Something from nothing,
Yet nothing was something;
So something was
And therefore, nothing can be.
Omnipotent presence
Surely was something;
How can nothing birth something?
Why would something grow from nothing?
Ignorance and wrath in stark contrast,
Ever the contradiction;
Biased omnibenevolence to some,
With all powerful ignorance damning many.
The chicken, the egg, the old conundrum;
Which came first?
Faith in science and science in faith,
Each with parts unravelled.
thoughts
Budweiser.
Shimmering shards of shattered semblance
Beneath broken bottles, unwanted emblems
This mark of shame; scattered destruction
The cyclists, aware, swerving the obstruction;
Former bottles tossed, discarded and then some.
We are unneeded. Before this day
We were used, emptied, paid for, on display
Gave joy, and felt sorrow and now we lay wasted
On the croft, forgotten.
Pick a battle with our handlers so:
To you and your unforgivable hands we know
To decay, expenditure and ruin, with lost opportunity.
Broken faith in our use to your community
We no longer hold your golden ale, or darkest stout
On the croft, forgotten.
Some.
Sometimes, I feel backwards. Some hours, all I touch breaks. Some weeks last longer than others. Some days, a storm becomes an argument. Some moments fade to anger. Some challenges become impassable mountains. Some paths cut off. Some routes have new walls. Some connections tear apart. Some green turns to black. Some perfumes rot in sunlight. Some rainbows wash away. Somehow, I can’t walk away.
Like yesterday
Was it yesterday we last met? Or, the week before? What? Over four years?! Unbelievable! It feels just like yesterday.
A new place with a new arrangement? Feels homely and familiar. I’ve never been here, yet it fits like a glove. Incredible! It feels just like yesterday.
Older paws and fresh tails. New photos and shirts and books and electronics. Similar but different games. Same old, same old. It feels just like yesterday.
Same voices, different figures. Hearts and minds open or closed. Warmth, deeply felt friendship. Experiences gained through tales and moments unmatched. It feels just like yesterday.
Hugs, handshakes, and cheers. One for the road. A night cap. A natter. It all matters. It’s irrelevant until it’s relevant. A proud writer talking to a writer. Audiences growing. It feels just like yesterday.
Congratulations and commiserations. Job done. Here’s to another one. Not too many years away next time. Days instead. Open doors and invites. It feels like it will be tomorrow.
Too much pressure.
Too much pressure, I’m at boiling point. Crawling beneath, and within, hidden desperation. I know not, and no longer see what’s around me. I’m scared, so afraid, bring me down.
Too much pressure, bubbling over. I cannot taste this food you make. Isolated, solitary, remote, godforsaken, detached from you. There is no love about this town. The fury I feel is bringing me down. Curled up here, afraid to move.
Too much pressure, burning up. I cannot hear the sound of birds. Rile, irritable, aggravating, enraged – no smiles. All intrinsics, essentials, and instincts instantly lost. Insobriety, inebriated, intoxicated, disappearing. This night stayed. No reappearance nearing.
Too much pressure, feeling cold. I cannot feel your hand on mine. Unevenness, rough, changed, random protrusions throwing out delusions and illusions. Sleeping here in fear’s shadow, hiding away. Cold, clammering, coughing, spluttering, wheezing and sneezing. I struggle to breathe, numb and wheezing.
Too much pressure, reaching boiling point. Too much pressure, bubbling over. Too much pressure, burning up. Too much pressure, feeling cold. Pressure relieving as I slip away. Drifting and shifting. I’m out. Gone.
Reflected.
Morality is an argument. Conscientious decisions trouble. Choices a barrage of beratement. Unearthed memories lay in rubble.
Wicked temptation twists contemplation. Rightfully wrongly, lyrics of living. Shrouded silk on slivered sensation. The sieged scattered soul of sacred sieving.
Reflection reigns readily within contrast. Thoughts tumble twist, blast, and clash. Tumultuous turmoil thrashes out the past. What once was, and what no longer is, rests in ash.
Triumphant yesterday smoulders in the mirror. Grounded mortar spills from split seams. Consider it, nor will it deliver and trigger a shiver. The remains of the day gleams no further dreams.
COME ON CITY!
This is for the fan who couldn’t get a ticket; this shout for the one who couldn’t afford it; this is a cheer for those no longer here; raising a glass, singing we’re not really here!
