the human loom

From these notes …

does it have to do with what happened in the past?

or what happens in the future?

it’s to do with both

it’s a bit complex for everyone because it’s a human thing

well we are that’s true

i guess what you’re saying is we all need to show kindness and compassion to each other from now on
Mil Williams, 27th March 2024, Chester UK

… has come this poem:

the human loom

we're all bones at heart 
and blood in marrow 
and on the narrow and straight 
few of us are able to wait 

because all of us worth anything
are human as human can be 
and it's to sing out proud and loud
the facts of all our frailties 

and overwhelming loyalties 
to things we barely understand 
even when we're hand-in-hand 
and thinking we're close 

as ever we've ever been
where love is a rendition
of all that we've seen and saw and more: 
and everything and everyone 

then becomes this beautiful wondrous one 
where sat upon that mountain high 
we slowly allow ourselves to cry 
because it's true that you and me 

is only a small part of the whole equation 
like the equators of reason
and emotion's own avaricious longitudes
and the earth of incessant latitudes 

marking the x that tells us where 
our humanity actually lies 
and thus finds itself in turn
at the crossroads and junctions 

and intersections of all these truths
which confuse us mightily 
and hurt us sometimes tragically
as we attempt to duly understand 

the people we have in front of us 
and next to us 
and inside our heads 
as if sometimes they're trying  

and as if sometimes they're dying 
and occasionally as if 
it's ourselves who do the killing 
like the seeping of slow leak 

out of deeply political mistakes 
because politics above all
is what you and i and all of us 
do in family on each other  

as we attempt to be faithful to the other
and as we sometimes only wound the lover
even as friendships are what counts all told 
and their courage (sometimes sold) leads us clearly 

to embolden those we see all too dearly 
as we prefer to be seen 
without wearisome sighs 
but simply out of zero disguise: 
 
a transparent good 
recovered as we should 
and leaving us cleansed 
and totally expunged 

in newly wondrous 
sister- and brotherhoods 
where our humanity finally triumphs 
and wins over

the hardest of hearses 
and the maddest of curses  
into a much better place 
of more satisfactory race 

as we decide once again 
after terrible times and pain
to reach out each other's hands 
as bands of families 

and good women and men 
choosing eventually to offer
as gifts almost sacredly proffered 
being presented to the tribal heights 

where the compassion of the mind
and the kindness of the signs 
that once upon a time
did break like shallow refrain

and now can only reencounter
like meeting grand and mealtime fine 
and bread that's broken at eventides
in joyful remembrance of all that's true

where you and me and me and you 
mean many more than just us two
because after all
and when grand they call

our lives do impact 
on all the rest 
and whilst sometimes it's death we wish to find
if death i embrace thinking just for myself 

the reality of life 
is that none is an island as another man said
no human at all 
at all at all at all

and all our actions remain quite connected 
and all our fears are finally dissected 
and all our love is inevitably shared 
where in the end our family overcomes

instead of permitting 
that it might be overwhelmed  
forever and always 
lined and creased 

like the ageing man i once did feel 
and the life even recently 
i wanted to be deceased 
because that's what it is 

and that's what it's been
as being or not became the mightiest question
and dearest shakespeare was right as right 
in this so true and in other matters too ...

so all that's left for me to say 
is that compassion is a virtue 
and kindliness the best 
and whilst the words of forgiveness do wonders

what's the very best of all 
are the hugs that come naturally 
after decades of sadnesses 
and the embraces quite lost 

to all of time's winds 
and to the bad and wilful foolishness
of hatred's forces grossly mad
where insistences on any part 

just served to break finally 
the hearts of all our rivalries 
where they did only disperse 
like sounds of gears grinding in reverse 

instead of all these years 
being voices of gorgeous seers 
able to come together and around 
tables of leisure and agreeable sounds 

because exactly this is what i now give you
and exactly this is what i would like for you
and exactly this is where i'm now waiting
and just this very thing 

is where no hesitation 
remains to my mind
and only love is what i now feel 
for everyone and all around 

where everything is now unbound 
and life perhaps may finally resume 
as if a beautiful tapestry of light 
made by the sight of human loom

