NIL BY MOUTH

This is a something I just started writing out of nothing.I had no agenda with it. I guess it's what some call a freewrite, or a rant, I dunno, it's just me writing stuff.

I came out of childhood confused.

Used to being told what to do,

I understood rules were in place to keep everyone safe,

and made sure that people played fair.

As an adult,

I watch snakes climb ladders.

Alchemists claiming monopolies on properties by manipulating rules to line pockets

in order to create gold.

Politicians too call centre operators.

It's every-man for himself in a culture of targets,

which reward risk takers with gift wrapped pay packets,

as numbers dehumanise the faces of the people they dis-figure,

providing a guilt shield to hide behind.

Then again what I do know.

I try to make noise with a biro that even I don't want to listen too.

News agencies tell me that leaders don't lead by example,

but I struggle to believe what I read because everyone has an angle,

apparently.

I don't know who to trust,

other than my family,

and I thank God I have them because If I didn’t I'd be truly lost.

Maybe I'm just a bit thick.

Unable to strike a balance and forge an opinion,

from this relentless data stream being force fed into my brain

nil by mouth.

Sometimes I wish society would just fuck off and leave me bee.

Turning off the TV aint even enough.

I step out my house and its billboards,

and posters on public transport,

or cocky types with clipboards,

trying to guilt trip me into donating money by direct debit,

when my own head bobs above and underneath the poverty line,

or when I just want a cup of tea,

I'm asked If I want a muffin or some other overpriced luxury I don't want or need.

Bit I don't begrudge these employees trying to earn a living.

I've been there.

I found it soul destroying.

The more I did it the more tempted I became to hit the self destruct button.

I hit it regularly until I was tapping a predicable rhythm like a 44 beat of life.

Getting bolloxed on booze.

For some doods it meant fighting,

as violence reconnected them with basic human emotions not felt in everyday situations,

giving them a sense of control they rarely felt.

Emotions unleashed in distorted outbursts from drunken karaoke to drunken sex.

Repressed feelings buried deep underneath desires to succeed in careers,

attaining firm footholds on slippery property ladders,

or just simply too make it passed the moulded milestones from plasticine childhoods.

Newspapers make people scared to talk to teens,

when most I meet are allright.

Anytime there’s a fight at a football match,

or an inner city stabbing,

cries of broken Britain and a lost generation,

flood the towns and countryside,

predicting tidal waves of crime and immigration will bring armageddon

too an eerily quiet way of life,

until EastEnders comes on,

or Kerry Katona has another breakdown.

I know I'm ranting.

I don't class myself as left wing or right wing either.

I always liked the idea of centre midfield.

You can see the whole game there,

and create opportunities for both sides,

but I lack the clarity of mind to hold that position,

as well as the conviction.

So my instinct is to hide.

Writing rants in an attempt to make sense of the country in which I reside,

and it's complicated.

Maybe I'm still coming at it from a child’s point of view,

I know I've got a lot of growing up to do,

because at the moment,

I aint got a scooby doo.

Video of "Picure Not So Perfect" at the Global freedom Summit

As I mentioned last week, I was really lucky to perform at the Stop The Traffik global freedom summit. It was huge event, and unlike anything I've ever done before and I took so much away from it.

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT

On Monday 11th April I was very privileged to attend and perform at The Stop The Traffik Global freedom Summit http://www.stopthetraffik.org/. This was a huge event attended by over 400 people, including Cherie Balir, who spoke, twice. I also got to lead a workshop with 70, mostly young people, from Oasis Academies from across the country, which ended up in me taking 3 of them on stage with me at the end, and they were excellent. These people are doing some very important work and was a very educational experience for me! This is the piece that I wrote and performed at the end.

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT

The guy working in the off licence on the shopping parade,

told me they came in once a day

to purchase cigarettes.

They spoke very little English,

displayed next to no emotion,

and would disappear back round the corner

and into the small office.

The office which had a permanently closed blinds,

no sign or display in the window,

yet advertised in the local paper,

as a dating agency.

I'd overheard conversations from older guys,

in the pub opposite the office

larger fuelled should no betters rubbing bulging beer bellies,

regaling over exaggerated stories of conquests for cash.

The first time I saw them,

was when I was sipping a cup of tea,

stood outside with Tim,

the owner of a small mail order music warehouse,

tucked in behind the kebab shop and the small office,

via a small passageway

The front of the warehouse,

facing the back of the office,

me sipping my tea,

Tim smoking a cigarette,

as 3 striking blondes appeared from the back of the office,

heads dry with peroxide,

tight fitting clothes revealing delicate white skin,

awkwardly walking up the alleyway,

towards the off licence.

“There Lithuanian”

Tim said.

“It's a dating agency,

one of those,

dating agencies”

Tim said.,

whilst taking an extended drag on his cigarette.

Picture this.

Tree lined Suburbia.

Crescents and cul-de-sac s feeding a busy B road.

Like a shoots from a branch,

Carrying cars up and down

the 25 mile stretch of tarmac towards London.

Brick built 4 bed houses,

driveways like red carpet,

on which sit 1 possibly 2 vehicles,

complimented with well kept gardens,

well kept by hard working proud fathers.

Mothers maintain nests,

Daughters raise hell

and sons rebel.

I'd made way passed the rows of daffodils lining the street,

winters parting gift to spring,

as the swing in my shoulders,

white jean stride of my legs,

air bubble bounce of my Nike’s

and the light breeze whistling through 8 carrot gold hoop from Elizabeth duke

in my left ear,

indicated the classic signs of a young suburban male aged 18,

compensating insecurity with bravado,

making my way home,

unsure about what I'd just seen,

outside the warehouse.

Fast forward 10 years,

and I'm sitting in the pub opposite the office sipping beer.

The dating agency is gone and is now a print shop,

along with the music warehouse.

The off licence remains,

and it's the same scene on the tree lined streets.

High property prices for desirable living.

When I saw those Lithuanian girls 10 years ago,

they didn’t look like they were dancing happily,

in the fallen tree leaves of grassy suburbia.

More like prisoners on day release.

Probably sold though a web of lies and deceit,

and ending up on my street,

in Surrey,

middle England.

A supposed beacon of peace.

This was not a war being fought 2000 miles away,

with constant updates on news 24,

this was,

and is,

close to home.

On my door step.

Literally.

Once when in London,

what I assumed was a Romanian lady ladened with a baby,

was begging me for change,

on my doorstep.

I said I didn’t have any change,

and closed the door.

Sitting in the pub sipping beer,

I realised I did have change,

it might not have been in my pocket,

but it was certainly in my belly.

If I can be educated to vigilant,

then anyone can.

Make no mistake I'm still that unsure young man,

but with this,

I have an idea about is right,

and what is definitely wrong.

I don't what happened to those Lithuanian girls,

hopefully freedom and happiness,

but I do know what’s happening to me.