COME ON CITY
A dedication to the fan of Sun Jihai who followed him and then followed us, hooked to the buzz, the love, the passion of the South Stand, the joy of following City over land and sea (and Stretford), the York massive and the gatecrashers at Blackburn.
COME ON CITY!
This is a call to all, to follow the ball, and head it and kick it and shout it into thar onion bag at the other end. Cry out loud, cry out proud, Poznan, and bounce, swing uour scarves and poor out your hearts.
COME ON CITY!
To those who followed Gerry Gow’s moustache, Ball on the bench, Pearce’s sensational home team, Santa’s Cruz’s wobbly knee, Ireland’s Superman lingerie range, Uwe and his ancestors, the Doyle generations, or cold nights in Hyde watching our future.
COME ON CITY!
To the women’s team, done and dusted; to the under 16s, under 18s and EDS champions at rest; to the loanstars on their way back; Perrone and Co overseas; to the subs and the starring eleven…
COME ON CITY!
To the dreamers and schemers, they always believe us, the rioters and chargers or fields, and all who wear the pride in battle of blue and white… no matter what happens today, yesterday or tomorrow, we say:
COME ON CITY!
DZY
On special days; do nothing days; on stay in and snooze days; I wish you were here.
To find new pathways; climb new trails and have short stays; roll in grassy hays; I wish you were there.
Looking at cloudy skies; pondering those storms by eyes; sunny days swarming flies; I wish you were everywhere.
Tidying up after little ones; brushing dog hair off the chair; making efforts ever so fair; I wish we were together.
Foul weather; tough times; moody moments we can’t decline; I wish to share forever.
Brick Walls
What I’m trying to say, is that I don’t want your throat to hurt so much, I don’t want you feeling so sick, and I’d take every ounce of the pain and suffering away, if I could take it from you. I’d kiss every drop of this evil bug from you.
I’d run through walls to defend and support you. Travel oceans, climb mountains, and rattle off clichés to make you understand that I am here and I am there for you. I’ll hug you closer and suffocate loneliness from you. You’ll be embraced so much that our skins will fuse. It’s that strong that even your farts smell of roses.
You have a way of doing things, and I respect that. Don’t push me away. I need you more than I need air. Without air, I might just be able to survive through some sort of chemical restructuring. Without you, well, what’s the point?! A sore throat comes and goes. I’m here forever. Until you get bored of me, that is.
Watching you sleep, restless and sweaty, face in contortions resembling a gurning competition, I am reminded of Egremont Crabbing Fair. Let’s go together. By then, you’ll be still, calm and feeling much better. Or, we could stay at home and do nothing. Just spend time wasting time and enjoying time in great company. You’re the best. I’m blessed. Let me treasure you. Stay strong. Stay positive. This bug will pass.
Stressful authority.
Prove your status.
Copy that letter.
Twice.
Translate this to that.
Duplicate, duplicate, duplicate.
Thrice.
Indicate at the tick box.
Here, there, and HERE.
There again.
Copies of a passport.
Duplicate and photostat your household register.
Voice print.
Embassy and Consulate verification required.
University experience desired.
Nose print.
Passport photos. Wedding photos. Holiday photos.
Travel history records. Paper money trail. Bank statements.
Dental records.
Fill in this.
Provide a copy of your birth certificate.
Photographs.
What was your dog’s mum’s maiden name?
And, what did your ex-wife eat for lunch yesterday?
Evidence.
Bloodtype, fingerprints, retina scan.
When did you last sneeze?
Health check.
How good are your genes?
Swear an oath, an affidavit, an allegiance to the flag.
Sing the national anthem. In Swahili.
Verify.
What are your political beliefs?
Trump or Xi? Sunak or Churchill?
Confirm.
Height, weight, favourite colour.
Where do you plan to go?
Bureaucracy.
Hand over your loved ones.
Get down on your knees.
Pray.
Relieve yourself of all sins.
Seek absolution and fix this.
Hurdles.
Wisdom.
What is wisdom? Things we learn and learn from? Our abilities to produce something whilst using our prior knowhow and experience? A guided version of common sense founded on our insights to life?
Unbiased judgement may play a part in keeping us grounded. Non-attachment isn’t easy. We connect. Sometimes, we connect more with someone or less with someone else. Or, the same person. At different times, too. I was here. I’m still here. We’re still here. Not every pathway is clear or easy. Not at all. We just have to find the right way. Changing the world isn’t easy, and arguably, you can change the world. However, you can change yourself. And nappies. Or not.
