when you wind down you refresh unless it's time to die and when you take a moment out to space your time like laces of much nicer whiles past you realise the hurt is real indeed it is
and still you keep on for a while unless it's time to die in which case winding down ain't winding at all but more a case of being WOUNDED full NOT winding down in any way
and so that time arrives in ten days for me BECAUSE it's time to die being away from all and solo now i care much more for me than all the pain people from my past not deserting me ... if ONLY I say ...
have led me to feel in the name of truth because for me that IS the only way because i care nothing absolutely nothing for lies or half-lies at all nor for ameliorations tall and idiot proud and foolishly boasting and toasting to the skies
just the unvarnished and unburnished heavy flames of death's starry capacity ... that's what i mean and that's what i'm talking about now and that's what i want to communicate and that's all there is i can do any more
and so since i've seen flames all my life licking at my happiness and burning its edge now it's time to lace as with poisons of yore my life with its curious cherries on top
the cherries of final sleep and of deep seeping slumber like a bear hibernating in dark and freezing winter in a way that he expected to rise again soon but for whom spring no longer will now exist
The poem below is about one of the most disagreeable families and groupings one could ever encounter.
It involves a brother, my younger; a cousin, older than me; plus a mass of their friends and acquaintances all too eager and willing to do ill … and all in the interests of delivering what now we call #cognitivewarfare.
How it started
It all started in the first place because my younger brother had had an affair with my aforementioned cousin before and after I also, to my shame, did myself. The previous year, 2003, I had been judged by the British state to be a paranoid schizophrenic, when in hindsight this was utter balderdash. Nevertheless, the following year, 2004, my cousin encouraged me to embrace my diagnosis, whilst I spent four days in her family home, absent of all other members, saying to me over and over that the diagnosis as it stood (still stands because of people like her) was sexy and fun.
Although our affair in the physical sense lasted four days, the relationship hung around like a miasma of the most foul for more than a decade after. She was simply a toxic woman of the worst, capable of getting a doctor friend onside to cover up her historical behaviours with an equally ludicrous mental health diagnosis to mine.
How it continued
Since then, three man from her country, Mark, James and Dermott, as well as innumerable others along the way, over all this time it has to be said, have pursued my interests and life opportunities to prevent me from ever breaking away from the monster she has been, both in my life and — in the deepest sense — in the lives of so many others.
Particularly her menfolk, too.
I called it a while ago, maybe three or four years now (this thing which these people around her have being doing to me), the following: #neoterrorismontheindividual. It’s essentially a tech-driven gaslighting conducted by groups of ordinary people using easily available mobile and similar technologies:
It’s anti-democratic because it uses tools such as Facebook and WhatsApp and Instagram and Messenger to deliver outcomes of private choice over any intervention possible by legitimate law-enforcement agencies, or maybe even just others with a minimum right of democratic expression to apply such force in representative fashion.
Where I am today
I am happy today, despite all the above, because I realise on my 61st saint’s day — I used to have the middle name of Andrew in a language I now find generally bitter (why I no longer name myself thus) — that I quite like, after all, being kind of a fisher … not of men, but of humans.
How it affects us all
Our civilisation is dying, this is clear. And it is dying in part because we rely on the decision-making capacity of structures that don’t allow for nonconformity: Western democratic corporate and related teamwork dynamics allow for many things, but one thing they work firmly against is creative leaps of faith of the very best by individuals.
What’s been in charge as we move straight to #globalboiling is a teamwork that wipes out the hyper-individual thinking which otherwise can lead us to genius: maybe, even, a species-saving genius too.
What needs to be in charge, surely, is that which I advocate today: a democratised capacity to deliver unpredictable thinking, predictably.
