Bedroom Tax Song: You Cannae Have A Spare Rom in a Pokey Cooncil Flat.

 

A song about the Bedroom Tax, written for the demos that have occurred all over the UK, . and te Glasgow one in particular.
Set to the tune of the 1960's folk song "The Jeely Palce Song", by Scottish singer songwriter Adam McNaughton.

LYRICS

I'm a welfare state wean, we ive on the bottom flair
But we're not allowed to live there any mair.
They say we've got too many rooms, in our social rented flat
We've an eight by ten foot boxroom where you cannae swing a cat.

Chorus

Oh ye canna have a spare room in a pokey cooncil flat
Ian Duncan Smith and Co have put an end tae that
They say 'live in a smaller house', they say that is their plan
When the odds against you finding one are ninety-nine to one

Noo ma auties in a wheelchair, but these Tories dinna care
They say they have a deficit, she got to pay her share
£60 a month they'll take, then leave her tae her fate
Whilst gieing millionaires a tax cut, cause they say they're due a
break

Noo that Buckingham Palace looks a pretty roomy gaff
And the ludger there gets benefits at rates that make me laugh
A civil list, plus perks, worth nearly ninety million pounds
With her other dozen mansions lying empty a year round

Noon those MPs doon in Westminster must think we're dense
Wi their second home apartments, where the public pays their rent
They're even get a food allowance, two hubdred quid a week
But they're claiming we're the scroungers, is their arse up in their
cheeks?

So we've formed a Federation  amd we're gonna have our say
The Bedroom Tax it has to go, and we aint gonna pay
We're gonna march to George's square to demand our civil rights
Like nae mair Tories and that Liberal shite.

Au Caberet du Ciel, Paris, 1927 - Man Ray

  

Can't seem to avoid a certain somebody, showering down from nearly every newspaper I look at, every tiny bit of news I see, so heres's something completely different.
The cabaret scene shown was intended for reproduction in Varietes, a Belgian publication dedicated to Surrealism. Depicted are among the leading thinkers, writers and artists who reflected the Surrealist spirit in their work.
These include, standing:
Hans Arp, JJean Caupenne, Georges Sadoul, Andre Breton, Pierre Unik, Yves Tanguy, Cora, Andre Thirion ( shown from behind, facing Cora), Rene Crevel, Suzanne Musard, and Frederic Megret (shown with cigarette).
Seated at the front of the table are Elsa Triolet, Louis Aragon, Camille Goemans and Madame Goemans.

More on a Surrealist thread coming Sunday.

Dier Yassin Remembered.

Today  the Palestnian people mark the 65th year since Jewish militia murdered over 100 Palestinian villagers.
What happened in Deir Yassin prepared the ground for the ethnic cleansing of 70% of the Palestinian people. The same ethnic cleansing that occurred then is unfortunately going on today. In 1948 they used direct massacres, but today they use airstrikes in Gaza and shoot innocent young Palestinians in the West Bank.
For Palestinians and their supporters, the massacre is a symbol. It is remembered as the pivotal onset of the 1948 Nabka; Deir Yassin is the "other shoe that fell," sparking over 750,000 to flee from their homes out of a fear that they too would be massacred.
Early in the morning Commanders of the Irgun (headed by Menachim Begin) and the Stern Gang attacked Deir Yassin a village with aboyt 750 Palestinian residents.
The village  lay outside of the area assigned by the United Nations to the 'Jewish State'. It had a peaceful reputation. A year later the settlement  Kafar Shaul was founded on this site. In the 1980's the remains of Dier Yassin wwere bulldozed to make room for new settlements. The streets of these new neighbourhoods were named after members of the Irgun family.

Dier Yassin Remembered

Darkness recedes ( After Maggie)

Dark rippled,
heavy as lead,
tried to burn and sting,
crushed opposition,
taught us sadness,
that sometimes,
we need some hate,
to help us stay alive.

Memories moulded,
disturbing thoughts,
tainted many lifes,
stole dreams,
stretched understanding,
to limits unknown,
with pierced living breath,
and careful sharp precision.