Drawing from our compassion, we should treasure every moment and focus all our energy on each and every brand new, bright tomorrow. The time we have makes us question, probe, redress, and counter our passing days, amongst other things. We make mistakes. We have to learn and relearn and adapt to survive and be the best we can be. Life is short. Enjoy it. No matter the challenge.
Having the capacity to know what contributes to growth and relate our conduct to our soundness of judgment should be simple. Choices are made. The means and ends of which can be practical, controversial, right, and / or wrong. Our experiential self-knowledge leads to self-transcendence. In theory, anyway. Give or take.
Virtues such as ethics and benevolence grow from who we surround ourselves with. Immerse ourselves with good friends and great family, and hope grows. Stand alone, and fear surrounds you. The doubts of self kick dust in your face. Regrets can cuddle you closely and strangle hope from your soul. But, with love and suitable familiar faces, we can dig in deep and accept hands to lift us up.
Doing what we do is important. Doing what we enjoy is us. There’s only one way of life, and that’s your own. We can also live that mantra, sang by The Levellers, by bringing in the ways of others. For every listener of The Hu, there’s a pebble painting pretty-eyed girl. It takes all sorts. For every dog called Panda, we need a dog called Sasha. Each unique character shaping our world and impacting us in their own little ways.
As for the future. Life goes on. We adapt. We face challenges. We survive. We try to fix our past. We grow new trees. A society grows stronger, in which an elderly gentleman plants trees knowing the shade of the trees will never be enjoyed by himself. We could look at clouds as something that blots away the sun or a canvas to be shaped and painted. Artists need treasuring.
So, is wisdom the right use of knowledge to tackle challenges and present a simpler setting. Our psychological construct allows us to foresee consequences. Be strong. Be pleasant to your friends. Apologise. Be honest or as close to it as possible. Never try to hurt anyone. Push away those who lessen your world. Keep good company. Build a strong foundation. Hug more.
Vellichor
The scent pours off of you, slipping away from your soul, wriggling away, pulling you down to the hole.
The depth opens up wide, snarling ruthlessly snide, ripping darkness from below, confirmation that hopes lost and lied.
The pages tear from the spine, torn away in time, words failing to be read, all shrouded in grime.
You lay on the shelf, emitting bad health, your pages full of wise wealth, yet all pass your stealth.
Daylight comes and goes, your words nobody knows, inside treasures like a rose, you slip away on endless rows.
The dust on your front and back, tightened and slack, no hands to pick you up and put you on back.
Discrimination
Why do you discriminate against me?
Why do you think you’re better?
Who allows you to talk over me?
Am I too unambitious if not a go-getter?
What makes you the king of this castle?
Whose voices are you speaking for?
Why do you bring me all this hassle?
Was it my forefathers in that long forgotten war?
Didn’t you understand the mistakes of the past?
Is it my skin, you fear?
Do you blame me or my people for that blast?
What values should I hold dear?
My religion or your religion?
Hate us? Hate me? Hate our future?
Where is the peace dove or grey sooty pigeon?
What makes you think I’ll level a score?
Equality or inequality?
Why do you raise your voice?
Why do you question my ability?
Why do you ask me for my choice?
Will your hateful words always haunt me?
Do you decry the freedom I seek?
Where is forgiveness and the blossoming new tree of the free?
Are you unhappy that I am not weak?
What makes civilisation?
How do I know that you know?
Where is my destination?
How will you show we can no longer grow?
Mams, moms, mums… 妈妈
Words taught. Ideas thought. And spoken. A gift, a token, a day awoken. Mums are brilliant. They’re resilient, they’re efficient and sufficient. A guide along paths. A shoulder to turn tears to laughs. Mums, moms, mams, 妈妈
Books given. Lies forgiven. Lessons learned. Trophies earned. Encouraged. Discouraged. Pushed on. Troubles gone. Forever enduring, securing and helping you before and during. A fanatic supporter helping and scoring. Moms, mams, mums, 妈妈
Try this, try that. Do this, do that. Eat your corn. See her scorn. Tidy up, fold it up, put it away. Have your say. Listen to the way. Day after day, always there for you. Truthfully, forever true. Mams, moms, mums, 妈妈
Loving, caring, sharing (through choice or not), supporting (win, lose or draw), there for you, no matter your lot. MUMS, MAMS, MOMS, 妈妈
Thanks for being my friend.
Interminable.
