26x01

Africa
Bangor
Cats
Dogs
Elvis
Foodbank
Gloomy
Help
Imagination
Jokes
Kip
Library
Mess
No
Opportunity
Pitching
Questions
Rejections
Spain
Thinking
Unbelievable
Viz
Wales
Xi
Yuck
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

the anticulturalist: war

war is the inevitable consequence of unfettered breeding and an idle population

it is borne on anger at being intellectually malnourished to the point of not having means to express the frustration

in this case nebulous concepts called national pride, honour, virility and other useless lies become methods of self-identification

the rulers, being educated and wily, prey on this as a distraction to stop the population becoming equally educated and therefore a threat

it is also employed in order to keep the flow of money to their own circle and the circles of their friends and their enemies alike through lethal technology transportation weapons uniforms and all the accroutements necessary for a brilliant war to tick all the boxes

it is also employed as entertainment for a population being educated in their own downfall

war is therefore implemented by rulers as an anticulturalist device for their own self-interest and perpetuation of their own bloodline with no need for further explanation or justification other than those the rulers choose to give for their own ends

on the death of a poet

It is brave to dance

Maybe there will always be poets

And we were fortunate

To have them render unto us

At first hand

The moment of creation

A created moment

We breathed the same air

And that is nearly a miracle

A modern one

Transcendent, or mirroring, critiquing, embracing,

Revealing, loving, hating

The world we can see

And the world we would like to

But cannot

Yes, it is the brave

And the beautiful and the crumbled

Who grapple with the word

Who grapple with themselves

And demon gods

Of the millions of people

That have ever lived

Across all the debris and detritus

Of this doomed human rampage

Together we danced.

the anticulturalist: economics

the recent history of western economics has been a harangue centred around either bullshit-down steal-o-nomics or a pie-in-the-sky equal distribution of wealth

either and both are inherently anticulturalist as it is the anticulturalist in charge of measurement that is responsible and that measurement can be of any metrics that suit the anticulturalist for his own needs and bias at that time for his own purpose

the media is complicit in its own version of analysis which can never be anything other than skewed by its own inherent bias by the 'facts' it presents based on figures selected specifically for the narrative angle of the piece, the paper, the journalist, the editor for its/his/her/their own purpose

therefore the media is acting in an anticulturalist manner because objectivity is impossible in this system

31-10-16

There was a Spiderman, a Batman, Darth Maul, two or three pirates, a princess, several witches, a Harry Potter, a pretty scary zombie and some pretty cute zombies. There were tiny ones who couldn’t really walk yet and older ones bending down, too young to give up the fun but old enough to be a bit embarrassed because they are wanting to be grown up most of the time unless it’s fun and there’s chocolate and sweets and siblings to look after.

And they all, to a monster, liked our pumpkin. I did too. Suzy did a top job. It looked splendid and scary and had scars and the candle flickered menacingly inside. And they all, to a monster, smiled and said thank you and were excited and playing together. And I heard loads of different accents and thought, well, ya know, monsters don’t really have national boundaries it seems, and witches can play with zombies and the Flash can do a swap with Supergirl - a lollipop for a blag Aldi Milky Way bar – and their folks can watch from the gate and smile.

I brought the pumpkin in at a suitable they’ve-all-gone-home-to-bed style time, and I thought of all the English and Bulgarian and Welsh and Polish and Syrian and Golgafrinchan parents that would be kept awake for hours by sugar-demented kids bouncing off the walls and puking up insane neon colours from the more Halloweeny type soft sweets, and I wondered exactly when it would be that kids like these turned into people who decided that instead of sharing fun and being undead or wielding plastic broomsticks and carving pumpkins, that instead of all this they’d blame each other for all the bad things in the world because they’d been taught to hate instead.

The Tale of Robert Stanley Raney

Lonely Robbie Raney

Had a photo of his daddy

With his mummy, looking happy

Before his daddy went away,

Before she’d died when he was tiny

Baby Robbie Raney.

Orphan Robbie Raney

Went to school and studied daily,

Wasn’t dumb and wasn’t brainy.

Made no friends and sat alone,

Ate his sandwich, and went home.

Little Robbie Raney.

Robert Stanley Raney

Went to work at various jobs;

Bits and bits, odds and sods.

Kept his counsel, worked alone,

Made no money, spoke to no-one.

Strange Mr. Raney.

Robert Stanley Raney

Was in love with a fine lady

From afar. She was so pretty.

But he said nothing; such a shame,

He was too shy to ask her name

Timid Robert Raney.

Lonely Old Robbie

Had a pension, not that great -

Either had heat or he ate.

Wore three thick socks on his feet,

Shivered underneath his sheets.

Cold Retired Robbie.

