivisection and vaccination, he believed in equality between men and women, a believer in the abolition of marriage ( which he considered as enslavement of women), he was also an advocate of conservation.
At 20 he went to London where he was admiitted to the Royal Colege of Surgeons, and after gaining his accreditations returned to Potypridd in Wales where he became a General Practitioner and physician.He formed what could be considered an embryonic National Health Service, for local workers, concentrating on causes, not symptoms, charging his patients only when he failed to cure them, ( he did however not treat patients who he knew smoked ) and washed every coin he recieved. An advocate of herbal remedies, he dispensed his own potions to the sick under his care.

A photograph of Dr.Price taken in 1844.

He became an early supporter of the Chartist cause,( and was a probable member of the daughters of Rebecca) recognising their uncompromising demand for a new social order, and the concept of equal right. Price aided the rebellion with financial support and armoury,playing a part in the planning of the Chartist rising in Newport in 1839, but on its failure he escaped to France, where he experienced a kind of spiritual epiphany. On his return to Wales in 1840 he still supported the cause and set up one of the first co-operative stores in Wales. He was known for his dislike of capitalist coal owners and the all powerful local gentry, supporting revolutionary republicanism. Whilst in France he had been inspired and been drawn to the words of the great French Anarchist Proudhon. However he had also been drawn to the old druidical mysteries , writing his own take on the subject in his own invented Welsh, in a book called 'Gwyllis yn Nawd' translated as ' The Will of My Faith'. He tried to revive what he saw as the religion of the ancient druids and founded a Druidic group and attracted a few followers. He took to wearing green trousers and fox fur hat, growing his beard and hair long. What a site to behold in conventional Victorian Britain. Raging against the world he once wrote ' there are two worlds, rhe world the master and the world of the slave... there can never be peace untill the world of the mansion, the master and the exploiter is abolished.' He was also an advocate of the Welsh Language and the cause of nationalism.
He began having a relationship with a young woman named Ann Morgan, who in 1842 bore him a daughter. He baptised the child himself at the Rocking Stone in Pontypridd, naming her Gwenhiolan Iarlles Morganwg, ( Gwenhiolan, Countess of Glamorgan). He started holding various druidic events in the area and in 1855 led a parade through the streets of Merthyr Tydfil, accompanied by a half-naked man calling himself Myrddin( the Welsh name for Merlin) and a goat! There was an air of performance about him.
Frequently raging against authority, he became involved in various litigations,and got into a bit of financial dissaray and off he popped to France for a while.
His story does not end here however and in 1866 he returned to Wales, (in the meantime his daughter had grown up) where he continued his work as a G.P. In 1873 he settled in Llantrissant where he was joined by his 16 year old housekeeper- Gwenllian Llewellyn. Into his 80's he succumbed to matrimony in a druidic ceremony of his own making and they had a child that he called Iesu Crist Price ( Jesus Christ) unfortunately after 5 months the baby had died. He was devastated and believing the child was destined to restore the earth 'lost secrets of the druids' he took the body to Caerleon Field, near Llantrissant where he decided that to bury a body was a desecration of the earth and decided to cremate it. He was arrested with illegal disposal of a body, but in court he argued that while the law did not state that cremation was legal, it did not in fact state that it was illegal. He won the case and this paved the way for the 1902 Cremation Act.
He had fought the law and the law had lost.

Lithograph, 19th Century.

A maverick who helped shape our world. He had 2 further children Iesu Crist 11 and a girl called Penelopen. He died onthe 23th of January 1893, in Llantrissant and his body was cremated, as he had instructed on two tons of coal in front atop a the hill where his son had been cremated, in front of a crowd of 20,000.
His last words were ' Bring me a glass of Champagne' ( his favourite tipple had been cider)
Along with Iolo Morganwg ( see earlier post of mine http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.com/2009/10/iolo-morganwg-10th-march-1747-to-18th.html ) -I think he could be considered in line for the title of one our nations greatest living, his legacy, powerful and impessive. Measured in distant history, there is fire, as restless voices still rise. Eccentric or visionary , you decide. He was no ordinary man. A life of adventure and revolutionary abundance. Long may we remember him.

Dr William Price's Cremation.

Further Reading:-

A welsh heretic - Islwyn Ap Nicholas , Ffynon Press , (1973)

Dr William Price: Saint or Sinner - Cyril Briegirdle (1997) Gwasg Garrig Gwalch.