i'm sitting at table 42 in storyhouse right now and i am reminded of the worst year of my life when i met a woman who was someone else's wife as chattel it must be admitted so wrong as wrong could be even i would say this true
a woman who didn't know how to be in this world at all at all even to the extent she preferred to see wrong as right in philosophical bent claiming blue was black and as black as any top hat she demanded be doffed in her presence
they called her those who loved her (and then there were some of these) a gentlewoman of sorts brought up by the violence of a father who knew only the life of bully and as part of the scurrying and blustering brutality that those northern isles did bring for so long
to her very own native inhumanity callous and biting with the tongue of thieves as she dismantled every single manhood she met and that she uncovered out there as they were in pursuit in reality of the parents of hers who'd known nothing at all
except how to set traps in amongst the future of this rock where nature takes stock and then piles on the cruelty of all these bullied women and men who find themselves unable to do anything whatsoever except conduct their children and society to funeral pall and requiem of every one of their counted kin
and finally i see how all this wasn't me but just the war they chose to baldly conduct on my person and so then it is now when i start to feel good and utterly upheld in all the things i sold and still do sell
because there is nothing worse than to be a team member when the function of such grouping is to DISmember a world and it's this that i have firmly resisted during this time and all along: i refuse to form a part of you all when you all are fully engaged with clearly what is wrong
me myself i was powerless all this time so entirely blameless too as the only thing i had was my rhymes but you had all those big jobs instead and those cocks and cunts that wrote up societies and claimed to be making this real and something in truth for all our kids when in fact you didn't no you didn't only prefer to fuck me around
but gladly you chose to fuck your own kids and their futures and ways of seeing true with you gas-guzzling cars and mortgages and nicely imported wines and the nightly dining brightly in line in fab island cities of good food so cool where the environment was a toy of awful casual tool
and all this time as i say i myself had zero impact at all but all of you ALL of you i say with all your positions of power so fine neglected one thing and WILFULLY too (whereas i found my person honestly good whilst all this time never stopping marking the time in that there hood)
re your very worst cards and jokers kept so close to family and friends of unacceptable end and of terrible secrets and undercurrents that justify everything all these years which you yourselves have preferred to deliver on as right and absolutely so when the only thing they really are
is fucked-up humans like you and yours who'd much rather bloom falsely and mad on days of idle than take a hold of the root of the problem being that which involves having all that fun you still choose to enjoy at the expense of a future for all our CHILDREN
I’ve been considering how to move forwards with traditional #proofreading and a more complete #qualitycontrol of different channels of #contentdelivery.
• qcdocu.com (my new proposal, as it stands right now)
Background
I got into this in the first place for two reasons:
1. In the early 2000s I studied, whilst living in #spain, a #spanish University Master in #publishing. I’d always been interested in content of all kinds: when a child and adolescent, almost engulfing my local library’s bookshelves; and when older, blogging every day on a whole range of subjects in response to the imagination and occurrences of many known and many relatively unknown writers.
The Master then served to put me in touch with #editors of the very best: I even interned for three months or so in the University of Salamanca’s fabulous #publishing house. This only sharpened my interest in the role and activity of #editing #reality.
2. From about 2012-2013 onwards, I started working for a major #london-based #marketingagency. This was in the field of #bigtech, and involved ensuring that the #sales #documentation which ended up in front of the #csuite clients of my client’s clients was in the best condition possible — including grammar, flow and related, and even in some cases picking up on domain-related inaccuracies.
This second activity has been the mainstay of my working-life since then. Until this autumn, that is. The most recent relationship — volumes and so forth — which I had with my main client was settled for over a year or more, at levels which enabled me to deliver an exclusive dedication. Then staff changed, agreements were left by the wayside, #generativeai seemed to promise a world of automated #csuite-competent comms, and two things happened … or at least, my client tried really aggressively for two things to take place.
The new revenue stream and NDA
One, reduce substantially my income over a period of two months with minimal warning; and two, demand I signed a new #nda which not only required me not to work as #proofreader for my client’s clients — most of the #bigtech corporations and quite a few niche ones, too, being an absolutely reasonable and understandable condition — were I ever to leave the relationship, but also demanded I did not work in any #tech field which my #proofreading over the years might touch on … or, maybe even, have touched on. And remember, the only documentation I ever came into contact with — or would be coming into contact with, for sure — was sales & marketing documentation aimed at the #csuite. Never manuals, never secret sauces … none of this at all, in any way whatsoever.
I couldn’t sign, obviously; and so I didn’t.
And so I guess, because the #marketingagency is influential globally, that locks me out of future work of this nature elsewhere.
Yet I love the industry. Still.
Next steps …
So what next? Well. I’m considering moving into bigger-project publishing: I’m already editing the translation of a #croatian 20th century novel on behalf of a family member. We have obtained the rights to proceed with the translation’s publication, and now we’re working through final versions of the same.
But this, for the moment, is clearly a side hustle. ‘Keeps my brain ticking over, I guess. (Something I am grateful for, too.)
The question itself
A question then, to you all. Whilst #openai and #microsoft have wilfully upturned the world on the basis of presumption and unvalidated notions around the utility of their #generativeai escapades, people who have worked skilfully and with deep wisdom in the industry of #content and #publishing more widely have seen their livelihoods destroyed in less than six months.
I now hear of a case where a smaller agency which automated their content processes using #ai a year ago are not only continuing to pay out for the #tech, but are having to take on four more people to revert back to a manual and human delivery, as well as pay for lawyers to identify any injuries these obviously fairly unwise changes may already have incurred for clients over the past twelve months.
As someone has observed of the #openai/#microsoft nexus, a shit-show all round.