Sad Old Robbie

Woke one day and started crying.

He had dreamed that he was dying,

Cursed the brand new waiting morning,

Couldn’t see the use in trying

Always to be happy.

Poor Old Robbie Raney

Hobbled down toward the park

To sit and sit til it was dark.

His coat had holes, his shoes had more,

He left his room and shut the door.

Tired Robbie Raney

Stooped and wizened Robbie

Looked down and spotted something shiny

On the street! A pound coin? Surely

Someone would be back to get it?

But if not, he could accept it

And be rich man Robbie!

Happy rich Robbie

Strained his poor old back again

Bending down to get the coin.

But he couldn’t pick it up:

It was glued down. It had been stuck

There by local kiddies.

Back-pained Old man Robert

Heard the children’s mocking laughter.

He was lonelier than ever.

His whole soul dived; he was bereft.

He reached the park, sat down and wept,

Teary Old Robert.

Sad, cold, lonely Robbie

Sat and wept, bereft, forlorn,

Wondering why he had been born.

A life near done: what was it for?

And why continue any more?

Tired, old, battered Robbie.

Lonely Old Robbie

Felt a tugging at his coat.

Heard a barking, pleading note.

It was a mangy little cur

With patches missing from its fur.

A limping, crooked doggie.

Robert Stanley Raney

Said: “I have nothing for you.

I have no money, got no food.

Go and pester someone else.

I’m not long for this world myself.”

But doggie stayed.

Old man Robbie

Took his stick and started home,

But this time he was not alone.

In his footsteps, following softly,

Stumbled a twisty-legged doggie.

Walking with his daddy.

Robbie and the doggie

Wandered. Robbie shooed the hound

But the dog, well he just stood his ground,

Looked up at him with deep brown eyes

Full of loving hope and pride:

Robbie Raney’s doggie.

Then they met a lady

Who kneeled down and stroked the doggie.

“Oh you poor thing, you’re so lovely,

But you’ve got a broken leg.

Did you know that I’m a vet?

Can I help you baby?”

Robbie, his dog and the lady

Walked together to the surgery.

Robbie realised that she

Had been the girl he’d loved before,

The woman he had once adored.

Their eyes met briefly as she

Bandaged up the doggie.

She made a perfect cup of tea

And said, “I will fix him for free.

I have seen this dog from time to time.

He was a stray; and now he has a very fine

And handsome daddy.”

So Robert Stanley Raney

Took the deepest of deep breaths,

His heart was pounding out his chest,

He plucked up courage, felt ashamed,

But asked the lady, “What’s your name?”

And she said: "Betty Bailey."

__

Some years later

A house was rented to another.

Underneath the floorboards fluttered

An ancient, yellow, faded picture

On which the smiles seemed even bigger

Of mummy and of daddy.

And if you looked ever so closely

In the background you might just see

Partly hidden by a tree

An old man and a bandaged doggie

Smiling with a pretty lady:

Robert, Coal and Betty.

Manifesto

* Be nice to each other
* Share things out so everyone has enough
* Be nice to animals
* Try not to kill anything



HOW DIFFICULT IS THAT EH

jesus fucking shingles

Has Trump been hacked by Spambots?

WASHINGTON, DC  - Boffins have been mobilised to investigate whether the brain of presidential candidate Donald Trump has been infected with a computer virus.

“Mister Trump’s ever-more bizarre pronouncements and nonsensical circular speeches show signs of having been assembled by automatic Internet scraping programs,” said Doctor Theopolus X. Zucchini, Professor of That Kind Of Thing at the Washington University of Special Electronics And Complex Computer Wotsits.

“Through careful analysis of his doggerel we have identified signs that his software has been infected by the Ars.Brain Virus, which could have been as long ago as the turn of the millennium.”

Dr. Zucchini predicted that it was only a matter of time before Mr. Trump asked his supporters to buy Viagra and Cialis directly from Trump.  Computer specialists also revealed that Mr. Trump’s hardware is also almost certainly running the unofficial and outlawed Gropem.Pro mainframe.

At present a team of computer experts is working on an antivirus program, under the code name of D/Select/4Godsake, but Trump is expected to remain online for the time being. Users who believe they have been affected by the software or hardware issues are advised that we have such good brains working on it. I mean, we have the best brains. Such terrific brains, folks. It’s gonna be terrific.

The Moderates Song

Welllll

You never hear a moderate on the radio

Phoning in to a phone in show:

“I have listened to all sides of the discussion

And feel it’s a complex issue with many repercussions

Oh we must all tread carefully

And try and find common ground.”

You never see a moderate in a footy stand

Standing up to shout and wave their hands:

“Oi referee! You do a bloody hard job

And we’re collectively grateful to you sonny-bob

Cause without you we don’t have a game

And we forgive your human mistakes cause they make us the same.”