Eternally.
How long is that?
Forever and a day.
Surely that is too long, right?
Always.
When does that end?
Until I know when, I’ll carry on.
Until I know how, I will turn the now into the future;
And the future into the past.
Interminable. Apparently.
Time.
Time waits for no man.
No man should wait for time.
Nor woman.
The fine line.
Key worker and essential cog one day, discarded the next week.
“Valued employee” and “fine example” until you’re not relevant.
“Outstanding” and “innovating” before being outdated and obsolete.
“Indispensable” or “central to the team” as a budget slash deems your release date now.
Punctual, loyal, and attentive to fine details, followed by succeeded and outdated.
Moving on up, rising to the top, but all of a sudden, tumbling and spiralling downwards.
There’s a margin. A wafer thin gap. A sliver of light between dark and lost. A piece of hope dangling on the thread of chaos and change. Which way it blows is not always your choice. Which way you respond, use your own voice. A pathway here or a tunnel there. Give in, or go on?
Go on.
Merry Christmas 2022.
The first Christmas I’ve had in Britain since 2013 is finally here. What a year to choose! As gas prices soar, sprouts finally have their day. As a shortage of cauliflower hit our local Lidl, we moved to brocoli (which is better all round) and trimmed it all off nicely. That’s Christmas Dinner on Christmas Eve done. Having ate with Dad and Shaun, I’ll spend tomorrow at my Mam’s with Mum and Paul and Paul, and Beardie and Panda.
In fact, I think that I spent Christmas 2013 in Cornwall, so 2012 was the last Christmas I had in Manchester. Today, I met my good friend P.M. Brahma and went for lunch at the fantastic Northern Soul Grilled Cheese in Manchester, then a coffee in Afflecks and some dessert afterwards. Later, Panda, Blue, Shaun and I walked Clayton Vale. The Eve of Christmas has been quite relaxed. My thoughts have been elsewhere, but I am trying my best to enjoy it here.
On reflection, seeing the resting place of a deceased homeless person, hearing of a 19 year old lad hanging himself and the unfortunate death of a pedestrian at the hands of a Police car, could and should put many things in perspective. I’m not a huge fan of Christmas and its pressures on people. Please do stay safe. Please talk. Give help, where you can. Don’t be a knobhead. The world needs more light and love.
Dad has been good, treating us all at Christmas. Yesterday, on Christmas Eve’s Eve, I visited Aunty Chris and Uncle Ed. It’s always a pleasure to see family. A few brews and a wander ended up with getting back to walk Panda down Clayton Vale. Why not?! A good way to relax in the freezing winter mist. Panda was happy. That’s the main thing. I’m excited for Christmas at Mam’s house and switching off a bit. If my mind allows me to switch off. Much to say and do.
All the best for Christmas and New Year. Hope it’s a good one, no matter how hard it seems. Peace and love. 🐝
Rebellion #2: Homelessness
I was ripped from my womb, sent from warmth, from my creator, made to work to the bone for the inflator.
No longer again to see Mother nor Father, in workplaces far away, sent out long hours day after day.
Through taxes and energy bills, through blooded sweaty torn up hands, ploughing out profits for someone else’s lands.
I carried my owners, along with my leaders, and prayed to the sky that God may receive us.
No answer from upon high, to my pitiful cry, as I crept out to deny my sigh. Time was to fly.
The strength of those who fed us with kind, as we wallowed through despair, without comfort of mind. An axe must grind.
Here, I ask of you to reflect for a while,
Along with my colleagues, in times of denial. This life has been a trial.
For we are the future thrust into fear,
And cold nights gave up some lives year on year. Year on year on year.
Remember us, the homeless dead, as we lay down, ice tethered to head. Dead.
Dead.
Rebellion #1.
I’m the rise against the odds. I’m the growl facing the sods.
I’m the vote that casts a change. I’m the matter that needs derange.
I’m the fighter in the field they want to mine. I’m the nurse fixing plasters rain or shine.
I’m the voice that they want to silence. I’m the battler against all manner of violence.
I’m with many who shout and demand new ways. I’m one of the glued-up rebellious art damaging strays.
I’m the silent protestor who annoyed the police sergeant some. I’m the leader of the change that has to come.
Stand alone, fall down. Stand tall and together, stand up for your town. Stand for the greedy and against the needy, stand opposite me, you’ll see. We’re the changes that are needs be. See.
The time is now.