A mother, daughter, yes!
who instead of flowers ,
planted seeds of agony and fear,
resiliant too, with cold calculation,
That is why yesterday, instead of tears,
many cheered in jubilation,
as this mean spirited medussa,
walked her final steps towards,
the flames of hell.

As darkness recedes,
let their be light.

The Witch is dead

Woke up earlier feeling a bit depressed, had an atos form to fill out, but then I noticed an unusual amount of people smiling in the street. What was going on I asked, haven't you heard the news Margaret Thatcher has died. What , suddenly it felt like the first time I had taken ecstacy, a rush of emotion that I had not felt for ages.
Some people would say that I should not be rejoicing in her death, nothing compares to the sadness that many people have felt that she was ever alive.
I deplore the way the mainstream media  is treating the life and legacy of Margaret Thatcher. To many people in this country, Thatcher was one of the most divisive figures to have emerged. She created misery and suffering for millions, while selling of  that which belonged to the people.I rememner the strikes, the growing dividee between the haves and have nots, I remember her  plans  to take apart the weldare state, destroy the NHS. Her legacy being carried on by the Con Dems vicious cruel policies. Her legacy continues in nasty economic policies, that have made the rich richer and the poor poorer, with the slashing in this present time of essential services and the continuing dismantling of the welfare state. Her legacy forever rotten to the core, friends of dictators etc etc.
Across the country there will be many people dancing and celebrating her demise. I have already drunk a toast. Mourn her I will not
http://www.facebook.com/groups/TheWitchisDeadParty/

Maggie Thatcher may be dead but the rest of her Nasty Party and corrupt Government are very much alive. Please sign this, on behalf of those people who have been hardest hit by their deliberate destructive policies.

http://wowpetition.com/

These songs and this post is dedicated to all those who were blighted by her,and those who stood up against her in angry defiance.

Pete Wylie - The day that Thatcher dies

John McCullough - I will dance on your grave Mrs Thatcher

earlier post

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/margaret-thatcher-her-legacy-personal.html

Margaret Thatcher may be dead but the rest of her Nasty Party  very much alive. 

Times's Police

I used to believe,
that libraries gave us power,
knowledge for free,
allowed us to share,
create and shape.

Across Britain, in sanctuaries harbour,
their trying to restrict access to internet,
to a daily fix of one hour,
some of us already hooked,
are feeling the sensation of withdrawal.

Not a lot of time, to gather thought,
for the unemployed to seek work,
to gather thought, dissect issues,
ease conscience, play silly games,
share urgent breath to the world.

Yesterday, I watched people
feverishly typing, as though
it was the last thing they would do,
some had the look of panic,
the pang of despair.

I went into the streets,with pockets full,
of restless ideas and conviction,
others carried papers, left unfilled,
took home thoughts stuffed with delicate emotion.

The power of communication,
needs patience, no rushed urgency,
allows us time, to pause for air,
freedom a universal language,
a form of magic,
floats through every living tongue.

Wires connect, whether we like it or not,
one of the better things to have emerged,
                                       from globalisation.
When speech gets cut, urgency grows wild,
in the desert without water, shards of purpose,
                                          do not simply die.
Hope flys without wings, holding all together.

Answers please by e.mail,
I'll try to reply soon,
in the heights of passion,
and  wild lofty abandon.

Make Conservatives History

In a London nursing home, an old priest lay dying.
For years he had faithfully served the people of the nation's capital.
No motioned for his nurse to come near. Yes, Father? said the nurse.
I would really like to see David Cameron and Nick Clegg before I die, whispered the priest.
I'll see what I can do, Father, replied the nurse.
The nurse sent the requst to No 10 and waited for a response.
Soon the word arrived, David and Nick would be delighted to visit the priest.
As they went to the hospital, David commented to Nick, I don't know why the old priest wants to see us, but it certainly will help our images.
Nick agreed that it was the right thing to do at this time.
When they arrived at the priest's room, the priest took David's hand in his right hand, and the Nick's hand in his left.
There was silence and a look of serenity on the old priest's face.
The old priest slowly said: I have always tried to pattern my life after our Lord and Saviour, 
Jesus Christ.
Amen, said David, Amen. said Nick.
The old priest continued, Jesus died between two lying bastards, and I would like to do the same....