aside

greetings from a #zagreb mixology bar

it’s white but not

dotted with hooks for coats in crazy ways

and photos of beautiful faces

and legs and bodies

stretching out to embrace something

as embodying a better time

with those eyes that try to meet

and gaze languidly

as the street outside walks past

casting a glance inside

and wondering what gin would best go

with a night’s slow movements

as the man holds on

and the woman smiles gently

as if expectantly too

and maybe it’s true

and maybe it’s not

but the vibe between them is kindly

and yet kinda hot

in a way that doesn’t threaten

but promises so much

because the art of life

lies not in the delving

nor in the delivery

but rather in showing you really do care

by ensuring like this

you’re never in the clear

in respect of how far

you might go or maybe not

in order to be like this

and so it’s like this again

and then again you’re doing

what you do best

as the rest attempt to get onboard

with your occasional lording over them all

and that’s when you realise

you’ve overstepped a line

that signals the sign that ain’t very right

and so you retreat

as in when you keep appearances up

and pretend the night ain’t hurting

and the loneliness ain’t biting

and all this writing ain’t a substitute

for living life itself

as all this time you’re sitting here

in the calm of the white

that is white as white

and white as not

and in this city you’d lost for twenty-two years

and now can hear so sharply around

as the sounds and voices

and the toying of choices

and then this is true too

as so finely once more

you are in what’s becoming home to you once more

and this you do feel now so firmly

whilst waiting to leave fiercely on the morrow

and when relieving this life

you wanted to regain

in ways that felt alike

and then exactly the same

as before all that terror which collapsed you so bad

and poleaxed you so madly

and broke your ability to cope at all at all

and so all that happened after

were the fires that they stoked

so you’d burn in the hell they’d made for you at home

meaning they’d be able

to tell the real bad you were

for the rest of the time

they cared to make others hear

as the signal that signs just as before

on terrifying dotted lines

and yet in truth

even where terrifying is the intention quite hard

it’s turning out differently now (i’ll suggest)

and it’s now much easier and how (i’ll suggest)

and much more like leisure is your lace

and much more like pleasure is your place

and much more like someone loves you

as earlier they couldn’t

or wouldn’t

or weren’t allowed to ever

and so that’s then what wraps it up

like a cup or goblet

of grandiose kingly measure

as we come to the end of yet another time

and as we choose to attempt to avoid the crime

which we wanted to embrace all this time

as we avoided the chase

of the deletions of hate

remembering that it’s never to late

and remembering there’s always time

to make into any life

the tidings of the seasons

that arch over our reasons

until we sense fundamentally

like a benchmark of tech

the (touch)stone of love’s deck

distributed like the cards

we tried desperately not to play

as we say let’s make hay

and then sometimes we did

but mostly we didn’t

and so i guess since we didn’t

now it’s full time we did

and that’s the end and beginning

of all our beings

because life is this

and love is all

and even when the funeral pall

surely someone will remember me well

and want to tell a story

where people saw

that this someone did love me true

and utterly

and actually

and doing and seeing

and saying and won

and when finally it’s all done

and dusted so deep

like our lives were chores

not treasures to keep

because if truth be told

i so wish that people loved me enough

to want me not

to take that trigger

and fire that shot

as my beloved ernest did

in the year i now live

out of the despair i now feel

and am obviously being dealt

whilst the final call

brings me close to seeing

that humans are anything but good

and even though all i’ve said is true

still we beat on mercilessly

and pitilessly

and gracefully

and fearfully

into the incandescence

as if we really should

because it really would it really would

be nice to feel i could have been good

copyright mil williams, 16th march 2024, zagreb croatia

in memoriam of #bloomsday2016

aside, definition, design philosophy, rationale

“Good to meet you … Miljenko Williams” | on dark figure, gaslighting, security and the future of Western democracy

A very brief video that an unknown person or persons posted about me in 2015, just as I began to move closer to the UK Guardian newspaper

The day our security agencies decided that neo-crime and dark figure did not need a law-enforcement response was the day we opened the doors to a future Ukraine; an organised criminality in the UK where we now have an army of embedded criminals in all levels of society which outnumbers the British armed forces; and a broad and widely shared sense of citizen, perhaps even political-party, hopelessness about everything that happens quite toxically to Western and related democracies. That is, none of us can reasonably believe in better any more.
Mil Williams, Chester UK, 18th January 2024

