Dear Gary Younge,

I thoroughly enjoyed your piece today. It was incisive, studious and intellectual - as always. I especially liked the David and Goliath metaphor, and will quote it in argument as soon as I find a suitable opportunity!

My perception is that many of those you described as ‘Goliaths’, are, in the modern era of political correctness and liberal thought, better described as ‘Davids’ - if only in terms of their size, and underdog status. They do not however have the honour of David, as the mud they sling is petulant and unnecessary. These men and women who currently seek to inspire reactionary *isms, do so because their perceived birthright has (and still is) being intellectually and memetically dismantled. Their desperate radicalism - ironically similar to al Qaeda’s regressive mindset (and perhaps just as bloody) - increases as their true grip on power diminishes. I accept that their inherited power gives them the stature of Goliath wielding an impressive sword, but the liberal mindset is armed with an unconventionally mighty weapon - the pen, and shall ultimately overcome.

Orwell said in ‘1984′, “the object of power is power”. The object of *ism is *ism, regardless of how it is dressed up. Hopefully commentators like yourself will continue to strip away their facades and expose their bravado as last-ditch cowardice. You must.

Keep up the good work.

Best regards,

nosa

Our sun will rise on all of creation
On futures we forged with an ignorant bliss
Warmth kisses the soil and the soiled and the souls
Awakened. Made whole by desires we wished

Into being day moves from dawn to the noon
When the moon and the stars disappear from our mind
Appearing white fresh and quite clean are revealed
Scared eyes closed to real by the sweet dreams in Night

Debut scenes give fright as the sights are so new
The sky is so blue where so previously dark
Our gaussian views sharpen quickly in light
Reflecting the beams breathing life into life

So lifelike we’re shaken by stimulus strange
Left quite deranged by the birth of a day
We prayed for berating Almighty to make
Not knowing Tomorrow is mother to Fate

          Sipping the cool light of night
Icy cold soles of dry feet stick fast to simple floating lump of stone
My bones tremor electrified for a second by windy upgusts
As my 10 toes curl around the angled edge
The unusual magic carpet catapults soul through the city streets
And dark alley grease
And the tranny meets papa retreats
Around the back of Busy
Away from street scenes in blue movie sneaked dreams
          Searching for more my carpet dives low slow
Grazing my head intimately on thoughts of a thousand small fry
Many thousand thoughts cried unknown
Reports lie. Reports sigh and say no to what’s yearning below
Beneath brain is heart
Beneath fame is art
Beneath cain was abel
The humble feeler, fought viciously by logical greed
          “Be neath,” I whisper to some, as the air rushes through my lungs
Moments later I’m exhausted with room given to new breath
Or gift given to loose death from its shackles
          It matters not
For below the unnoticed roofs the children read stories are future
The children being fed surely are future
Small children being bled gory are future
          Lily-white fathers explore the pink world of the future
as the future dies inside
Hiding from the present days
wild with tears it cried
Sad future must and does sleep
But for now I’m gone
staring at the mothers ransacked by fathers
raging and glaring at the backs of their partner
as unwanted intrusion convulses her lithe frame
No change
          If time had a brain, today would be the same as yesteryear
It would say yes to days
Yes to mere hours found crammed
behind the sour derelictions of duty by Our will be done
Time after time after time after time
after rhyme after reason, trial after treason
denial after cheating, today is still breathing
The same, for no meaning is real to clock wheels’ steady tock and ticks beating
          Next street, more grieving, swirled with smiles shaken
Cocktail of my life
Long tale of my strife lived out in an enclave play
All my world staged
          So here I stand
on the cliff of stone ledge. Staring
slowly round the corners of mood and rage
Plunging scared fist into unseen crevices of goop and sloppy thinking
Wide eyes are not blinking. Thighs are not tensing
I wait for a blessing
          Shiver tremor, quiver shiver
No message is sent. And no message is meant to be sent
folded and wrapped tight in mind-snacks or soundbite
Truth speaks without wavelengths as slow as my small head can grasp
I get wrong cliff task, and step backwards into my room
feel man-made carpet on my sole, and think how close…

Slowly…
Very slowly…………
     I mutter remarks out of my bruised lips
Platelets spray off my tongue, hidden in red rage
This may in fact be it
Strange happenings being sparked within optic streams
Force sight to the seen and brightens my dreams
To awakeness. Awareness. Clear view to Pluto
My back creaks and clicks into useful position
Shoulder chips removed, the callus now dust
From foetal ball to Buzz Lightyear
I’ve risen
     Opening my mouth to reveal shattered crowns
Battered gums and visible breath, I whisper ashamed
Simian hand cups over my gob, but I fob it away
This evil shall be heard, said and seen
Steadying myself on already thought phrases
I raise my stiff upper lip til soft musical words scream out
Sweet, soft, I scream. Melting the sounds back into myself
Turning, my emerging butterfly asks for confirmation
What is it you now see? Who is it I now be?
     With delicate deliberate calm, you grasp the fresh bloom
Clasping the wings between gleaming, salivating talons
I become Icarus
Plummeting to disfigurement again, I pre-empt, scratching my self
With your nails and mine. Allowing you to watch and feel
     In my minds ear several orchestras struggle to keep up
with the insania of your truculent cackle. At me… At me.
My sticky scarlet fingers, summon fresh strength
Defensive mind sets aim for silence. One snap for that.
But no. Hastily rescratching myself like a cat on a post
Plunging the raw, bald stubs into my ear holes
Rocking to the destruction. Mad minds’ ear still plays on…