Cecil Collins (23/4/01- 4/6/89) - Fool and Flower

2011-11-24T16:10:00.002Z

Fool & Flower
(1944)
Private collection

Some whimsy, why not. Cecil Collins an artist of transcendent imagination, was born in Plymouth , he became influenced by the Surrealist Movement, he had two paintings exhibited at the Surrealist Exhibition in 1936.He had won a schorship at 15 to the Plymouth School of Art from 1923 -1927 and then onto the Royal College of Art until 1931. He fell in love with a Elizabeth Ramsden a fellow student who inspired him to create a series of visionary paintings celebrating her beauty.
He departed with surrealism however and subsequently he said:" I turned my back on it and went into the country and started to think..... and meditate on what I wanted to do." And this is what most of his subsequent work were about, they were both meditative and gentle.
In this picture a fool reaches out to a single flower to a backdrop of an empty sky. A sense of wonder occurs, a moment in time suspended, the earth reaching back , a symbol of unity, a balancing act. The present or the future perhaps offering possibilities providing a link between what is visible and under the ground the roots, that we cannot see. An image of ceremony, an image of ritual beyond mere materialism, a touch of Zenarchy.Connecting us to an aesthetic window. Sometimes what binds us is both outside and in.

More on Cecil Collins here.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cecil_Collins

( For Ervine

space bard

r.i.p )
.

Thanksgiving: A Native American View

2011-11-23T14:06:00.002Z

Tomorrow at a time of poverty, recession, unemployment, occupation and discontentment, a little revisit to the less than benevolent beginnings of the good old U.S.A.Thanksgiving day a whitewashing of genocide, colonialism and racism is celebrated. Hey ho.
To any American visitors of this blog hope your fox New relatives try not to season too much their thanksgiving dinner with to much pepper spray and I thank goodness I'm not a turkey.

More info
here

http://unsettlingamerica.wordpress.com/

John Trudell - There is nothing wrong with us.

The Workers: Let's Work Together

2011-11-22T09:30:00.002Z

The workers are a group of 14 public service staff from around the country, who have come together to record the classic song ' Let's work Together ' .Please help get some solidarity in the charts on the day of action on November 30th, by watching the video, buying the song, and spreading the word. On November the 30th millions of workers across the country will be taking action in support of a fair deal on public service pensions. Up the workers, even though I don't at moment, solidarity is the keyword word. Always thought music and politics make healthy bedfellows, depending I guess on which side. Yes charts are rigged, like the economy is rigged, just like banking is rigged, the system and the government used against the interests of the whole, so we have to try out different methods.Power concedes nothing without a demand.

More info on single and campaign
here.

http://action.goingtowork.org.uk/page/share/the-workers

to download

http://www.theworkers.org.uk/download-the-single/

Edward Thomas (3/3/1878 - 3/4/17) - November

2011-11-20T12:00:00.002Z

November's' days are thirty:
November's earth is dirty,
Those thirty days, from first to last;
And the prettiest things on grounds are the paths
With morning and evening hobnails dinted,
With foot and wing-tip overprinted
Or seperately charactered,
Of little beast and little bird.
The fields are mashed by sheep, the roads
Make the worst going, the best the woods
Where dead leaves upwards and downward scatter.
Few care for the mixture of earth and water,
Twig, leaf, flint, thorn,
Straw, feather, all that men scorn,
Pounded up and sodden by flood,
Condemned as mud.

But of all the months when earth is greener
Not one has clean skies that are cleaner.
Clean and clear and sweet and cold,
They shine above the earth so old,
While the after-tempest cloud
Sails over in silence though winds are loud,
Till the full moon in the east
Looks at the planet in the west
And earth os silent as it is black,
Yet not unhappy for its lack.
Up from the dirty earth men stare:
One imagines a refuge there
Above the mud, in the pure bright
Of the cloudless heavenly light:
Another loves earth and November more dearly
Because without them, he sees clearly
The sky would be nothing more to his eye
Than he, in any case, is to the sky:
He loves even the mud whose dyes
Renounce all brightness to the skies.

Jackie Leven ( 18/6/50 - 14/11/11) Spiritual Soul Warrior R.I.P

2011-11-18T17:30:00.005Z

It is with great sadness that I found out that the great Jackie Leven had passed away. I feel numb and will try to explain in a bit. I knew the man had been ill,suffering from cancer but thought he'd get through it, like he had got past many other demons.
An idiosyncratic outsider with a magical voice, a poet who saw the world through his rich different eyes, he sang songs fron the heart of lifes deep experiences. If you have never heard of him his songs typically described hard drinking loners and often their lost lovers, with a rich deep resonant voice that used to soothe me, when I too was lost, like a dark chocolate laced with something bad.
His was a wild Scottish spirit redolant of a fire within. Never fashionable or cool but that did not stop him being admired by many.Born to Gypsy Blood in Kirkcaldy, Fife, Scotland with a London Irish father and a Northumbriam mother. A loner in childhood, he led a life of an intinerent wanderer. He found his way to London by the mid 70s forming the band Doll by Doll whose records had a certain rawness but ones I still reach out too.