The Next Prime Minister
Communism and capitalism don’t work. That’s my view. Neither have solid scientific bases and each are triggered by emotional responses. Capitalism breeds the need for more: bigger, stronger, faster and more, more, more. Communism over-regulates and remains too rigid: hard and fast. Like capitalism, it grows and expands too much. It chokes community and welds itself to the fate of humanity’s downfall.
Through primitive vocabulary and the shredding of those seen as intellectualor a threat, views get defecated on. Try to decipher which from communism and capitalism sensationalises news and exaggerates to the free press. Which is leant on by external influence? Which is paid for? Which sold its soul? The jargon overwhelms its reader. Opposition is near unheard, or at least found in differing tabloids or broadsheets (where permitted). Communication of Communism or sold on Capitalism?
The free press with their agenda, use primitive tones and boring jargon to control and shape opinions. They use dismissal of opposition views seeking to isolate unaccepted tones. Intellectuals are swept aside and logic disarmed. Insults banded about. Bourgeois attitudes? Well how did Britain get here. Brexit and xenophobic beliefs? Impassioned beliefs of a better world? Covid-19 or 1984? How can we fix the mess the country is? Radicalism is surely due a comeback.
The future holds too many questions.
HRH Queen Elizabeth II
Mummy and Daddy will love forever. That’s how big saw it when I was young. Then after the teenage years, I heard friends and how they lost fathers and mothers. I filled with fear, worry and wondered how I’d cope. As grandparents drifted away, that worry grew and grew and grew. Nobody lives forever. That’s the saddest part.
Grief at the loss of grandparents came again and again and again. It’s horrid. They never truly leave you. Nor do you want them to. Even today, I visited a spot to talk to Gran. She wasn’t there but she was there. I sat on a canal side moorings and looked at the skies. The same skies Gran and I would gaze out on from Earl’s Lodge. I talked. Some private things. Plenty of questions. I like to think that Gran listened. She always did. How will I feel when a parent goes? I don’t know. I dread it. The Queen passed today. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, a mother to brothers and sisters. A grandparent. A great grandparent. Family is important.
They may be royalty, the Monarchy and the aristocracy. They may be the elite. They live different ways and enjoy privilege. They are living reality television for their subjects. If they can sustain a loss of family, so can we. We’ll be alright. Hopefully, no time soon.
I’m no Royalist or Republican. I’m no patriot. I was born a European and now by passport I’m British. The ages of Empire passed. Commonwealth to me means sports every four years. The budget Olympics. The positive legacy of history and Empire. Things change. Now we have a King. Long live King Charles III. Let’s hope the legacy of a Royal family builds a longstanding legacy of benefit to the Kingdom. The Prince’s Trust, The Duke of Edinburgh scheme, Queen Elizabeth II at the Manchester Commonwealth Games in 2002 – it all counts.
The Queen and her family helped turn a brutal and sometimes terrible Empire and its legacy into a modern British symbolic cultural mainstay that is enviable globally and sought after. On this historic day, September 8th, we witness the passing of the crown and now the King must succeed her. The injustices and challenges of climate change face his reign. Long live the King.
But first, God save the Queen. Goodbye Your Majesty and I’ll let you off for making me late for a train at Stockport railway station.
Queen Elizabeth II (21/4/1926-8/9/2022)
Hey adventure, where are you?
I’ve been waiting, patiently and impatiently. Where are you? Perhaps, you missed me here. Hey adventure, where are you?
I know I’ve been distracted, confused and upset. Where are you? Just maybe, you’re too busy to call by. Hey adventure, where are you?
These days have been testing for me, unsure and hanging on the help of others. Certainly, you know where to look. Hey adventure, where are you?
I looked back at last year and the year before, and one before that. How come you didn’t visit me yet? Hey adventure, where are you?
Is it something I did, said or thought? Am I not the same person as before? Hey adventure, where are you?
When you call by, bring some tissues and a shoulder to lean on. I’m sure you’ll return. Hey adventure, where are you?
I’m feeling so low, blue and deep in shadow. You won’t see me outside. Hey adventure, where are you?
I need to feel the sharpness of lemons, taste the sweet cool air and smell of green life. Instead, you’ll see me between these walls. Hey adventure, where are you?
It could be worse I guess, cast off and unwanted? No letter of recommendation or wave off. Hey adventure, where are you?
Hey adventure, where are you? I need you. I need. I need you. Need you. You. Come get me. Hey adventure, where are you?
