When We Was Young, We Didn't Complain

 

Who remembers

ice on the inside of the windows

no central heating

knitted blankets not quilts

we thought an eiderdown was a brand of cider

Who remembers

two channels on the telly

and a remote control

was the youngest member

of the family, getting up to change channels

We didn’t have computers

an Apple Mac was a Scottish fruit

A PC was a

look fuck off ok it was SHIT

FUCKING SHIT

Things have got materially better

so fuck off with this arse-headed nostalgia

for times when people were fucking cold and hungry

and had fewer options

and you're posting it on fucking FACEBOOK you

- and if I can use an ancient, nostalgic word here I will -

cunts

Ta-ta Lizzie

Wel, ta-ta i Lizzie; nos da, missus cwin

O’r diwedd dach chi’n cysgu mewn twll hollol din

Ond William, a Charlie: os ymwelwch ni

fydd na chroeso mor gynnes yn aros i chi

Byddwch yn ofalus, bois, efo’r investiures drwm

Danom ni’n cracio lawr am ail gastelli ddyddiau hwn

Dim Tywysog i fi dach chi; dim cwin, dim brenin chwaith

Wnaeth sglyfaethion chi dim erioed dysgu un gair o’r iaith

A ffycia’r Torïaid, y bradwyr mor hyll.

Dim Brydeiniol dwi i; nid Cymry am byth;

Neu Ewroipianwr – dwi’n dod o’r byd

Dim ond ddamwain o eni sy’n wahanem ni.

Yn y diwedd, fydd neb yn cofio eich fflag,

ond y pethau ch wedi gwneud; o dda neu yn ddrwg.

Ar y gwely marw mae 'na un peth sy’n wir:

o’r ddaear dan ni’n dod, ac yn nol fyddwn ni.

Cliciwch yma am Fideo

Gordon

There was a boy named Gordon

His family had no money

He fought all day for anything

To fill his hungry belly

One fateful night he walked the streets

Searching for scraps of change

Just to buy something to eat

Or he would surely die

The rain was pounding down that night

Like ice swords from the sky

Gordon trudged through puddles like

He didn’t want his life

The hours yawned on. The boy was weak

He no longer could go on:

His hope was gone. The world was bleak.

He sheltered by some bins

The stench was overpowering

And Gordon ebbed away

It was no use. He was done in

No food again, today.

colourfield

we thought the future was -

our future was -

iridescent

in all of the colours -

all our colours -

opalescent

we didn’t realise that

this was because

we were burning ourselves to plasma

staring at the forever

that the glowing dust

sizzling the air

was borne on a sickening miasma

each breath a dying ember

incandescent

- all our colours -

all of those colours fizzling

luminescent

for a future

we fought, and lost.

On Right, on the right, and what is left; and what is Left.

The confident Tory

knows that winning is all

that owning the libs online

is worth any amount of fuckery

is worth losing the NHS

is worth having people in charge

who are:

incompetent

corrupt

lawless

infidelity-prone

racist

actual morons

entitled

without empathy

liars

thieves

and all the rest of it.

It matters not if they are immoral

even less if what they do is right

or correct for the country

or other countries

because owning the libs online

and winning elections

and spouting propaganda that is palpably false

works.

The unsure on the left

worry that they are wrong

that they are offending someone

that language is used improperly.

That the left cannot disagree

without splintering and shattering

that centrists are bad

that mild social democracy is communism

that if we don’t agree on every tiny thing

then we cannot agree on any big thing.

This matters a hell of a lot to the left

who look at the Tories and their confidence

and extract entirely the incorrect message

thus we get people in charge

who are:

Tory-lite.

I mean, there’s decades of evidence

and it never fucking works anyway.

The centre-left to the left itself

put ideological purity

above solidarity

put idealism

above pragmatism.

Fucking hell.

Who else is exhausted?

I’ve seen it too many times

to even try anymore.