Doll by Doll - Main Travelled Roads

By 1982, they'd split and in 1983 he was nearly murdered by a group of strangers severely damaging his larynx and unable to play guitar or sing. He sank into a despondent place , cutting himself adrift, finding heroin and alcohol , and so perhaps it might have ended. But he reemerged stonger founding the CORE trust which helped fellow addicts. His songs have rescued me from many a dark hour, soothed me with their raw tenderness. His work took on a soulful, spritual intensity, redemptive , haunted,becomming prolific in his journey, releasing for me a series of staggering dazzling solo records, full of tragedy, but resonating with warmth that somehow I connected to. Other friends of mine, never quite got him, but that did not matter, his records became like certain books, ones to treasure. Live I was lucky to catch him twice he dislayed his honesty, mixed with humour and candour.Always a brooding intensity, you got what you got, what must of us wanted, never an encore and never fake.
Tonight on the way home from the library I'll raise a small miniature bottle of whiskey to the night air. A True original voice has been lost, but some of us will continue to remember him.Such beautiful music, burning vision. Goodnight Jackie, R.I.P

Jackie Leven- Hidden World of She

Jackie Leven- Call Mother a Lonely Field

Jackie Leven - Revenge of Memory

Jackie Levem - I Say a little Prayer

http://www.coretrust.co.uk/

http://www.jackieleven.co.uk/

Rejected Crumb !

2011-11-16T10:12:00.027Z

A lot of posts on the net on this subject already, but what the eck.
Famed Cartoonist and someone else whose work I admire, ( don't really do hero's , not enough room in my head) has had a proposed cover for the New Yorker rejected. They commissioned him, back in 2009 to do them a cover on the subject of 'gay marriage', so he drew them this. They subsequently rejected it but gave Mr Crumb no reason. The story would possibly have gathered no moss had it not been unearthed at the VeniceArt Biennale recently.
What possible reasons did the magazine come to this descision? It's fairly common knowledge that Robert Crumb is known for pushing the boundaries a bit and is not everybody's cup of tea. His work has been attached to the 'underground' and the words 'cult artist' have often been bandied about, so his appeal was never one for the mainstream, what with his repetative style and his obsession with an exaggerated sense of the female form. He has a rather twisted way of looking at certain things. Another possible reason is that the New Yorker is majorly concerned with political correctness, and they must have suddenly realised this work might upset some of their friends, nevermind the artist in question, who has stated he will never work for them again. I for one don't know how it could offend anyone who appreciates Crumb's work, it is kind of to be expected, this one for instance, after all seems to have been done in all the best possible ( Crumb) taste. If the New Yorker doesn't want it, I would be happy enough to put it up on my living room wall, where it would be lovingly appreciated , I don't suppose it will bother him too much though, he will continue to illustrate the world as he sees it and I believe it's simply too late in the day for his fixations to simply dissapear, and despite criticisms will remain, one of the most important and influential graphic artists of contemporary America.

More on this story below

http://www.vice.com/read/the-gayest-story-ever-told-0000048-v18n11

Crumb by Crumb

Palestinian Freedom Riders and Wales Residual waste.

2011-11-14T12:42:00.001Z

50 years ago the US Freedom riders staged mixed-race bus rides through the roads of the segregated American South, Palestinian Freedom riders will be asserting their own right for liberty and dignity by disrupting the military regime of the Israeli Occupation through peaceful civil disobedience, this will take place on Tuesday 15th as all over the West Bank they will attempt to board buses that discriminate against them. They will attempt to board segregated Israeli settler publlic transport headed to occupied East Jerusalem.
Meanwhile 5 North Wales Councils are considering the notorious French company Veolia for their Residual Waste Treatment Project. Personally I think they should reconsider.
The Jerusalem Light Rail (JLR) which veolia has subsequently built in the West Bank serves the Jewish-only Israeli settlement. Remember that Britain has declared, through the UN Human Rights Council, that the JLR's operation is a breach by Israel of international law.
Veolia at the moment is trying to sell its LJR shares to a company called Egged, that seems to let Veolia of the hook and North Wales project in the clear.M'mm Egged is the same company that until January 2011 also operated gender-segregated lines, commonly called " mehadrin" buses, mainly running in and/or between major Haredi population centers. In these sex segregated buses women are expected to sit the in the back of the bus and wear so called modest dress. Sounds like gender discrimination to me, it is interesting how companies that violate international laws reappear in disgiuse so to speak. Welsh councils in a spirit of solidarity I feel should have nothing to do with either company. But sometimes transparency can get buried in the search of deals.
50 years apart 2 symbolic journeys, different locations but apartheid is apartheid , no matter where it rears its ugly head, so this week I hope the world stands in solidarity with the modern freedom riders. An old tradition awakened .Who knows perhaps the future will let justice and freedom prevail .

http://palsolidarity.org/2011/11/palestinian-freedom-riders-to-ride-settler-buses-to-jerusalem/

Y Brodyr.