Screenshots of a very brief video which piggybacked on an article the UK Guardian newspaper had just published back in 2015 on my relationship with the newspaper, being this latter the final screenshot in the above series

What follows …

What follows is a series of observations on a real case of targeted gaslighting on a democratic citizen — myself, being one of many similarly affected over the years by a nexus, I guess, of tech-bros and outlier security interests in the UK, and maybe other states and actors, too: a longitudinal case which already led to my undue and improper incarceration for a month in a UK mental facility back in 2003, after an experience in a broken-backed open-source community the previous year of 2002 called OpenOffice.org.

• gb2earth.com/citizenx

This open-source site was sponsored and paid for mainly by the then Sun Microsystems, but the dysfunctionality arose from both sides: corporate and independent developers in equal parts.

First, then, a poem about the impact this has had on me over the years.

“tech-bro”: a #poem by #milwilliams

in english a bro of the tech nature killed me

in swedish a bro is a bridge

if only i’d been able to make my life again

in a land like the latter where good people rule

but my pain and misery all came from the place

where i had the misfortune to be born

and whilst in swedish a tech-bro

would be a path to a better future

in english it’s better so much better

to be burned

but since i don’t believe in burning anyone

i reason the problem is myself

and so it’s myself

that mathematically must be removed

from any equation that includes

the future of humankind

this is why when the tech-bros

of english-speaking lands

burnt my person

in the manner of a most inflammatory form

of gaslighting imaginable

in its scorn

i never forgot

what they did to me

just as i began to fly

and just as i began to try

to lift my head higher

and fly to better skies

why now i burn those bros memories

even though arson is not my thing

but not as beautiful bridges of swedish ways

but as stupid men of patriarchal “hey!”

So what do we do?

The day our security agencies decided that neo-crime and dark figure did not need a law-enforcement response was the day we opened the doors to a future Ukraine, an organised criminality in the UK where we now have an army of embedded criminals in all levels of society which outnumbers the British armed forces, and a broad and widely shared sense of citizen, perhaps even political-party, hopelessness about everything that happens quite toxically to Western and related democracies. That is, none of us can reasonably believe in better any more:

• gb2earth.com/hunch/neocrime | #darkfigure #neocrime

We need to believe in better, of course: but in order to begin to have a right to do so we must say enough is enough in the grey area of discretionary law enforcement and security where discretion is given a bad name in the interests of expediency. That is, in precisely that area of operational manoeuvres which utilises both dark figure and what I prefer to call neo-crime, whatever side of the law we find ourselves on.

We can only reacquire the authority Western democracy once had if we start to deliver on this: only this. And we shall not, until and if we do.

Ever again.

If you find what I have written today interesting and/or engaging, please do get in touch:

• mil.williams@gb2.earth

aside

on effective accelerationism — and why … just no!

we prefer to close our eyes to dead babies blown into pieces by shrapnel our companies make, so we can have taxable events that lead to good roads and hospitals on the backs of such crimes, than actually consider that — as all of this is true — it might be much better not to be a part any more of this thing we used to call life.
mil williams, 2nd january 2024, stockholm sweden

the problem wasn’t hitler: it was the ordinary german-speaking citizens, business leaders, sports enthusiasts and professionals of the same, and other members of the german and supporting foreign political classes, both of the time and since, who gleefully enabled his rise to power. all in the service of money.

the problem isn’t putin: it is the ordinary russian citizens, business leaders, sports enthusiasts and professionals of the same, alongside so many other members of the british, european, and other political classes of other nations, who have, as a consequence of their action or inaction, wilfully enabled not only his rise to but also his permanence in power. all in the service of money.

the problem won’t be trump: it will be the ordinary citizens, business leaders, sports enthusiasts and professionals of the same, alongside other members of the global political classes of other nations, who will have, as a result of their action or inaction, wilfully and knowingly enabled his rise to and ongoing permanence in power. all in the service of money.