Hey adventure, where are you?
Blue. K.B.O.
23 days since the need to first go to hospital. That first wrap and support. Those X-rays and CT scans. The pain and self-annoyance. The fracture. The immobilization. The inconvenience. The anger. The rage at one’s self. The self-pity and self-loathing. The humiliating feeling. The worry. The stress. The tears that built up but haven’t yet released.
6 days since the doctor said another 28 days needed; maybe 21 to walk on the foot again. Hope is around the corner by to get there crutches are needed, and some hopping. Avoid the wet floor. No slipping. No placing your right foot down.
Keep it elevated. Keep up your spirits. Pain for a week. Codeine for a week. Bone setting traditional Chinese medicine. Maybe it works, maybe not. Support wrapped again. And again. One trip out. One barbecue. 23 days. 13 journeys to and from work. Avoid the wet floor again. Still no placing your right foot down.
For God’s sake! It isn’t bloody COVID-19! Grow up! Dig in. Dig in deeper. No pain, no gain. Call it a challenge. Growth experience. Aches without ibuprofenbfor a week. Bones grinding and aching. Mosquito bites under the bandage, maybe not so fun. Support from friends. Glorious friends. One trip out. One barbecue. 23 days. 13 journeys to and from work. Keep avoiding the wet floor. One chicken meal nearby. Coffee delivered. Friends. Support. Still no placing your right foot down.
22 more days? 15 more days? Keep going forward. Keep going. Forward. Keep buggering on. K.B.O. Without putting the foot down.
Spheksophobia
How many old dreams of the past are dormant? How many dreams of the future are yet to be realised?
The flocculant rain falls, and the howling wind calls, as he bangs his head firm on walls.
How many days drifted in and out? How many hours in light? How many in night?
The foundations of the house shake, they ripple, bend and quake, all the while his feet flip, slip and bake.
How many lights shine out bright? How many rays cast no shadow? How often does light fade to black?
The will of a man is tested, his head ill-rested, broken undigested, wasted hope scattered and shattered.
How come comets flash and zoom by? How do meteors find their way? How often do they evade all sight?
The feel of his feet grow rough and sore, unable to walk no more, lost on a map with no detail, cast off to sea without a voyage.
How does a guide find a route? How do you define what’s in a suit? How often is a path well-trodden?
The life of Riley, the hidden Eden, the leadership skills of Christ all the parts of Paradise’s Elysium far, far out of reach.
Who am I to tell you what to believe?
Who am I to tell you what to believe? When I can’t picture the ideas you conceive. Every day you bend, kneel and pray, but here I am with thoughts hidden in grey.
What do your Gods speak to you? How can you have faith in if it’s true? Do animals and plants have belief? Perhaps they’re all to lucky to avoid grief.
What is wrong? What is right? When does darkness stop and become light? How do the lost become the found? Must it take circumstances so profound?
Who are they to tell you not to believe? They can’t feel the life we’ll all leave. Resurrection, dedication and minds so set. Always believing, no sweat for regret.
The hum of the crowds all drowned out. Knowing how and where, never in doubt. Eyes to the sky, devout until the last. Shadows of worry forever outcast.
Their words, choruses and hymns echo. Through halls, walls, valley calls they grow. How did the lambs find their leader? Must they nod or bow before their reader?
Who are you to tell me what to believe? My mind is free like the air I breathe. I pass with peace but no direction. Each duty comes with no selection.
What I choose I can’t quite grasp. The paths I lead cannot all clasp. The roads I drive cannot all go on. Each lane merges and bends to one.
Destiny and fate call my name. I don’t know the end of this game. How did I get to be so alone? The decisions alone were mine to prone, groan and bemoan.
[scrawled in Kumbum Monastery, Xining, Qinghai on 19th July 2021]
Fuck You COVID-19!
Bad morning. Bad evening. Bad day.
Actually, I want to greet you all positively and wish peace and love. It just doesn’t seem suitable. The title of the writing seems like bad language, but it reflects my mood for an approaching date. My Mum always said that words like fuck, bastard and arse, amongst the plethora of curses are just ways of expression. I agree. When we say that piss and twat are bad words, we empower their misuse. Some words like cunt are extremely terrible. I try my best to avoid usage of all these fecking shite words but some days they are just so appropriate.
I am writing this on September the 4th. It’s fast dawned on me that September the 12th is on the horizon. I want to vomit out the words that are rattling around my head now.