2011-11-13T11:00:00.000Z

Most of us wait because we have
                  no choice
      some of us
          never return
the needle exchanged
          the armourer recieved

          for years now
                we have
                 exchanged propoganda presents
                 here
                 there
                everywhere
                 we wait for return

Some choose revelation
some simply forget
the sweetness of the world
its bitter pill
pulling us apart.

High on indelibable stamps
life now
balances
wears no uniform
ready to see, ready to bleed
a future under a cremated sun.

Survivors
             step
             away
             from
'            the
             edge

abandon division, ideological tides
plant seeds across an empty sky.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

2011-11-13T09:32:00.000Z

POETIC PILGRIMAGE - NO MORE WAR

2011-11-12T11:45:00.000Z

Occupy Cardiff Eviction

2011-11-12T11:25:00.001Z

Democracy in action!!!!

Cocaine Unwrapped Trailer 13 03 2011

2011-11-11T14:58:00.000Z

Lupe Fiasco - Words I Never Said ft. Skylar Grey

2011-11-10T10:41:00.001Z

It's so loud inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can't take back the words I never said
I can't take back the words I never said

I really think the war on terror is a bunch of bullshit
just a poor excuse for you to use up all your bullets
How much money does it make to really make a full clip
9/11 building 7 did they really pull it
Uhh, and a bunch of other cover ups
Your childs future was the first to go with budget cuts
If you think that hurts, then, wait here comes the uppercut
The school was garbage in the first place, thats on the up and up
Keep you at the bottom but tease you with the uppercrust
You get it then they move you so you never keeping up enough
If you turn on TV all you see's a bunch of "what the fucks"
Dude is dating so and so blabbering bout such and such
And that aint Jersey Shore, homie tha's the news
And these the same people that supposed to be telling the truth
Limbaugh is a racist, Glen Beck is a racist
Gaza strip was getting bombed, Obama didn't say shit
That's why I aint vote for him, next one either
I'ma part of the problem, my problem is I'm peaceful
And I believe in the people.

It's so loud inside my head
With words thay I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can't take back the words I never said
I can't take back the words I never said

Now you say it aint our fault if we never heard it
But if we know better than we probably deserve it
Jihad is not a holy war, where's that in the worship?
Murdering is not Islam!
And you are not observant
And you are not a muslim
Israel don't take my side cause look how far you've pushed them
Walk with me into the ghetto, this is where all the Kush went
Compain about the liqour store but what you drinking liqour for?
Complain about the gloom but when'd you pick a broom up?
Just listening to Pac aint gone make it stop
A rebel in your thoughts, aint gon make it halt
If you don't become an actor you'll never be a factor
Pills with million side effects
Take em when the pain felt
Wash them down with Diet soda!
Killin off your brain cells
Crooked banks around the World
Would gladly give a loan today
So if you ever miss a payment
They can take your home away!

It's so loud in my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can't take back the words I never said, never said
I can't take back the words I never said

I think all the silence is worse than all the violence
Fear is such a weak emotion that's why I despise it
We scared of almost eveything, afraid to tell the truth
So scared of what you think of me, I'm scared of even telling you
Sometimes I'm like the only person I feel safe to tell it to
I'm locked inside a cell in me, I know that there's a jail in you
Consider this your bailing out, so take a breath, inhale a few
My screams is finally getting free, my thoughts is finally yelling through

It's so loud inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can't take back the words I never said

Roger Waters - The Tide Is Turning (Re: Occupy)

2011-11-09T15:18:00.000Z

Occupy - Roger Waters

Being treated fairly and with dignity

2011-11-08T13:41:00.003Z

At the heart of human rights is the belief that everybody should be treated equally and with dignity - no matter what their circumstances.
This means that nobody should be tortured or treated in a inhuman or degrading way.
It also means that nobody has the right to 'own another person or force them to work under threat of punishment.
And it means that eveybody should have access to public services and the right to be treated fairly by those services. This applies to all public services, including the criminal justice system. For example, if you are arrested and charged tou should not be treated with prejudice and your trial should be fair.
UK law includes a range of human rights which protect you from poor treatment, and which require you to have equal and fair treatment from publc authorities.