and so the problem isn’t them: it’s never been them. the problem is all of us who prefer to pay a mortgage and get to the end of the month rather than stop a war in its tracks. we prefer to fuck a partner every saturday than construct a civilisation made of good people. we prefer fireworks and instagrams to real works of charity. we prefer to close our eyes to dead babies blown into pieces by shrapnel our companies make, so we can have taxable events that lead to good roads and hospitals on the backs of such crimes, than actually consider that — as all of this is true — it might be much better not to be a part any more of this thing we used to call life. all in the service of money.

and when a terrorist organisation sets up a society where it is both military and health service in one, where it shields itself behind a longitudinal tech- and social network-driven gaslighting, and inevitably provokes a people, who have suffered unimaginably throughout world history, into acts of revenge no one could reasonably have expected them not to commit, is when we just don’t care. we actually just don’t care:

• gb2earth.com/revenge

because we always ask our friends if they are ok when they are not. we never quite manage to do so when the opposite is to all intents and purposes how it appears.

and we always attend to violence when the bruises — whether mental or physical — are finally visible. we never do when they are still hidden.

and we only intervene when it’s necessary to protect our legal reputations, and never when it’s the ways of being and enjoying this thing we once rightly called life are imperilled.

that is, we only ever do shit when it’s to pick up the pieces. we never ever strategise — ever.

except that … some people do. the bad people. the hamas sort of types. the trumps. the putins and their hangers-on, whatever country their wealth delivers allegiances from. the hitlers and their chums.

and so this is NOT the world i can support. and i really do NOT go beyond today. not as your journeyman in superficiality at all. no sir. absolutely not.

yes, it’s true: you have been free to, meanwhile, and will continue to do so. and that may be good for your children and families who — when all is said and done, acting in blissful and self-righteous ignorance — SHALL get to the end of the month. but my end of the month is today. and i refuse now to go any place beyond in such a way, any more.

i have spent my life fighting for the good of all. whilst everyone else fights for the good of the small. and in this sense there is nothing to reproach. neither in your approach nor mine.

but you can’t ask me to continue to ignore what is manifestly true: ukraine is — and continues to be — our fault, because we are superficial in everything we do. nazi germany was our fault all along — even down to the social environments that predisposed the burning of books. trump is a direct consequence of the kind of big tech in facebook, cambridge analytica, and related, that we have not only consented to but deeply embraced — because of our inability to go beyond the next personal brand. and hamas happened under the very noses of technology corporations’ deepest total surveillance strategies, simply because we have all this time refused to reflect enough — and far prefer to interject shabbily and usually to facile end instead.

• gb2earth.com/primacy

it’s how it is.

it’s not my way of living.

it’s not a good enough reason to die, though. i really have no intention of dying because you are too insanely weak to engage in this world in a way which would ennoble you, and protect babies from shrapnel, and lead to health services that were about health and not about the enrichment of surveillance corporations and cloud companies and ai organisations of the most broken.

it’s just not where it is, is it? it’s just really not where any of us should be.

but you are: you are directly to blame — in your inaction — for what has already happened to our democracies; and for what is happening right now; and for what is about to happen from this year onwards.

it’s not the billionaires who dream, in their effective accelerationism, of thousands of years of pain for the populace whilst they enrich their deep deep pockets.

no. they’re not to blame.

it’s we who agreed, for example, that search was cool all those years ago, as it gutted the business model of the very institutions and organisations of investigative journalism that would’ve prevented their brutal simplicity being imposed on our far more interesting minds all this time.

we could have argued the nature of their change actually wasn’t inevitable: we preferred, however, instead to satnav our brains into inabilities and easily monetisable dependencies that ensured we became less and less human as the years passed by.

so this is not my way.

i cannot live. i cannot die. i cannot survive. i cannot thrive. i cannot watch ukrainians being blown to pieces. i cannot bear the toxic and abusive ability hamas have demonstrated to twist the historical narrative so savagely. i cannot watch my own country destroy, in the name of extreme privilege, what was once a mother of something really worth treasuring.

i cannot watch this and do nothing. and i cannot watch this and do anything.

so this is now my request: can someone do the deed i need done on my behalf? i’d be happier, if at all possible, for it to be a convincing accident that randomly ended a life of no interest.