Ok. I’m laying here, on Tracy’s bed, staring at her nicotine-stained artex ceiling. I can hear her humming to herself, rummaging about in the bathroom next door. Any moment now, she’ll strut into the room, smelling fresh and swaying her ample hips in something silky. To tell the truth, I’m dreading it. Absolutely dreading it.

You see, Tracy’s my girlfriend. I’d tell you how long for, but the thought of it depresses me. Suffice to say, at the moment I’m counting it in Balham United managers. We’ve been together for three of the bastards, not including the 2-week caretaker last October, which makes four. I’m leaving her at five.
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As we prayed to the skies and searched for a sign
Free learning did grow by new science designed
Harsh atom did blow but know first we revealed
Blue earth was not flat as we learnt to be real

So writing and musing. Philosophy. Fact
Took place of old views that colluded with Acts
and Romans. Genetics recast our Genesis
Nil blessings; mere mortals evolved to the present

We know legal methods, and cores of innate
State nations reclaimed from religious primates
Devolving late powers to child and to dame
To gay and to black, fewer blinded by Same

Dogmatic myopic cycloptic destroyed
No more water walking, Sir Newton recoiled
The magic from mystics, the cryptic from clues
Climactic from physic. What is it you used?

Large answers we need. Patience waits for your day
Disprove our beliefs and deceit is assuaged
Heretically mythic, realistic today
Souls weighted, created, belatedly brave

If true you have known. Like children we’re waiting
But watched us below, just mating and waiting
And waiting we grow like all life that’s created
Our fate is? Our date is? Our wait is?

Mirage of her love billows on horizon
Thirsty I pursue, in this desert of truth
Youth keeps me focused, it’s her that my eyes on
Her yearning acute then so sudden obtuse

I’m loose without form, in slow wind I blow round
Along paths prepared in her hasty retreat
Away she has flown, as a bird for the south
I gaze through the mist; she is missed as I speak

The wish for elixir, misplaced, has been made
A flicker and whisper of chance is revealed
As if by some magical mystic charade
Mirage is retracted from desert. Repealed

Join me. One party one path
Tory Labour Liberal Laugh
Vote for legal evil hearts
These’ll be all people’s pa’s

Brothers big to smother small
State intention’s silent sprawl
Violent brawl is nigh on course
Have nots have not, siblings force

Will surely rawly warly shame
Bawling babes will grow in chains
To maul appallingly the weak
Circle soon to be complete

Again for now is unto then
Mend the stitch in time my friend
The end is rich and kind to them
That greed and envy micey men

So nicely we walk onto trains
Destined for no hope again
Smoke in distance, taints the rain
World alone in space the same

But for the sun and rays it beams
Hope takes 8 minutes to reach
The beach, the path, the field, the grave
Depraved, the loved, the weak, the brave

For us and them the end is nigh
So then so now the trend is lie
But times are far we’ve made our bed
It’s hard and shiny grey and red

Sometimes this world seems unbeatable. Being frail, anonymous, bipedal specks on the thin surface of our planet, our importance – our esteem – takes blows from all sides. But, whether you are ‘ugly’ or ‘beautiful’, ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, ‘good’ or ‘bad’ – your true uniqueness should genuinely stun you. The importance of your electrically charged body, and the neurotic individual it contains, is an autobiography-in-progress - a mysterious family history written in the four letters of DNA over billions of years, and trillions of forefathers. The story began long before you could have ever been conceived – either in thought or in deed. We haven’t been this smart, for that long.
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The major leaders of the industrialised world have flocked to Auschwitz to pay their condolences. Meanwhile, Michael Howard has ratcheted up rhetoric concerning immigration quotas, proposing to limit the annual entrants to the UK – in a way that may have seen his father turned away at Dover back in 1936.

Although their sympathies are genuine, our politicians do need to widen their emotional remit to include so many other countries, and so many other peoples bleeding at this very moment. They won’t, but they should. There are so many current problems here, and in multiple ‘theres’.

Man is extremely good at being long-sighted. So, adding our relative security and comfort, freedom and finances, our politics sometimes seems ‘bass ackwards’. We see the problems, read the history, but overlook the signposts and continue down ill-fated paths with an almost blinkered glee.

For example, following the lessons learned from Auschwitz and the events that led up to Nazism dominating the mental landscape of 1930’s Germany, our political elite insist on goose-stepping down an authoritarian route. I don’t blame them really. If I had that much power, maybe it would skew my reasoning too.
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