After a dangerous bout of covid, brushing as close to death as one should go, sometimes I tell my story: how I did and, how I'm doing. All they want to know though, is my vaccine status: jabbed or not? When I say not, and after a smug smirk is wiped away, they ask if I have got regrets, and point how that did not work. I think of Lisa Shaw, and then explain that a decision, must be judged against the facts known at the time. Again ignored by all and sundry, no defense allowed (was this not taught at their college?) Death and...
Remember, remember, crappy covid propaganda, hysteria, deceipt and plot. Imagine our surprise, to learn the old and sick died, the fear caused by a sneeze and cough? We followed stupid rules, that made Tom Parsons ecstatic, and a tiny bit priapic! It's taxing to believe, we hoped unmasked, unjabbed adults would go away and, slowly die. But what I can't accept, is that we sensitised the West, to future flues erstwhile benign.
I thought about the man who had to look after Milosevic. How hard to care, while thinking of the lives he took. Keeping him healthy just to disregard the court. Watching the trial seem to slip out of the hands of the prosecutor. Prescribing drugs for him to have the zip to change from the accused to tormentor. Another drug to contraindicate, to stop his heart, stop the trial, the lies and pain. The justice of it would placate his mind. -- Another butcher to despise, a trial which found the guilt of Karadzic but,...
(after The Jewel Stairs’ Grievance) My Year in the US Postal Service
My Year in the US Postal Service
Blah, blah, blah.
Note --- My, therefore narrator first and foremost. Year, therefore narrator has an out. US Postal Service, therefore a dead end job (in the narrator's eyes); therefore, common workers; therefore, too stupid to speak for themselves; therefore, the importance of the narrator the poet. Blah, therefore nothing to say. Blah, blah, blah, therefore the narrator's clever snotty comment means he doesn't realise he has nothing to say.