it would be much better, then, for those who were left and who clearly prefer instagram and interjection, and to believe the nature of change is inevitable.

so is that too much to ask?

i really think it no longer is …

oh.

and a happy new year 2024.

ps it’s not money that’s at the root of all evil. you did know this, right? it’s love of money … love.

that’s right.

love …

it’s not the billionaires who dream, in their effective accelerationism, of thousands of years of pain for the populace whilst they enrich their deep deep pockets.

no. they’re not to blame.

it’s we who agreed, for example, that search was cool all those years ago, as it gutted the business model of the very institutions and organisations of investigative journalism that would’ve prevented their brutal simplicity being imposed on our far more interesting minds.
mil williams, 2nd january 2024, stockholm sweden

aside

and a love at first sight

a poem by mil williams

there's a love at first light
and it's when you've been 
closer than anyone ever 
expected 

there's a love in the night 
when the bedding is ready
and pillows embrace 
the race to sublime 

and then there's the love 
at first sight we knew 
when you wanted to meet me 
and i fell heels over head

because you just said hello 
and that's all it took
and you hugged me quite briefly 
and up close i saw your dear dear face 

and i know it shouldn't be 
and if it should it shouldn't be me
but my 2024 
would be perfect and true

if finally i and you 
could be one couple
and beautiful pair 
in a place where love 

could be in the air 
and where this could easily also
be that nation where life is valued
like no other i have known ...

so if these rhymes 
may convince us now
that you and me together 
are where our future lies

please contact me sooner than later
and definitely not at your leisure 
because i am sadder than sad 
without your lovely hand in mine 

and a sofa that cuddles us 
and a view to our right 
that reaches right out to
a sky quite at night 

where dancing nature 
and human flame 
and gold-lit stars 
proclaim right now  

that you and me 
are clear as clear 
that if they want to be 
our future friends

the love of love 
is where they'll be 
when they think 
of exactly what 

we have chosen 
to become
after years and years
of being apart 

from home of homes
we once wanted to belong 
and if we both might duly wish 
where now we shall quite wondrous live

aside

“this thing called xmas / that child of light”

My final #poem, this time on the occasion of #xmas itself …

Have a safe and good one if you can, and even if it’s not possible, believe in good in ways I never could … and therefore never did.

"this thing called xmas / that child of light" 

xmas time 
is rhyming slang
for longtime loves
and things so fine 

that rarely get 
an airing right 
and never mean 
we hold quite tight  

a loved one cool
and then again 
without some broken 
unvoiced when 

the meaning of it
all right once  
being fun and toys
and coloured bright

and such delights
of pleasured heights
and valleys and tales  
of snowed-in dales 

which so often mean
we miss the best 
and simply sense 
these memories of the rest 

but in truth what's real 
ain't what we live
but actually what 
we may one day relive

because facts and data 
really aren't the mater
of seeing what's real
about being good humans

and although we feel
when things unreel
that frames per second 
are where it's at

in fine reality
our deep humanity 
lies in what remains 
when the day does not 

and when in our darkest 
nights of all 
we reencounter 
what always befell

all people on earth
of goodly disposition 
whatever their faiths 
and even when 

they found themselves 
firmly up against 
the ideas that wrench
and sometimes wreak

like heavy teak 
or maybe oak 
of sad times historical 
stained as when

we then all awoke
to morning-time 
when all was cold 
and white and lined

with wrinkled cheek
and kisses brushed 
and lips that touched
and eyes that shone 

for it's not 
when we die
that everything is gone 
but simply this other time  

when none of us 
remember what it was like 
to be that child 
who loved the light ...

aside

Things you just don’t, either

There's things you can do
and things you just don't 
because if you did 
you'd have to hide 
and once you hid
you'd never have lied more 
than that day you found you'd hid at her door

And whilst I'm still unsure 
and the door in question 
remains half ajar 
I'd not tarry I don't think
in the blink of an eye 
which caresses 
what it espies when looking forward to you 

And so now my insecurity 
belies my other 
erstwhile uncertainty: 
I've lived my life 
without a wife 
as well as I could  
ever have done

That's all it's been 
and all I saw
and then today I'm really happy 
and all up for
a SAPPY review 
of you and me 
and me and you 

And equally time
to rhyme the end
and equally lines 
we read between 
and equally things 
we just don't either 
except, that is, when yes we do

And then 
it's clearly me and you 
and then
it's obvious: never true 
and then it's never less than us
because it's time 
we began to trust ...

aside, definition, rationale

now comfortable WITHOUT others / the BOSUN’S pieces of infinity / no longer your necessary brother AT ALL

I’ve been thinking a lot this year about my life. I’m now 61: an age at which one of my two favourite writers one day took his own life. This being Hemingway.