OK Duncan Smith, here is your £53

OK Duncan Smith, here is your £53

I've deducted
£15 for your electricity and gas. You are on a pre-payment card and it costs
more
£3 towards your TV License
£3 towards tour travel costs to sign once a fortnight
£14 as you are now a social housing tenant you have two bedrooms. Don't give me that nonsence about your wife being unwell
£2 Council Tax contribution as you live in England

That leaves you £16 a week to live on, barely enough for a daily pint of milk
and a copy of that vile newspaper that published you this morning.

OK, let's forget the milk and the paper. I'm going to take another £5 for
phone charges as the DWP are on a premim rate number and £5 off
towards that crisis loan you took out to pay to get your boiler repaired.
That's £6 a week to survive on.

Think you can still do it? Try doing it every bastard week.

No 'just saying, no 'best wishes' and Seren is too fucking cross to comment.

You can rot in hell

(with thanks to Don Atreides)

Petition
Ian Duncan Smith to live on £53 a week

https://www.change.org/petitions/iain-duncan-smith-iain-duncan-smith-to-live-on-53-a-week

The Suicidal Tree

Trees have feelings. Back in 1644 on this day, army deserter Phillip Greensmith was strung up on a elm  tree at Coton-in-the-Elms, near Burton upon Trent in Staffordshire. The elm was so mortified by this misuse of its branches that it either decided to end it all, or went into terminal shock. From that day, its leaves and leaves began to wither, and within a year it was dead.
This is very much in keeping with the traditional personality of the elm. It is said that if you cut one down, a neighbouring elm will die of grief. Such a sentimental species proved an easy target for Dutch elm disease.
It is said that ' the elm and the vine do so naturally entwine'. Shakespeare alludes to the notion in The Comedy of Errors, in which Adriana says to her husband Antipholus of Syracuse:

Thou art an elm, my husband, I am a vine
Whose weakness married to thy stronger state
Makes me with thy strength to communicate.

The elm not only has deep-rooted emotions: it is also an arbiter of quality. The old maxims ' A good elm never grew on bad land' and 'Good elm, good barley' reveal its status as a crp and field guide. And how did the barley-grower cope when there was no handy, leafy, elm around for reference?

When the elmen leaf's big as a mouse's ear,
Then to sow barley never fear;
When the elmen's leaf's big as an ox's eye,
Then says I, ' Hie, boys, hie!'

Quietude - for R.S Thomas (29/3/13 -25/9/00 ) on the centenary of his birth

Wake up to quietude
no rush, tension is outside,
go on journeys, take one step at a time,
slowly step out into the garden
swathed in mist, remembering
that all life is difficult.

Look for truth
among the hedgerows,
dream on earth, behold paradise
capture y teimlad - the feeling,
mornings full of mystery and innocence
before we slip into the unknown.

Every doubt, every suspicion
can becomes a quite ripple,
every unkind word
thoughtless act, cancelled out,
the joy of living still in the moment
the sound of silence such a precious gift.

Yes there is fear, thoughts of death

in loneliness too,  the clog of isolation

the world  in deep sorrowful contemplation

a paralysis that shapes our different realities

bending and shaping  shifting perceptions

thoughts swirling in the vastness of time.

Each birth of  day,
surrenders a flash of gentleness
puzzles of thought, floating by
supernatural winds of sensation,
amulets of revelation, revolution
mind in quiet reflection.

In quietude,
no borders are necessary,
stillness encompassing
enlightenment presents itself,
as the riches of our gardens leap,
and the seeds of wild profusion grow.


(Happy Easter Weekend, heddwch/Peace)