You never see a moderate on a protest march

With a banner lofted high and proud and such:

“This is a legitimate way to express an opinion

And I must admit that our position

Is based somewhat on emotion

And could do with challenging too.”

Maybe if we did, things would be better

You’d open the local paper to read the letters:

“On the subject of Mr. Stayaway’s scribble

I must admit I found myself a little

Intrigued by his contention that if we’ll

Discuss the facts and drop the bluster

We’ll see the truth behind the rhetoric.”

Maybe if we did, we could move on

Power in truth and love and song:

“We’re not saying that we know it all

Good grief, we ain’t saying that at all.

But if we begin from a standpoint of openness

We can redefine the word ‘success;

To mean giving credence to what’s there

Not nebulous oppositional politics where

The onus is on us to choose a team

To shout from the sidelines, screaming, obscene

At each other whilst our pockets are picked

And we’re kicking each other, not against the pricks.”

Wellll

Wouldn’t that be nice? Maybe moderately so?

To accept and embrace our communal faults for those

Impostors and invigorators, thoughts and feelings

Whilst simultaneously recognising

That humans are fundamentally good

If only we could listen more. If only we would.

Stages of Found Poetry: Below The Line (digital)

·         Prior to an event:

o   An editor or commissioning editor sees news value in an event

o   They select a reporter to cover it, based on reporter skills and knowledge of house style and/or political leanings of the publication

o   A deadline, wordcount and brief is given to the reporter

·         An event occurs

·         A reporter witnesses the event

·         The reporter writes about the event and submits the piece by deadline to the brief as above

·         A sub editor cleans copy for grammar, accuracy to house style as above, and selects a headline

o   To increase clickthroughs online

o   To draw readers to that article

o   To enable the advertising department to maximise views in order to sell ad space near the article at a higher rate

·         The editor may also go through the subbing process before putting the article live online

·         Comments are opened

·         Commenters offer their views

o   They will have had to sign up to the service either because a) they share the aims, bias and leanings of the publication, or b) they have strong views on the event and want to share them. It is not relevant if they are positive or negative

·         Comments enable more clickthroughs on an article as above re. ad space

·         The would-be poet searches through the comments to select suitable content

o   Based on rhyme, metre, pace, wording

o   Based on suitable content – either oppositional in nature or themed for the purposes of the piece

·         These comments are rearranged / decontexted / recontexted into recognisable ‘poetic’ forms

·         The poet-editor selects the format and writes a suitable headline

·         The poem/s are published on a website which may be itself subjected to the advertising metrics as above

·         News of the poems’ existence are published on social media, emails, and other forms of dissemination

·         Comments are published on the poems. These comments are subject to the same process of poetic selection/editing as above.

These circularities seek to reveal the bias at every stage, including that of the poet-editor, whose ostensibly neutral position is found to be nothing of the sort due to the extraction choices and poem-edit-creation above. The Internet’s structure is also revealed through these choices, specifically some of the relationship with advertising, funding, content and click counts, social media and self-selecting subsets of political-social groups, anonymity and accountability, et cetera.

Below the Line Poetry: The second election of Jeremy Corbyn

I wrote some Below the Line poetry for Neon Magazine on the re-election to his current job of Jeremy Corbyn.

The articles were all published on Sat, 24 September 2016 and the comments were taken as far as possible from the earliest commenters.

The publications in this case were The Guardian; Daily Mail; The Canary; The Sun.

The pieces in The Corbyn Suite were written/compiled/edited on Monday, 26 September, 2016

The nature of BTL is that it is malleable to almost infinite extent. The link also has a short explanation of the process.

Idle Wednesday

I am so idle I can hear the cat breathing.

Hfff hfff                hff hff  

Maybe

I could sit here longer and hear the tomatoes ripening. Wouldn’t that be something?

Straining with juices and fragrantly fattening.

Not like me.

Flagrantly fattening.

I don’t even really like tomatoes.

If I stop typing                                                   I can hear a bee buzzing                                               

                And there is another                      a chirpy bird, not too close           a slightly raised mum’s voice                       mysterious bangs                             three of them                                    buf buf                 buf

Low frequencies too. Undulating. Waves. Car engines eddie and flow into each other. The bottom of the soundscape

                Was that a futurist thing?

 I can’t hear my brain but the blood bumping up and down                                            is there                 fdp         dfd         dsp                              

 and I think that’s kind of 

where                          

       I                                                                       

        came                   

  in

ah 42 and the answer is minus 0

I am a writer, I suppose

I spose I’m a writer now, because I write things

But not much gets published. Does that matter?