I love Hemingway. He’s himself. Grace under pressure. Whatever the reasons. And grace under pressure was the way he wrote his prose. A pressured prose, and yet so graceful. Graceful despite the pressure, never because of it.

I’ve lived a life of similar pressures, though grace was rarely my discourse. Lately a tad more. And I’ve been wondering why this, too.

I spent many months, on and off, in Stockholm Sweden in 2023. I learnt a lot from a culture which my own — British — had never been able to accurately prepare me for. We have a lot to learn from the Swedish way. Really we do.

A tangible outcome was this site:

• sverige2.earth

I then went back to the UK for a longer period from August on, and so began to process all that learning.

More recently I created the following site as I looked to transfer Swedish ideas and concepts and ways of thinking into a British context:

• gb2earth.com

I took advantage of this impulse — and it took me a while to settle into it and feel safe enough to deliver on it — to also bring together a whole bunch of historical online whitepapers which audit my progress in the ideas I have had around intuition validation since at least 2016, but probably since my first university degree in the early 1980s when I had studied Film & Literature:

• gb2earth.com/truth/homepage

Part of the reason I began to feel the UK was starting to respect me — instead of wishing to do me harm — was because of a place called Storyhouse in the northwest English city of Chester: modelled I felt (and then had later confirmed) on the Stockholm Kulturhuset: one of my favourite places to be in the Swedish capital.

I felt safe enough in Storyhouse to be able to begin to want to reengage with my homeland really profoundly.

So.

All good thus far.

The final part of my life, and my thoughts around it this year, involves the increasing number of people in my close and wider family who are submitting to and getting successful assessments of differing kinds of neurodiverse ways of being.

In 2003 I was ridiculously diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic. I had already begun to suffer from epilepsy at the age of ten; though whilst living in Spain, and between the ages of 30 to 40, I was completely — and successfully — unmedicated for the condition.

Meantime, in that same decade and after my misdiagnosis, a member of my family was diagnosed with autism, level 1 — then called Asperger’s. On my Croatian side, such cases were already apparent. Then another relative was diagnosed with bipolar within a few years of my misdiagnosis. Honestly, I think hers was also a misdiagnosis.

From the 1960s onwards, one parent had suffered from clinical depression, whilst the other had experienced severe migraines and clear traits of autism/ADHD during their whole lifetime. More recently, this year in fact, two close members of my family have been positively assessed and medicated for ADHD, and yet another case of autism, level 1 has been uncovered.

A couple of members of this tribe I belong to now feel I should request a reassessment for ADHD, too. I’m in two minds. My original psychiatrist clearly made a mistake. After three years (ie, 2006 in my case) it became impossible to argue clinical negligence. I’d still be up for bringing a case of criminal conspiracy to court, but maybe I now have better things to do with my time. Either way, it’s pretty self-evident my family are brainy.

That’s how I now prefer to see myself: neither schizophrenic nor ADHD, nor autism nor anything else. Just brains in abundance.

What I am looking for now, after all these years of strife and denial, is the opportunity to put my brains properly to work in terms of my ideas re intuition validation, complex thinking, and in respect of being able to work on tools to deliver secrecy-positive thinking-spaces where an absolutely free thought can begin to enjoy its flight.

From a deep love of Hemingway and grace under pressure to secrecy-positive thinking. And a chance to stop the Putins of this world … forever.

Yeah?

And so to the poem that follows: it’s a visceral review of some of life’s most insoluble problems.

How complex and fractured family groupings come about when people refuse to ask for help; refuse for their whole lifetime to not believe it’s someone else who’s the problem.

Just what happens when the concept of the scapegoat as a narrative figure becomes the easiest tool in order to structure a network of individuals.