September the 12th hasn’t always represented a bad day in September, and for many there have been far worse. For me personally, it isn’t the absolute disaster of a day. Far from it. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant and wonderful day indeed. It just marks an unwanted anniversary. It represents exactly two years since I left Mancunian soil for China (via Hong Kong, Special Administrative Region etc). The day after the Vincent Kompany testimonial, Uncle Ed delivered me to a flight, alongside my friend Maria and a shedload of luggage. Who’d have thought that the world would go tits up?!
The summers of 2015 to 2019 have all been enjoyed in Great Britain. In fact 2014, marked the longest I’ve gone without summer at home. It being shortly after the February of moving to China. 2020 and 2021 have not given chance to see family or friends back on British soil. Nor has there been a chance to meet half way or for overseas visitors to call by.
I understand that for many, it is the same. For a many people, losses and tragedies have been their visitors over this pandemic of annoyance and continued uncertainty. It’s the uncertainty that this winter or next summer, mobility to see family and my best friend may or not be possible. I’m optimistic but these days it is better to be realistic as more sensible. Right?
Concluding the writing should not involve a message of peace and love. I’ll always wish you all, friend or for, family, flamingo doing flamenco or fungi, peace and love. Today’s scribbling will partake in a list of fuck you messages. It’s only appropriate.
Fuck you to COVID-19. With all due respect to viruses and diseases globally, you’ve really got on many people’s nerves. Enough is enough.
Fuck you to the origins of COVID-19. Tut. Tut.
Fuck you to the conspiring conspiracies. Don’t believe the truth?
Fuck you to the bullies of Wuhan. It’s a city. It has people. People have feelings. Spread love, not hate.
Fuck you Donald Trump. Profits high? Definitely.
Fuck you to those who divide. See above.
Fuck you to those who profited at the detriment of others during this hugely annoying era. There’s a huge increase in billionaires and millionaires, and wealth shares.
Fuck you Man Utd. Always appropriate.
Fuck you to all nations who have politicised this pandemic. You know who you are.
Fuck you those who failed to act and swept away those who wished to speak. Also applicable to the Afghanistan situation. And Rwanda. And countless other events, mostly involving Team America: World Police.
Fuck you to the silencers of the voices. Opinions may be like arseholes, in that everyone has one, but words are powerful and beautiful things. As Mel Gibson said, in Braveheart, “FREEDOM!” before he got in trouble. Terms and conditions apply.
Fuck you Boris Johnson, the budget Donald Trump. Sniveling little inhumane turd of a shriveled up scrotum of a man.
Fuck you to the dismantling parties of the NHS (a bonafide British treasure). See above.
Fuck you to the sneaky laws and regulations that exploited the pandemic conditions. UK included. The RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution) could be fined for saving the lives of migrants? Those laws as are fitting for the 1930’s Nazi Party.
Fuck you to anyone who doesn’t believe this pandemic is real and that COVID-19 is a lie. Wake up! Tackle it. Don’t deny it.
Of course, using the phrase fuck you is negative and wrong. I rescind all of the above. Stay positive.
Until the next time, when I see family and friends, peace and love!
John
Junbesi.
One kilometre up. Another one down. Toughest climb and hardest descent of my life. Sweat, tears and muscles burning like volcanic lava. At stages the fumes of my depleted energy switched my head into autopilot. I walked aimlessly and without thought. Vacant. Empty. Even desperation and hunger departed my mind. My soul carried me. Hope hadn’t slipped away completely. Bruised worn feet made it through the darkest evening to night. A bed and a meal waited for the day’s end. A great sleep followed. Two different years, two tough challenging experiences. Twice. Twice, the walk carried on.
Yesterday was such a day. A tiring cycle ride to play football. A testing first half-hour. A stretched thirty minutes followed. A near empty final third. And then. And then the ride back. A thirty minutes cycle ride doubled in time. Ten grueling ten kilometres. Sweat. Pain. Tears. Two cups of yogurt and a litre of water. Knackered. Back against the wall. The cycle bad become the rupture machine. A test of stamina and mind over matter. The Junbesi of Dongguan in high humidity and subtropical heat. I crawled into bed following a shower. The kind of shower that involved slumping and letting the warmer than usual water just hit from above. Careless shower. Even sleeping in bed I fed mosquitoes and didn’t care. Exhausted.
Tough moments are there to be overcome.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 