I’m wondering if validation equals a career or

Maybe at least a vocation? No. A passion?

I don’t really think so. Of the hats I’ve worn

This is a fairly comfy one. Is it a compulsion?

Do I feel worse if I don’t write, and better

If I do? I guess I don’t obsess, don’t sing

My own praises enough. Or maybe too much

In passive-aggressive woe-is-me port-soaked

Nonsense. Who knows. Who cares? Pfff.

I can call myself a poet if I want, but nobody else

Really gives a toss about that, which is fine by me.

Actually I lie. Who wouldn’t want other people

To read what you do and say things like, ‘He

Really taps into the zeitgeist,’ or, ‘Joe calls

Things as they are, but you can see he believes

In something better.’ Stuff like that. Really. Truly.

But that’s really not the point is it? It’s kind of a self-

Obsession if I’m motivated by that. Again, though,

Maybe that’s the point. I think I’m missing something

Rather than the world missing me. So…

Journalism is different. Non-fiction books, all that

Is easy really once you realise that the story

Is already there. All your job is on that one

Is teasing it out, finding good quotes to stitch

Together. Chasing the ever-falling wordcount

And hoping to get paid. Nobody got rich

Off of these pulpy unauthorised biographies.

Well, not me, anyway. I don’t think they’re crap;

Some of them – all of them for different reasons – are

Pretty entertaining. I surprise myself when I read them

At some of the stuff I scribbled for a laugh. Ha. Ha.

Fiction? It’s stuff that’s made up, stuff that hasn’t

Happened. Or, stuff that could have happened, and

Is plausibly enough scrawled onto a page that it

Engenders hallucination of sorts, a mental movie

Translated from the printed black on white bits

And bobs that equal written language. And so we

Keep on reading, keep on dreaming way beyond

The confines of the ragged world’s constant spasms,

To lift ourselves from day to day drudge, or fear,

To stave off the urge to get fucked up or to fuck off

Altogether, and finally. Why? Well, the truth is: I have no idea.

SOARAWAY SHOO ON WEDNESDAY

Man Does Thing
- Reuters

    A MAN shocked bystanders today by doing a thing.
Onlookers at the Place Somewhere were astonished when A Man came and began to do what turned out to be a thing. The man, who appeared to be a human man, made several movements and noises consistent with the process of thinging, before leaving the scene.
"I could not believe my eyes," said a lady, also apparently human, "I've seen it many times before, of course, but never just now and not in that exact place."
Police attended the scene but could not establish whether it was.

SOARAWAY SHOO would like to hear from you! Were you there? Is it? Did a man? A thing? Call out to a higher deity and we'll print the best replies in a future issue. Now go away you filthy ape.

wsX

I have learned some things.

That peaceful lunacy is a common default state at home; to accept online monstrous rage is en vogue,

That a blank page is often just a blank page; to scribble and soil it is a very human urge,

And terraced quantum doors hide love and loneliness.

To what end are these thoughts?

To suspect there are no certainties at all; but to chase the same is deliciously pointless,

To burn and tear at midnight’s feral zoom; but immortal only in those unacknowledged moments,

Tubes fizz and burst, days blazing, pupil-wide intimations.

And what else can there be.

There are as many revelations as there are snowflakes; we walk in an enervating storm of ice-rash falsity,

There are truths as numerous as grains of fucking sand; we crush them under our bloated hams and haunches,

Devouring and destroying as only we were born to do.

And what use is it all?

All flesh and aspirations turned inward, atrophying along with dreams, and a million more ready to join this pointless battle

All the while adding poison of thought, word and deed; stamping wholesome, handsome filth unto the rotted vestigial echoes

Of the generations failed before, and before, and before.

[Note: this piece was titled by Rusty Shooman, whose previous work is here]

what anticulturalism is not

anticulturalism is definable only by what it is not

it is not a movement because a movement implies concensus

it is not a culture because culture requires conversation

it is not a philosophy because philosophy implies explanation and exploration not exploitation

there is no ‘anti-culture’ because that is a cultural statement in and of itself

there is only an anticulturalist

it is a personal definition open to no interpretation explanation or debate

Found "poems" - Articles

Is it a poem?

Is it a performance?

https://soundcloud.com/shooberry/articles-1

Is this another verse?

Is this a duet?

https://soundcloud.com/shooberry/articles

River big big

Sky water lot

River big

Cross not

Moons ten count

Sky water not stop

River big big

Cross not

Food here

Food little

Here food eat

Cross not

Food not

There food eat not.

Jones come

River see

There Jones

Jones Stand

Arm small

Leg small

Head small

Food none

Cross want

Food here

There food eat not.