http://www.equalityhumanrights.com/human-rights/what-are-human-rights/being-treated-fairly-and-with-dignity/

Sadly up and down this country people on incapacity benefit are being forced to take assessments that are not only impersonal, they are mechanistic and lack any kind of empathy. Many people are being injustly treated and left in distress.But this is what happens in a Tory led Britain, stigmatise a group, seek to dissimate and destroy.Basic sensitivities ignored!! The B.B.C themselves have recently been adding to the flames with blinkered sensationalist programmes on benefit cheats straight out of the Daily Mail. John Humprey's recent programme " The future state Of Benefit" was an absolute shocker, a right wing thesis playing loosely with the facts, as if witten by some governmental department.
New tests designed to stigmatise the diadvantaged, the disabled , the mentally ill in order to save money. Taking from many who are already impoverished.
Is this the future for all, look to America and follow their flawed policies and agendas.Human dignity and fairness overiden, justice and human rights denied.
As for the cold, it's bloody freezing!!

A PAGAN PHILOSOPHER ON THE USE OF IMAGES

2011-11-06T12:38:00.005Z

( Maximus of Tyre,' Oration,' V111, 10)

Maximus of Trye (ca.A.D 125 -185) was a Sophist and eclectic philosopher who reavelled widely and lectured both at Athens and at Rome.

For the God who is the Father and Creator of all that is, older than the sun, older than the sky, greater than time and etrnity and the whole continual flow of nature, is not to be named by any lawgiver is not to be uttered by any voice, is not to be seen by any eye. But we, being unable to grasp his essence, makes use of sounds and names and pictures, of beaten gold and ivory and silver, of plants and rivers, of mountains peakes and torrents, yearning for the knowledge of him, and in our weakness naming all that is beautiful in the world
after his nature. The same thing happens to those who love others, to them the sweetest sight will be the actual figure of their children, but sweet also will be their memory - they will be happy at ( the sight of) a lyre, a little spear, or a chair , perhaps, or a running ground, or anything whatever that wakens the memory of the beloved. Why should I go any further in examining and passing judgement about images? Let all men know what is divine; let them know, that is all. If Greeks are stirred to the rememberance of God by the art of Phidias, oe the Egyptions by paying worship to animals, or others by a river, or others by fire, Iwill not quarrel with their diffrerences. Only let them know, let them love, let them remember.

Translation by Frederick C. Grant, in his Hellenistic Religions ( New York , 1953)

The Gunpowder Plot - The Case for the Defence

2011-11-05T14:46:00.003Z

Guy Fawkes, was an English mercenerary, much maligned, but due to a deep undertow of popular discontentment has become a symbol of resistance. Possibly down to Alan Moore and his brilliant comic creation in V for Vendettas, across the world protestors are wearing the stylised masks of Fawkes, some wear his mask as a symbol of their contempt for authority and government, reclaiming Guido as a symbol of hope and resistance. I guess he's become kind of cool. His thoughts undertaking a kind of revival.
Still though his effigy will be burned across many place in Britain today, because of his failure along with other Catholic conspirators to blow up the English parliament in 1605. He might have failed but his memory still has a heavy resonance, and people are now finding other effigies to use instead. Ah if he had succeeded, what then?
He was however never burned at the stake in the first place, he was hung..... hey ho, carry on resisting, and if you must play with fire, be careful out there.....

Attilla the Stockbroker and David Roviks - Guy Fawkes Table

Remember, Remember the 5th of November,

Gunpowder , Treason and Plot

I know no reason why the gunpowder plot should ever be

forgot,

Daniel Ellsberg Speaks on Behalf of Whistleblower Bradley Manning

2011-11-05T12:02:00.000Z

Revealed - the capitalist network that runs the world

2011-11-04T15:45:00.000Z

Graphic: The 1318 transitional companies that form the core of the economy

Superconnected companies are red, very connected companies are yellow. The size of the dot pepresents revenue ( Image: PLos One)

by Andy Coghlan and Debora Mackenzie

AS PROTESTS against financial power sweep the world this week, science may have confirmed the protestors' worst fears. An analysis of the relationship between 43,000 transnational cororations has identified a small group of companies, mainly banks, with disproportionate power over the global economy.

The study's assumptions have attracted some criticism, but complex systems analysrs contacted by New Scientist say iy is a unique effort to untangle control in the global econony. Pushing the analysis further, they say could help to identify ways of making global capitalism more stable.

