a towel in the rain

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all questions need answers

July 29, 2014 at 8:11pm

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This is perhaps the most stereotypically British graffiti in all of time. Even the retort is punctuated correctly.

This is perhaps the most stereotypically British graffiti in all of time. Even the retort is punctuated correctly.


5 notes

The Platypus of Doom

The Platypus of Doom
Predicted doom
…and was also a platypus
For the Platypus of Doom
Said “I predict doom”
“Trust me, I’m a platypus of doom”

So when the Platypus of Doom is predicting doom
Be sure that doom is coming
And when the Platypus of Doom predicts your doom
…you’re doomed

July 26, 2014 at 3:36pm

3 notes

All the Bullets and All the Bombs

The number of war refugees is currently at its highest level since the second world war. I don’t personally know what it’s like to be a war refugee, nobody should have to suffer like that, but this poem attempts to tell the story of war from the point of view of an orphaned refugee.

The border guards were motionless
Staring at the stench of thousands static in the swirling wind
Machine guns pinned to their hands
The border
Closed to the pawns of a war they were never going to win
The pawns who’d survived the fall through the cracks between the blown up schools, battered hospitals and butchered dead
But for all the bullets and all the bombs
The border guards refused to spare
A single bullet for his ten year old head

He’d been playing with his brother when the aeroplanes came over
The rocks were grenades, their feet tanks, their fingers machine guns
As they prepared to storm the final stronghold and end this brutal war
To end the endless killing
So no-one had to fight any more
They ran for cover
But it was too late
A piece of shrapnel
Deep in his forehead
That…was his brother’s fate
And after all the bullets and all the bombs had rained down on his town
He’d searched and searched every piece of ground
But Mum was nowhere
Nowhere to be found
And when the killers came marching in
He’d ran and ran for all his life
With every other outnumbered, outgunned member of the human strife
And as the killers killed by night and day
Innocent victims got in the way
That shrapnel lodged inside his head
As he wondered if Mum was alive or dead

That life of death lasted weeks of days
In waves and waves of blown up faith where no-one spoke and no-one cried
Their spirits dead as the bodies on the roadside
Shoeless scraps of hopeless flesh
Left to the dogs, rats and flies
While gunpowder, blood and disease mixed inside his feet
With every endless mile of this trail of defeat, the planes and vultures the only things in the sky
As all the bullets and all the bombs
Pushed him further away from his crippled street
Where Mum might lay or Mum might have fled
To maybe ahead of him or maybe behind
But with every trudge he tried to find
Through the scorched bombsong of this endless road of pain where the food and the water and the kindness never came

Those enemies that lied within, with their wrong beliefs and their cowardly sin, were slowly being allowed to win
And those foreigners with their shades and their smiles
All they did was help more people die
With those terrible things that came out of the sky
But after all the bullets and all the bombs
He couldn’t remember before the war
The things Mum said he could look forward to
When the animals survived and the crops still grew
When the water was clean and the schools were open
And when you felt warmth, not fear, from above

But not even the streetlights came on any more
‘Cos almost everything had been killed by this war
And when the darkness fell he was even more afraid
Of things that might see a dead body to raid
And now he was finally at the border
He couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back
And he couldn’t stay still for fear of attack
And as the killers killed by night and day
Innocent victims got in the way
That shrapnel lodged inside his head
As he wondered if Mum was alive or dead


5 notes
Reblogged from flawsfoldedtoorigamiswans

Have you ever travelled
across the country for a single human being?


Tyler Gobble (via flawsfoldedtoorigamiswans)

Yes, much further than that, actually.

July 20, 2014 at 3:01pm

5 notes

Self improvement is a lot like walking between two small towns at night; most of your time is spent on a dark road, thirsty, hungry, increasingly fatigued, getting distracted by noises in the bushes and getting disheartened by the distances on the roadsigns, as you watch seemingly endless streams of people fly past you in their cars, with your body and mind trying make you take wrong turns or give up. But with perseverence and conviction you’ll eventually see the streetlights in the distance. If can you get that far, you’ll get all the way there.

July 16, 2014 at 10:59pm

4 notes
Reblogged from oneminutemoneymagazine

Beyond Capitalism: Economy serving the people, not people serving the economy by Richard Wilson, Labour Parliamentary Candidate for Guildford →


[Many thanks to Richard for his guest contribution]

After 1945, the post-war consensus in the UK lasted through periods of both Labour and Conservative governments. There was a mixed economy where markets were controlled to meet the objectives of the state. This broke down in 1979 and was…

An interesting article on the perils of neoliberalism in the UK.

July 14, 2014 at 8:40pm

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Low on energy / Full of serotonin
Low on chance / Full of possibility
Low on essence / Full of reflection
Low on muse / Full of love
Low on fight / Full of orders


6 notes

In the Blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye
We wave goodbye
With a slowly drowning hope

In the blink of an eye
We justify
We tell ourselves we cope

In the blink of an eye
We live and die
By ventricles and veins

In the blink of an eye
We hide our sky
To protect us from our pain


3 notes

St Pancras in poetically prophetic perspectivised postulation.

July 4, 2014 at 7:34pm

2 notes

…fluctuations you can’t control
Are smashing plates inside your soul…