Jones shout

Cross want

Food not there

Food here

Cross want

Jump can

Run can

Run jump can

Cross here

Food eat

Here food eat.

Jones run

Sky water come

Jones run jump

River big big

Water big

Jones jump

River little

Jones shout

Here jump 

River big big

Jones small

Jones run.

Jones shout

Jones come

Jones shout

Sky water come

Jones jump

River big big

Jones small

Jones shout

Father come

River big big

Jones small

Jones not.

Sky water lot

River big

Cross not

Jones cross not

Eye water come

Shout not

Jones not

Eye water not stop

River big big

Jones not

Father not

Food little

Food want not

Eat not

Father not

Eye water not stop.

Brand new product!!!!

Below the line poetry: Social media vs newspapers

Critical thinking skills FTW!

If you send the canary down the tunnel

and it comes back dead,

 you don't salute it for its brave sacrifice

and go down the tunnel anyway –

you turn the hell around!

Facts are sacred, cross checking mandatory.

But fear is addictive.

Journalism follows

it no longer leads..

a race to the bottom.

Just because it's your opinion

that the moon is made of green cheese

doesn't mean that opinion should be given

the same weight as, say,

Stephen Hawking's opinion

on the physical nature

of the moon.

Why is the public mistrustful of the mainstream media?

Because they have proven themeselves to be untrustworthy,

time

and time

and time

again.

Angst and Anguish

the Guardian's raison d'etre!

Rather than post truth politics

we should call it

post-professional journalism

as there was a time

when things used to be checked

and lies were harder to push.

I think the hard truth is

that

those days

are unaffordable now.

Social media,

for all its faults,

has empowered

and enabled

the public

to discuss and coordinate

its response

to matters of the day.

The mainstream media

no longer

controls

the public's discussion.

Mainstream politicians

no longer

control

the public's coordination.

The problem being

that everybody is now

a

super savvy

one man

"Che Guevara"

with an ipad.

The Guardian sells

to a pessimistic and guilt ridden middle class,

and it's obvious that

this is often

a deliberate editorial policy.

Too many opinion pieces,

not enough investigation.

Too much reporting,

not enough journalism.

Scientists are not supposed to defer to authority

in lieu of evidence; 

normal people kind of are.

And yet you're still here...

Huge paradox.

Information spreads so fast,

and so widely

that false information

can be embedded in the social sphere

fast enough

that once proved false it is too late.

140 character reporting in action.

That and GroupThink.

How do you combat a simple lie

with a complex truth

in the face of

140 character news reporting?

We live in an age where

people will tell the lies

that

people want to believe

as the truth

I think there is an argument

to be made

for serious people

to withdraw

from the world of social media. 

So much hate in the btl comments.

To the police,

the land of post-truth

is nothing new:

they've been occupying it

for years.

Social Media.

Full of Corbynites, Kippers and Cybernats

railing against Bilderberg and lizard men.

Starting

boringfacts dot com

 anyone in?

(From: https://www.theguardian.com/media/2016/jul/12/how-technology-disrupted-the-truth)
Below the Line Poetry takes online article comments as its source material; they are formatted and re-edited to create a poem.

A missed opportunity

Rather, a refused one. I was going to write a short story, something that I half-dreamed and had been half floating around my briny brain for a while.

It was going to be about a reminiscence in a pub, by an oldish geezer, telling his mates about a goal from decades back. The player, the man would say, was a centre-half in those days and had made a crunching, but fair, tackle on the edge of his own box,  winning the ball back after a corner to the other side. He then niftily nutmegged an onrushing opponent.

This brought him more or less to the halfway line; the opposition picked up their men, looked for their positions and tried to get their shape. Seeing this, and with everyone including the crowd and his management expecting him to lay it off, he surged into the space, wrong-footing and bypassing the other side's rapidly-retreating inside right and zooming toward the gap between the right back and the centre half.

Fully 35 yards out, he then checked again, still looking up, with half the crowd now near laughter at this unexpected foray upfield, and half expecting him to shank it out of play in sheer panic, with his own coaches screaming at him to play the way he's facing and pass the fucking ball.

At this point, the man in the pub would relish having created a tableau of expectation, and would take a long, heavy draught of his ale. He might even wipe the froth off his lips with the back of his hand before smacking his lips and holding the intrigued gaze of his mates and a barmaid who had stopped, mid-wipe of a glass, to hear what had happened.

The man would put down his pint, and, gesticulating where the goal, the defenders, the player and the ball were, show the unprecedented next step, in which the centre-half was faced by two of the toughest defenders that league had ever seen. Both bruisers, street-smart alehouse brawlers with all the tricks in the book, a gouged eye here, a finger up the arse here, but for all that both canny and with a sixth sense for positioning and still with enough zip across the grass to chase down any skinny winger.