The idea that a few bankers control a large chunk of the global economy might not seem like news to New York's Occupy Wall Street movement and protesters rlsewhere. But the study, by a trio of complex system theorists at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich, is the first to go beyond ideology to empyeically identify such a network of power. It combines the mathematics longused to model systems with comprehensive corporate data to map ownership among the world's transnational corporations (TNCs).

" Reality is so complex, we must move away from dogma, whether it's conspiracy theories or free-market," says James Glattfelder. " Our analysis is reality-based."

Previous studies have found that a few TNCs own large chunks of the world's economy, but they included only a limited number of companies and omitted indirect ownership, so could not say how this affected the global economy - whether it made it more stable or less stable, for instance.

The Zurich team can. From Orbis 2007, a database listing 37 million companies and investors worldwide, they pulled out all 43,060 TNCs and the share ownerships owning them. Then they constructed a model of which companies controlled others through shareholding networks, coupled with each company's operating revenues, to map the structure of economic power.

The work to be published in PLoS One , revealed a core of 1318 companies with interlocking ownerships (see image). Each of the 1318 has ties to two or more other companies, and on average they were connected to 20. What's more, although they represented 20 percent of global operating revenues, the 1318 appeared to colectively own through their shares the majority of the world's large blue chip and manufacturing firms - the "real" economy - representing a further 60 per cent og global revenues.

When the team further untangled the web of ownership, it found much of it tracked back to a "super-entity"
of 147 even more tightly knit companies - all of their ownership was held by other members of the superentity - that controlled 40 per cent of the total wealth in the network," says Glattfelder. Most were financial institutions. The top 20 included Barclays Bank, JP Morgan Chase & Co, and the Gold man Sachs Group.

John Driffil of the University of London, a maroeconomics expert, says the value of the analysis is not just to see if a small number of people controls the global economy, but rather it's insights into economic stability.

Concentration of poer is not good or bad in itself, says the Zurich team, but the core's tight interconnections could be. As the world learned in 2008, such networks are unstable. "If one (company) suffers distress," says Glattfelder, "this propogates."

" It's disconcerting to see how connected things really are." agrees George Sugihara of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, California, a complex systems expert who has advised Deutsche Bank.

Yaneer Bar -Yam, head of the New England Complex Systems Institute (NECSI), warns that the analysis assumes ownership equates to control, which is nor always true. Most company shares are held by fund managers who may or may not control what the companies they part-own actually do. The impact of this on the system's behaviour, he says, requires more analysis.

Crucially, by identifying the architecture of global economic power, the analysis could hep make it more stable. By finding the vulnerable aspects of the system, economists can suggest measures to prevent future collapses spreading throgh the entire economy. Glattfelder says we need global anti-trust rules, which now exist only at national level, to limit over-connection among TNCs. Sugihara says the analysis suggests one possible solution: firms should be taxed for excess interconnectivitity to discourage this risk.

One thing won't chime with some of the protesters' claims: the super-entity is unlikely to be the intentional result of a conspiracy to rule the world. "Such structures are common in nature," says Sugihara.

Nwecomers to any network connect preferentially to highly connected members. TNCs buy shares in each other for business reasons, not for world domination. If connectedness clusters, so does wealth, says Dan Braha of NECS1: in similar models, money flows towards the most highly connected members. The Zurich study, says Sugihara, "is strong evidence that simple rules governing TNCs give rise spontaneously to highly connected groups". Or as Braha puts it: "The Occupy Wall Street claim that 1 per cent of people have most of the waelth reflects a logical phase of the self-organising economy."

So, the super-entity may not result from conspiracy. The real question, says the Zurich team, is ehether it can exert concerted political power. Driffill feels 147 is too many to sustain collusion. Braha suspects they will compete in the market but act together on common interests. Resisting changes to the network structure may be one such common interest.

When this article was first posted, the comment in the final sentence of the paragraph beginning "Crucially by identifying the achitecure of global economic power..." was misattributed.