Just this.

Have a really safe Christmas … and the happiest New Year possible.

And do take care.

now comfortable WITHOUT others / the BOSUN’S pieces of infinity / no longer your necessary brother AT ALL

i spent my life 
as eldest of my family
being the glue 
that meant i wasn't as i could've been

i had to be 
for every sibling and cousin i had
the very best sounding-board 
they ever could have EVER had 

understanding in all respects
accepting all their holes of dark 
seeing as absolutely and utterly fair 
the roles i was assigned so stark

like lairs and dens
of the dragons and monsters 
some of them have been to me 
and you really wouldn't ever believe 

what i have actually seen
and what i have actually witnessed 
and suffered to the extent 
they intentionally drove me mad 

and so all this time 
i found it hard to do more than rhyme
in order to survive 
the cruelty of my 61 years 

visited on me 
and imposed on me 
and painted on me as if into a corner around
my every boundary and residual sound 

as never could i set my limits
and find in time the core i needed 
and just be me for me at all
and avoid the funeral pall 

of man and son 
and father and brother and lover and done
nailed brutally and abusively 
to the cross of quite another 

and so after all that 
it came to 2015  
and all i could do 
was scream silently to myself 

and everyone thought 
again he's going mad 
or maybe he's just bad 
and maybe that was it

when really what it was 
this thing i began to do
was realise that their VACUOUS holes 
like gruyère cheese

had prevented my mentioned core 
of apple-like pleas
ever forming contentedly
so that all i knew how to do 

all this time 
for 53 years of foolishness too
was to impale myself like stake to a soul
in such a way

that their very real madnesses 
appeared mine all that time

and maybe to this day 
most would still find it easy to say 
that what they did to me in 2003
as my whole family stood aside 

and let me suppurate 
as incarcerated foully 
by a state of extreme and vicious cruelty 
and how it did so 

and how it was so
neither good for them nor good for me
as no one ever let me be
neither in 2003 nor EVER since then 

and as my monstrous lover of 2004
then took me to her web 
of evil spidery claw
and the horrible things she then did and said 

as she treated me badly 
and without remission 
and did all those things to me
with zero permissions

i am reminded also 
of the techie folk 
who in 2002 in virtual sense
and right to this day in quite parallel way 

attacked me and my reputation it's true 
as they played their games 
with my achilles capacity for foolhardy hesitation 
for it's only the clever who ever wonder why

and only the foolish 
who can't find it in themselves 
to ever care more than a minimum expression  
for the lessons of an otherwise historical compassion 

and so then it's a fast-forward right to today 
and christmas 2023 does approach in its way 
and so now my son is adhd 
and then a sibling that other thing they say

and my parents both undiagnosed but surely it was true 
and my younger relations both clearly that and good
and even two others  
who claim to be hyper-sensitive

when really all they acted out 
was a fearsome them of brutal cold fish 
for all their multiple decades and years ...
and so we do come finally to the VERY first 

being me two decades before the worst 
when getting a diagnosis unbidden and unasked for 
and one of utterly beastly yore
as i was assigned a violent assessment

of a ridiculously inexact psychosis 
when if all the above
had come fairly to light first of all
then first i wouldn't have been without my core

and second the family 
both sibling and parental
and so wider and much more 
wouldn't have fucked me about

as they allowed me to die struggling on my feet 
drugged to the eyeballs 
by a country caring only to treat 
a clever man like myself 

as if i were an elf to be tossed baldly aside 
like evil mischief 
far and wide 
because dear cousins 

and siblings 
and children 
and wife and my life 
that's what you did to the man i should've been

whilst once i defended you all 
as i tried desperately 
to be that thing you all needed me to be 
when in truth the problem wasn't EVER me 

but people JUST LIKE YOU
who needed far more support 
than i ever would 
being far more support than a crutch to a cripple 

and so as we come close to 2024
i realise with joy in no way a trickle 
that i need care for none of you any more at all
because what was broken 

and splintered 
and hurt
was not my job you see
to make complete in the end even then 

because i was far less damaged all that time 
than you and yours and those you claimed were mine 
and i was far LESS incomplete 
and far less unseated