And the man would tell how the centre-half - to the astonishment and amusement of the crowd - performed a double dragback to leave those two old-school hard men confused and eating mud. That -and this with his left foot, mind, which was only a prop - that then the centre-half launched a missile of a shot from 18 yards that six goalkeepers couldn't have stopped as it nigh-on bust the net in the top right hand corner.

The silence in the pub would match the silence on the field for a split-second; an unimaginable goal, from the most unlikely of sources.

The man, in this moment of triumph, would become solemn, waiting for the inevitable next question. He would, at last, and after several moments of deep thought, quieten his voice, drain his pint, lean on his walking stick, and tell his mates that ten minutes later, he'd suffered a terrible leg break. These days, they could probably operate, he'd muse. But in my day, that was the end of my career at the age of 21.

The man would hobble off, leaving the pub behind him full of regret, sadness and yet increased by the moment of joyous inspiration that had occurred to one man, once in a lifetime. Maybe that was enough, would have been the moral of the tale.

But I didn't write it like that, because when I started thinking about it a bit deeper, I wondered whether the moral of the tale was maybe more along the lines of: your high point may have already come. You may have already peaked. The downfall may be swift and brutal, or it might be gradual and insipid. That the best really isn't yet to come. That your best years - your best months - your best days - your best hours - your one, truly spectacular moment of soaring near the sun - may have come and gone without you realising it, and that for the rest of your life you'll waste hours, days, months and years in trying to understand why this should be the case.

So I refused to write it in the way I was going to write it. It wasn't Roy of the Rovers after all. It was the anti-Roys within all of us. The thousands of wasted moments and the downward spiral when potential becomes decline.

And the moment of realisation that concepts of fairness, of entitlement, of hard work and reward are as meaningless as the moments spent trying to understand them.

You can see, maybe, why I didn't feel like getting into this today. Viva forever.

Philosophically insightful verse for a modern era in which destruction, desperation and darkness are never far away

A man  (not particularly famous, or heinous, or blameless, but

A man)

Saw sky (of particular dank greyness, the same as his hair was and

His eyes)

He sang (a particularly daft song, sing along, sing along with

The song:

Nanananana

Nanananana

Nanananana

Poo-poo

Boobies.)

Below the line: Protect Are Boarders NOW !!!!!1!

Protect your borders 

Put navy boats in the channel 
and the army on the borders-

It will be time to bring Blair back 
he will order these illegals to be shot.

Those on job seekers go mind the borders 
shoot on sight 
kill to birds with one stone

Use the army to patrol Dover

and expel illegals

immediately.

Close Dover and 
sink anything that floats 
in past 3 mile limit. 
Man the guns!

let the military man our ports

Time to pit our army to good use, 
protection rather than invasion.

If we catch illegals , 
they should immediately be escorted 
to a waiting ferry 
always on standby 
by armed men ,

Then dumped off at the French coast 
by force if necessary,

Then see how quickly the message gets through.

Just put our army there.

well its time to deploy our army 
to secure our borders.

We must defend our borders.

Staff the Posts etc with
Royal Marines 
or Paras

And give them a STK policy for offenders.

What's happened to our army, 
that's what their job is isn't it, 
defending the realm ?

Its an i n v a s i o n.
Plain and simple.

This is why we are taxed so heavily 
........ 
to pay for
secure border control
and armed forces .........

in order to stop our country

been

invaded.........

let the french send through 
and post the army at the end of the channel tunnel,
whatever happens happens

and no legal come backs on the soldiers

 when hundreds are slaughtered

Put armed soldiers on border controls

Just use the army.

Put them on a military aircraft 
and 
wrap them with that thing called a parachute 
but 
do not 
show them 
how to use it
...
Bye, 
bye.

Just sent all back, 
scrap the human rights act.

Erect a gallolws on the quayside 
at Dover harbour.....

Call the French frog's bluff. 
They would not dare.

Just put them on landing craft, 
return them to a French beach, 
ramp down 
and kick them off.

Build giant catapults on top of the cliffs of Dover 
and

lob em back.

Just get some guns set up 
on the cliffs.

 Fire a few warning shots

And if they advance 
then let rip.

Simple.

I will push them back in, 
not rescue them.

War ships and coast guards 
with order 
of shoot to kill

anyone

trying to enter

illegally

Introduce Crewless 
robotic 
Hovercraft

we must not let this happen , 
those dirty people

will wreck this country

Proper camps,

barbed wire,

security towers.

They are illegal immigrants 
and they are not wanted here.

Who's going to tell them 
WE DON'T WANT YOU!?

I'll tell them.

WE DONT WANT YOU HERE.

GO AWAY!

