Friday, June 09, 2006

 

Flat Rap

What kind of child am I?
You’re playing silly beggars with you’re lies and deceitful spies.
Press down upon my door step, stand on my door mat
Tell me that in no way are you going to pay
So get out of my flat, look
Get out of my flat, a matter of fact

The trouble with your sort is they keep coming back.
They keep coming back your sort,
They keep coming back,
Get out of my flat.

Since when you came to town I’ve been drowning with dept
Not two pennies have been met and every day having to drive you and your pesky mother and you’re flipping brother down to the dept.
With a ticket for my trouble and the road charging double and the doctor saying there is no green light and no way for me out of this restricting bubble.

And there’s nothing for me with not two pennies to rub together, that’s what I say. And you better bloody believe it because it is my car, my electrocution table and administration cabinet all together chattering about all my behavioural records.
Don’t touch those recs, give em ere unless you want to be electric-cuted.
Because they won’t understand, because they shine a light on my hidden secrets and they just won’t understand.
Well you might let them finger through my papers and convict me with the fine blessing of the magistrate, but let me tell you, you can put me in bands of metal and close the clasp shut, see if I care.

The trouble with my sort is I keep coming back.
They keep coming back, my sort,
They keep coming back.
Don't step over that mat
and get out of my flat!


Tuesday, June 06, 2006

 

Unchecked Minds

I had been out of work for thirteen months when there came the time when I had to join a course for my self improvement in the areas of CV making and general job search activity. This was of course not due to my own divining but instead was as a result of certain initiatives laid out by the work and pensions department. It was yet again trying to revamp the welfare state into a more streamlined and efficient organisation, its various organs working as hard as can be expected to invigorate we job shy youths, and some old, to pass our time more actively in the work area. Their version of work being of the paying and full time kind, our form of hell that is. Our ultimate betrayal to a lifetimes studying at the table, fending off cries of wastrel and layabout from relatives and old fashioned old men with long moustaches and old ideas about a days work and the fact that they pay taxes - codswallop! We have the right to walk the streets like anybody else. The maintenance of a well stocked pool of fit and efficient non workers is our mission, not the passive submission to a scandalous work ethic contradicting the real need for activity in the work markets. Work being in reality a social control acting in much the same way as school, the training place for work. That everybody should file in and line up and be at attendance otherwise how could they possibly control us? What would people do without work? They would lounge about and do pointless activities just in order to pass the time. Their unchecked minds would run riot without the sensible and firm controls of leadership only to be found in the rigid structure of the workplace, full time not part-time.

I walked tentatively through the double swing doors. Before meeting the course leader I stood taking in the scene that lay before me. The first impression was of the smell, the room being used, I found out, as a public bar in the day time and stank of stale beer and fag smoke. The sound of constant singing with awkward drumming backbeat came through the semi-permanent left wall, under which you could see feet moving. On the makeshift tables gathered in the long room lay strewn around an array of newspapers taken apart and half read. Towards one end of this display before me lay, or sat, a woman with her head and arms sunk downwards in a heap across an open newspaper, making no sound, in the midst of some sort of seizure maybe, as if having dropped dead in mid read, gravity had caused the front of her forehead to fall upon the beer ringed formica coated chipboard table. I turned my head slowly around, eyes passing the worn out nicotine grey sofas, a landscape of neglect strewn all around me. Suddenly I found Bob the course leader up close and in my face, standing and introducing himself with interview like formality, beckoning me towards a scruffy looking moulded plastic seat standing opposite a desk, informing me that he would explain how it all works and everything, thanks for coming, I’m waiting for two others, no point starting till then.



Friday, June 02, 2006

 

Fields

They have cut me up into their convenient squares, have rolled me over with their loud rickety industrial machines and chemical sprinklers, trampled upon my battered hide so that it is now marked with all manner of cracks and abrasions. To cap it all off the intense rays of a harsh sun also beat unrelentingly down upon my dry baked skin as I lie in wait hoping for it to end. like the weather it must pass and go away. Only a matter of time now.

I keep saying to myself, reassuring myself that this is just passing phase, just a temporary altercation. This plague will die away and be replaced by a more benevolent occupier; the land will go back perhaps to how it was before when there were forests, gullies, large hawks and giant dinosaurs that wandered around and stamped reasuringly upon me. Let the ants take over that’s what I say, that’s what I say, or the trees or the vegetation.

You can rest assured that there is no death in me, I will merely change and morph into other forms along with the environment. You see I have that ability, I know what I will be like in the future, like stone or like sand and then I will be able to cruise down through the mountains again like once before. I know these things. Of these things I am certain; because the whole thing repeats itself.

The occupiers sometimes forget that I have lain here for thousands of years. Layers of peat and earth having gradually engulfed me, pressed me down further and further, flattened to form a layer at the point where I now lie. I have decided that I must deny the present and try to think more of the future. I will try to think that it is for the best that this has happened. I do not bear grudges. In the thousands of year that it has taken for this world to form me whole species have evolved and died away. The planet can get restless sometimes, whose logic is beyond every species that have ever lived upon it. The only thing that I can rely on is the fact that things will change and carry on changing for time eternity, which is the only saving grace.

They have slain me and dug me, then rolled me over and over, reworking my de-forested soil. They have chemically enhanced me; have plagued my arching back with tons upon tons of poison thrown from planes. Could they not leave me fallow at least and leave alone my friends the insects and familiar habitations nearby that over the years I have come to be like friends to me, just take me, leave them. They have suffered; the worms, the centipedes, the beetles and the grasshoppers that travel through me, in me and over me, keeping me irrigated and ventilated. The plants seek their darkness, spearing through me, pushing me further down, sucking at my residues, nitrifying my soil, what could I do without them.


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