and far less nailed 
to that cross i mentioned before 

when talking of awful loss 
and the cost of not talking 
to each other as we might've done
and the idiocy of hiding 

behind the unassessed
and never embracing 
what actually you all were 
in respect of something that could have been 

a completely beautiful diversity 
to treasure and measure 
against all other benchmarks 
where humans do hark to a GORGEOUS eternity 

and so this is where i now 
found myself at last
with no right at all 
to cast any stones 

yet equally no duty remaining 
to ever help out 
anyone insane enough 
to want to stay 

as a member of this sad sad tribe
incapable of realising any of you in time 
that the very reasons 
you refused to defend me

were precisely the reasons why
you should've protected me
and precisely why no longer 
there's any point in my trying 

to work with and for 
absolutely any of you
in health and sickness 
or any condition left to me

nor in any kind of frame   
where being together
could've been a worthy test 
of a humanity hugged close 

to a seafaring bosun
of chests of mysterious 
pieces of infinity 
where once upon a time 

it was me that was seen 
to be the really crazed guy 
when it truth 
it's me who finds himself now catapulted 

into a place of truthfully righteous change
because family for me 
now irreversibly wanes 
as we all become 

as diverse as each other
thus meaning right on 
i am finally released
from ever being again your necessary brother

aside

you just KNOW when … AND what

you know that when you're the bad guy
and what this feels like
when one day 
you realise you're really not
and all your life 
has been a lie 
like a woman's body never was
and never sighed
and never signed up for contractually either 

that lie of the treasured
like a valley of souls
rolled into one 
and made entirely one
as reaching the winning-post 
like a dinner roasted at thanksgiving 
or a christmas feast to be followed 
by sandwiched leftover 
because this is what my life has been

just leftovers you might say 
and then again you may not 
because as i draw the picture
and shape the narrative
of what it's been like to be alive 
i refuse to revise 
what i saw and felt and did 
in terms that otherwise fail my truth
because for me there is nothing i love more than this 

nothing more than the truths 
i sometimes stumble across
like those stations of the same 
and those paths of the insane 
where we find ourselves socially constructed 
and criminally instructed 
to remain in the severest of pains 
for the rest of our existences 
able no longer to resist the abuses of such powers

where our nation-states 
should've protected us profoundly
of these layers of horrific inspecting introspection  
from which our capacity for free thoughts 
and thus our ability to sense joyous oughts
becomes merely the obligation 
of familial relationship 
instead of the real pursuit 
of that which might once have rightly suited us

and so that's it 
it is it really is 
and that's why we lose our intimate instincts
i mean those we were born with
and out of 
and into 
for doing good things by the others we meet 
and rather much rather 
prefer to that bullying of the opposing 

into opposing much more 
than should've been necessary 
and so this is how it became radically
and so easily 
cessation-free  
as all histrionics and hostilities became us madly too
like we were grinding our humanity
with the pestle and mortar 
of cannonballs galore

and so i do just wonder 
why it has to all be like this 
and why we can't build 
generation by generation 
on the achievements of the previous 
and why it's only INDIVIDUALS 
who grow from beginning to end 
in a trajectory that ennobles them always 
whereas the MASSES just muck us totally up

like the messages of hatred 
that intimidated our mothers 
and led our fathers to fields of blood 
where blood meant no brotherhoods were ever capable 
of yielding good any more 
and where life has become the survival of the very least fit
being those who chose finally 
to run the world 
into the deepest of pits

Category: aside

the human loom

the human loom

where reaching out no longer

greetings from a #zagreb mixology bar

“Good to meet you … Miljenko Williams” | on dark figure, gaslighting, security and the future of Western democracy

What follows …

“tech-bro”: a #poem by #milwilliams

More on the video and how it continues to impact me

So what do we do?

on effective accelerationism — and why … just no!

and a love at first sight

a poem by mil williams

“this thing called xmas / that child of light”

Things you just don’t, either

now comfortable WITHOUT others / the BOSUN’S pieces of infinity / no longer your necessary brother AT ALL

now comfortable WITHOUT others / the BOSUN’S pieces of infinity / no longer your necessary brother AT ALL

you just KNOW when … AND what