If they are so desperate to come here

then start using them 
for 
forced 
unpaid 
labour.

And make it clear 
that we will 
do that 
to them

If they can´t be sent back,
isolate them 
on an island 
that is far away

(e.g. Falklands).

good way to cut jobless...

Thousands 
of new coast guards
along the West coasts of UK .....

How about scrapping HS2 and using those billions
in building barbed wired high walls
with electrocuting fencing?

U.K. Is closed.

This government has 
made enough servicemen 
redundant.

Why not recruit them 
to the border force .

Close the tunnel 
worst idea ever to build it 
we not an island anymore.
Connected to France 
ahhhhhh build a border control 
half way in tunnel 
and stop them

Shut the tunnel.

Close the tunnel.

Shut the bl00dy tunnel and re-route freight.

Seal tunnel our end leave enough room for a train to pass

then home guard the waters around

anyone found in a boat..

sweep them up

resettle them back in there own country

Shut the channel tunnel

they will soon change there minds.

Close and concrete up the tunnel - job done.

Stop Flucking About;

Close the 
Chanel 
Tunnel 
NOW
................
!
!
!
!

Start bombing the tunnel today, 
they'll just head for Paris, 
or Berlin

they invited them all in,

they can have them.

No waiting,

send them straight back 
and fine the couriers.

STOP PAYING BENEFITS

AND GIVING AWAY

FREE HOUSES.....

Boot them all 
in the balls, 
sorted.

We kept the enemy out in WW2 
so surely we can implement that 
now !!

Imagine these people 
during the second world war, 
what would they have done, 
by now we would 
all be speaking 
German.

We kept the armed Germans out 
so surely we can keep 
unarmed 
economic migrants 
out?

Mine the waters

It's time 
to 
make a stand

for our country.


________________________________


(Sources: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3678336/It-chaos-15-years-ago-UK-Border-Force-warns-tens-thousands-illegal-immigrants-year-land-Dover-Calais-border-controls-scrapped.html#comments)
Below the Line Poetry takes online article comments as its source material; they are formatted and re-edited to create a poem.

Meanwhile, below the line...

Why oh Why! will people not except that the people of Britain have spoken, Stop meddling The electorate have the final say not the PM or the government. Finally a voice of reason. Well done that man. The greatest barefaced con of all [for which the r o man b rigade got up to their old tricks by networking to control/influence media outlets other than this one] was to deny UK s most glorious yrs were after Henry VIII' s earlier G reat Escape! Blind faith in a cynical, anti biblical continental mind control outfit was their undemocratic unifying factor. Where in yr face adverts are concerned: esp the con of gambling: which also uses up our print ink, their intrusiveness reminds me of EU r o m an arrogance.
SUCK IT UP REMAINERS...WE ARE OUT...END OF.


? Orwell got it right, to slightly misquote animal farm, where some are more equal than the rest of us!! He was referring to communism but works here too. oh dear a disgruntled and no doubt over paid EU employee who may loose their job when we leave, perhaps she can see the demise coming and her gravy train derailing  SEND HIM THE BILL FOR THE COST TO DO THIS ...and put all the immigrants livingin his house with his daughters.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it remainers and if you still want in, move to Europe. TOTALLY AGREE WITH YOU...JUST HAVE TO SAY WE ARE OUT...ARTICLE 50 IS JUST TO GAIN TIME TO TRY TO WORK THINGS OUT,,,FOR TO STAY UNDER THE EUSSR ...


It seems that my posts are being blocked…  the powers that be want us in AT ANY COST to the ordinary man and woman. They want their gravy train to continue with their private clubs, shops and education for their kids, while we continue in servitude to them. the Government had rigged the postal vote also NON British people had voted to remain. No check on nationality on registering to vote or when actually voting was carried out. Any body with an address was allowed to vote Basically said ALL BRITISH PEOPLE ARE STUPID!

They are desperate to hang on to our wealth, without which the E.U. is doomed. They are practically pleading for our money now. Thank God we are out! I think that there is an old offence about attempting or conspiring to "subvert" or "suborn" Parliament--I think that the punishment is hanging, drawing and quartering. Seems to me that the only thing MP's might understand in a knock on the door in the middle of the night during an English version of the French revolution.
Take away his passport and leave him out there , he doesn't deserve to live in a democratic country.

Stuff you pal and your eu We won now accept it !!
Stuff you pal and your eu We won now accept it !!
Stuff you pal and your eu We won now accept it !!
Stuff you pal and your eu We won now accept it !!