The top 50 of the 147 superconnected companies

1. Barclays plc
2. Capital Group Companies Inc
3. FMR Corporation
4. AXA
5. State Street Corporation
6. JP Morgan Chase & Co
7. Legal & General Group plc
8. Vanguard Group Plc
9. UBS AG
10. Merrill Lynch & Co Inc
11. Wellingtom Management Co LLP
12. Deutsche Bank AG
13. Franklin Resources Inc
14. Credit Suisse Group
15. Walton Enterprises LLC
16. Mank of New York Mellon Corp
17. Natixis
18. Goldman Sachs Group Inc
19. T Rowe Price Group Inc
20. Legg Mason Inc
21. Morgan Stanley
22. Mitsubishi UFJ Financial Group Inc
23. Northern Trust Corporation
24. Societe Generale
25. Bank of America Corporation
26. Lloyds TSB Group plc
27. Invesco plc
28. Allianz SE 29. TIAA
30. Old Mutual Public Limited Company
31. Aviva plc
32. Schroders plc
33. Dodge & Cox
34. Lehman Brother Holdings Inc*
35. Sun Life Financial Inc
36. Standard Life plc
37. CNCE
38. Nomura Holdings Inc
39. The Depositary Trust Company
40. Massachussetts Mutual Life Insurance
41. ING Groep NV
42. Brandes Investment Partners LP
43. Unicredito Italiano SPA
44. Deposit Insurance Corporation Japan
45. Vereniging Aegon
46. BNP Paribas
47. Affiliated Managers Group Inc
48. Resona Holdings Inc
49. Capital Group International Inc
50. China Petrochemical Group Company

* Lehman still existed in the 2007 dataset used

Republication from Newscientisthttp://www.newscientist.com/article/mg21228354.500-revealed--the-capitalistnetwork-that-runs-world.html

Occupy Cardiff.

2011-11-03T15:16:00.004Z

Cardiff plans demonstration in solidarity with the global Occupy Movement.

A demonstration has been called in Cardiff on Friday 11 November 2011 - the date set for a global day of action in solidarity with the international Occupy Movement.

The current Occupy Movement began in the US with Occupy Wall Street and has spread internationally taking inspiration from the US movement as well as similar occupations about social ineqality in Spain and the Arab Spring.

Here in the UK there has been an inspiring occupation at St Paul's Cathedral in London since Saturday 15th October 2011, a location close to the London Stock Exchange, and there have also been occupations and protests up and down the country.

The Cardiff demo will gather at the Aneurin Bevan statue on a time to be confirmed.
Find out mire about the Cardiff event on Facebook below.

https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=192221504188896

There seems to be something happening here , there and eveywhere.
What it is aint exactly clear.The rulers cannot simply go on ruling
in the old way, and the important thing is , the people refuse to
go on the old way.....

to be continued.

" We know what happens to people who stay in the middle of the road. They get run down."

- Aneurin Bevan.

Riot Granny

2011-11-01T14:01:00.002Z

After Loukanikas the Riot Dog, Athens, Greece gets a new symbol of hope and global resistance that makes's its way into the limelight, the riot Granny......
Long may she have the power.

Adelaide Crapsey (9/9/1878- 8/10/14) - The Witch

2011-10-31T15:12:00.003Z

When I was a girl by Nilus stream
   I watched the desert stars arise;
My lover, he who dreamed the Sphinx,
   Learned all his dreaming from my eyes

I bore in Greece a burning name,
And I have been in Italy
Madonna to a painter-lad,
  And mistress to a Medici.

And have you heard ( and I have heard)
Of puzzled men with decorous mien,
Who judged - The wrench knows far too much-
And hanged her on the Salem green?

Adellaide Crapsey , grew up in Rochester, New York. Educated at Vassar College. Spent her life teaching, studying and writing poems. Her poetry A study of English Metrics was published in 1918, after her death in a sanatorium of tuberculosis.
The Witch from 'Verse' by Adelaide Crapsey 1922.

Happy Samhein everyone
May it be good. xx

FOR NOW - by teifidancer

As this October night ends
open your windows
spread knowledge of justice
love of free existence.

Occupy your heart
invite the spirit of insurrection
stir together
solidarity, imagination

The past is gone
change is effervessing
we are goin to a future
that has never been seen

There is magic in the air
as old orders die
together we rise, shadows
dancing among the flames

Truth grows from roots and branches
offering promise of new beginnings
an army of believers gathering
faith confirmed, preparing for emerging possibility

Certainties shake as orthodoxies are removed
dreamers sitting on the threshold of another world
in leaps and bounds we spread our message
we declare our freedom as paradigm shifts.

From the hedges we untangle
out in the open we emerge,
where we gather some critics curse
but we carry on beyond the dry tear of fear

wave goodbye to the margins
bloom, and move forwards
push onwards, accelerate
because the whole world is watching now.

(Sorry about the cliches.........)