HOW DARE SOME STUFFED SUITE PRESUME WE ARE UNINTELLIGENT ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR US. I strongly suggest that they make a list of 2 million individual reasons to stay. Thats the margain that voted out and we will remember

Trying to influence a Democratic vote is shocking, scandalous, but predictable. Bring back Public Hangings !!!.......................
This is disgraceful!
This is disgraceful!
This is disgraceful!
This is disgraceful!
This is disgraceful!
:
Quelle surprise! The rigging went wrong.

Itomorrow we had a referendum on the death penalty we probably see support for Think on EU numpties, your UK CASH COW is going to explode if you don't stop meddling! Unpaid leave- unemployed. Self funded chinese- self taught by rostetta stone.

I think I dated this guy..

Only if they want civil disobedience and to lose their seats at the next election if they ignore the will of the people! The EU is a cr*p party anyway. Long since time to leave and head on home. anti-Bexit, anti-democratic! These people have the brains of jelly fish!! These people who try to over turn, the will off the people, and try reverse britexit, should be arrested and charged with high treason, men died in two world wars to keep this country free, they are traitors to every one off them. EU telling us what to do again. It's time to leave the EU's version of the Titanic.42 years of this BS needs to be put into perspective. Our BRITISH freedom and rights were hard fought for over many centuries. We always knew they would make life difficult for the UK, whether we even stayed, or whether we even left. Better to make it on our own then, and wave a copy of the Magna Carta at them! King John at Runnymede is a higher authority than they in LALA- Euro-utopia-land of slaves!
why do thay hate democracy so much ?

I the isolated hate episodes towards immigrants are going to be small beer to the foreseeable reaction on the streets by the BREXITERS if the Government Ministers ignore their vote. Typical of the EUSSR. This is typical of the EUSSR people not understanding the dislike we have for the EUSSR. WE THE BRITISH PUBLIC ARE FED UP OF THE EUSSR MEDDLING IN OUR INTERNAL AFFAIRS. Let me make it clear WE WANT OUT FROM YOUR GRUBBY LITTLE KITS. GOT IT!!!!!!

We are a country in our own right and will not be dictated to by these tin pot EU MPs This will end up in anger on the streets if they are not careful. The E.U is rapidly becoming like China. Yes you can have some economic freedoms so long as business is not disrupted. Yes you can have elections providing you vote for any political entity that is in favour of the E.U. But should you be disrespectful and not go with the status quo then you will need to vote and vote again until you give the right answer. The E.U democratic? its totalitarian state masquerading as a democracy that is trying to protect its own self interests and its political clique that thrive on nepotism and a merry go round of jobs with gold plated pensions.

it is clear that brexit was never an option and the men in dark suits and the House of Lords are now operating to scupper the will of the people. We will never be allowed to leave the EU we have been stitched up like a kipper. I voted LEAVE Has this person been living on this planet over the last two decades? because from where I'm sitting the decisions of the European Union have NOT looked too Clever either. In their dreams! We our out!.. No ifs no buts, simple as and we are taking our money with us!...

The deal is done, so shut up.
The deal is done, so shut up.
The deal is done, so shut up.
The deal is done, so shut up.
The deal is done, so shut up.

This type of action is the MAIN REASON why you should separate from Europe....an EU non-entity interfering with British democracy......what part of the winning vote in a National Referenda BREXIT don't they understand ?....watch out for QUISLING MP's and civil service Humphrey's !

Just get on with it.

They woke up to a nightmare. If they had stopped the crazy free movement idea there may have been no Brexit, so it over and out If they do this theres going to be riots that made the london riots look small They wonder why we want to leave? The arrogance of the clowns in Brussels, knows no bounds.. EU is lost without UK...and becoming more desperate by the minute...#Scum

Still the little muppets of Brussels are trying to dictate what we do and how we do it. The EU doesn't want to loose its milk cow! How dare all these sycophantic democracy bashing heinous groups, do they realise if the vote is ignored there will be massive consequences for all parties and the country. Who does this PPRRIICCKK think he is?

We really don't care what somebody in Belgium thinks, thanks all the same.

another bitter remainic. Is that the typical E. U, attitude, to hell with the people, we know better? Democracy only applies if you vote for what our owners want us to vote for. ConDemLab are all CONTROLLED by the same forces, so we can pick among them and brag to yourself that youve contributed, but this exercise should make it clear that democracy, just like our geopolitical virtue, we think it exists, but we're just mugs like those we look down on. f the wish of this letter is upheld all of the millions of brave souls who died to keep us from this type of interference died for nothing. Keep out of it.

The EU is starting to seem more and more like Hotel California!
The EU is starting to seem more and more like Hotel California!
The EU is starting to seem more and more like Hotel California!
Tarring and feathering needs a come back
NO CHANCE!!!! GET LOST E U.

_____________

Below the Line Poetry takes online article comments as its source material; they are formatted and re-edited to create a poem.

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