                                                'those who make peaceful revolution impossible
                                                 make violent revolution inevitable'
                                                 - J F Kennedy

Herman Hesse (21/7/1877 - 9/8/62) - The Poet

2011-10-30T12:00:00.002Z

Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song.
To me alone, to me the lonely one
The colourful shadows of the wandering clouds
Move like dreams over the open countryside.
Neither house nor farmland,
either forest nor hunting privelege is given to me,
What is mine belongs to no one,
The plungeing brook behind the veil of the woods,
The frightening sea,
The bird whir of children at play,
The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a
man secretly in love.
The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine
The arisocratic groves of the past.
And no less, the luminous
Vault of heaven in the future is my home:
Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upwards,
To gaze on the future of blessed men,
Love overtaking the law, love from people to people.
I find them all again, nobly transformed:
Farmer,King, tradesmen, busy sailors,
Shepherd and gardener, all of them
Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world.
Only the poet is missing,
The lonely one who looks on,
The bearer of human longing, the pale image
Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world
Has no further need. Many garlands
Wilt on his grave,
But no one remembers him.

1911

translated from the German by
James Wright.

Attila the Stockbroker - Looters

2011-10-28T17:00:00.001+01:00

Looters

Dazza is a looter
in trainers and a hood
He trashed his local corner shop
He'd learned that greed is good
The CCTV nailed him
The papers called him scum
Now Dazza's in the barry place
And crying for his mum...

CHORUS

There's no such thing as society
So steal and cheat and loot
Just one more thing to remember though-
Make sure you wear a suit!

Bazza is a looter
In pinstripes, brogues and tie
Short selling in the City
He made millions on the sly
He nicked our hard earned savings
Then turned round and said thanks
He walked off with the money-
And we bailed out the banks...

CHORUS

When greed's the creed that breeds
and breeds
What else can you expect?
The selfish scum get richer
And communities get wrecked
Some rob us with an iron bar
Some a computer screen
And when they say it's "legal"
It's even more obscene....

CHORUS

Dazza is a street kid
And what he did was wrong
But he probably wouldn't do it
If he felt he could belong
Bazza's rich and privileged
He doesn't give a shit
He takes us for a load of mugs
And gets away with it!

CHORUS

More from one of my favourite political songwriters below

http://attilathestockbroker.com/

and nice little post on him here, it mentions a little gig that I attended.

http://rocketremnants.blogspot.com/2010/08/stand-up-now-stand-up-now.html

IMAGINE

2011-10-28T13:06:00.001+01:00

Can you imagine working for a company that only has a little more than 635 employees, but has the following employee statistics -

29 have been accused of spouse abuse

7 have been arrested for fraud

9 have been accused of writing bad cheques

17 have directly or indirectly banrupted at least 3 businesses

3 have done time for assault

71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit

14 have been arrested on drug-related charges

8 have been arrested for shoplifting

21 are currently defendants in lawsuits

84 have been arrested for drink driving in the last year and collectively, they have cost the British tax payer £92,003,748 in expenses!!!

Could you imagine whose organisation is this?

It's the 635 members of the House of Commons.

The same group that cranks out hundreds ofnew laws each year designeed to keep the rest of us in line. What a bunch of sweeties, no sorry, bunch of crooks, this is what is running our country. The figures say it all.... And just to to top all that they probably have the best 'corporate pension scheme in the country - whilst trying to ensure that everyone else in this terrible economic climate has the worst time possible!!!
It really seems crazy doesn't it? A really appalling state of affairs, somethings gotta change.Sooner than later.
Before the rot from the top starts infecting us all. The expenses row might have been forgotten, but it seems those in power are still playing their games.
One rule for them and another for the rest of us. Remember wrap up warm cost of heating is impossible at the moment, but don't forget to turn up the heat on those who should be looking after our interests. Thw wonders of democracy eh, think it's time Parliament was reclaimed.

Occupy Wall Street: We Are the 99%

2011-10-28T12:07:00.000+01:00

99% of humans are civilised.

2011-10-25T13:50:00.000+01:00

99% of capitalists want to maintain capitalism.
99% of misogynysts want to maintain patriarchy.
99% of fascists want to maintain the state.
99% of racists want to maintain racism.
99% of humans want to maintain domestication.
99% of the civilised want to maintain all the aformentioned, because without it they will die.

99% of humans are civilised
99% of us question why?

GLOBAL REVOLUTION! TO THE SOLDIERS AND THE PEOPLE OF THE 99%

Demand

the

impossible

2011-10-23T11:45:00.001+01:00

" In dictatorships we are more fortunate than you in the West in one respect. We believe in nothing of what we read in the newspapers and nothing of what we watch on television, because we know it's propoganda and lies. Unlike you in the West, we've learned to look behind the propoganda and to read between the lines, and unlike you we know that the real truth is always subversive."

- dissident Czech novelist Zdener Urbanek