The question, then? Will common sense now ever return to high-level marketing & sales, and their related communication?
one of my favourite writers of all time is the #prosepoet #raymondchandler. passages which describe dust-ridden orange groves intermingle with the blood of a dark and deep act.
you can’t imagine how i was transported to the best of such writing today, on beginning to read the below.
i’ve never read #ianfleming in my life. i stumbled across a #largeprint version of his book #thespywholovedme with a fabulous introduction by #nickstone earlier today in the quiet section of #storyhouse, #chester. i didn’t want to deprive someone who might really need it from the privilege if a standard-size version was available. it was. i wish now i had taken the large print. this #penguin edition is fab, of course. i don’t know if in every edition, but the page numbering in this particular one conserves the three digits of #jamesbond’s licence to kill. so page 1 is not page 1, but 001.
it’s a gentle and discreet touch and decision. it’s beautiful in its discretion.
meantime, the large-print version has much better artwork on the cover: really evocative of its time. this one here is nice, and reminds in its palette and visual tonality a lot of #chandler’s aforementioned orange groves (not wildly out of keeping with the locale, or at least the continent, tbh), but it’s much more prosaic.
and at least this #bond book is anything but prosaic. it’s riddled with a superhuman attention to details of all kinds. it’s a poetic prose at the highest of levels: #fscottfitzgerald wouldn’t have been ashamed of any of it. and so #chandler, neither …
but the most surprising thing about this book by #ianfleming is both twofold and interlinked: being precisely what #nickstone ensured we took away from his introduction to the large-print version. it’s not written in the third-person but the first, and it’s not written from the spy’s point of view but from the female hero’s gaze. cognitive about her prior life and surroundings to the max and metacognitive about what happens to her and how she reacts, it is an astonishing piece of writing.
you don’t feel this is a woman written by a man at all. and maybe this is because i am a man, and maybe a woman wouldn’t feel the same either. and maybe i am radically wrong. but to me this was the #fleming who took intuitive, calculated risks in wartime when they needed to be taken. and sometimes you hurt people. and sometimes you saved them. but always … intuitively calculating.
and as i delve further into the book and admire more honestly and deeply its achievements, i realise why writers — like #fleming and perhaps, to a much lesser degree, even myself — deserve to be actors on much broader stages. because a human being who writes daily, who writes well daily, who writes pleasingly daily, and who writes purposefully daily … well … we take a thousand or maybe more decisions rightfully daily … you really do, you know, when you put sentences and sentences together, one after the other; and if you’re a writer you’ll understand that when people say writing is not the same thing as doing, it’s only because no one who “prefers doing” ever duly sees the number of great decisions even just a good writer who writes every day is capable of taking because of their professional art and training: being transferable skills, all.
and #fleming is not only a good writer but actually one of the best. so when he sent humans to possible, sometimes certain, death on missions in world war ii, he did so with the very best of brains which might ever have been brought to bear on the challenges that nazi germany imposed at the time on us all.
and then after the war, with all those calculated risks done and taken and regretted or not, he proceeded to write an object of art such as this book i am reading now.
life is about doing things like this.
life is about calculating a #cognitivebeauty and completing it.
i was born without asking to the country i grew up to love as a britain which deserved the adjective of great because it strove to do good across the political spectrum for every citizen and so i felt proud of being british i did
but now the tawdry and brexit-ridden have renamed my nation-state and i can no longer call myself the nationality i was born to: for i am now officially uk-ish
but what prideful claim can that deliver when -ish becomes a "sort of" instead of a proclamation of historical courage and grit and of the terrible determinations forged in times of awful warfare where everyone of us cared for everyone of us and no one was ever less for owning less
for this is the patriot's lament: how the savagely thoughtless political class we now have upon us brutally operate on us as they do from the boardrooms of foul directorships and sailing-ships run with the dirty monies of foreign largesse embedded and encrusted in a society of the most debilitated
and as it witnesses the illegitimate invasions of not-so-distant lands we must remember that whilst hitler and that other russia (being the same russia after all) were enemies easy to espy and define as such today's dictators of equally abusive bent wear suits of the nicest and tread stages of the finest and rub shoulders with the tech monsters of the cruellest
and so as the patriot i am does lament the falling away of what it once was to be british and proud of the fact with tact too that in a hard world being such was a foundation stone of democracy still as that patriot of kindly encouragement i hold out hope that there may resurge good forces in the land i refuse to rename the uk because myself i never will be uk-ish in that ambiguity of reclusive criminality that i now bear witness to
because being british born and british bred my head tells me i shall always remain conscious of the FOUR nations that SHOULD make up freely our federation of beautiful and collective future-present wisdoms
where the past may no longer need to hang heavily over what we show to the rest of the world and our own heads all may equally be held higher than the recent past allows
for what has been and what we've seen can just as easily be a manual of instructions of what NOT to do as it currently serves those who serve themselves abusively of the rest of us in respect of how better to constrict our aspirations to do good in a world which desperately needs our would: being where we find again the bravery that being british once meant ...
... before the patriot's lament rang out deeply and profoundly riven as it now is with the gravity and sadness of lives disposed of cheaply and carelessly by business and political leaders both who continue to choose the roads of personal enrichment over public service
and so it is and so it may be that all of us being you and me and we together might find that retribution for evil deeds need NOT contain the vengeance of the gods of old for we could remember that british bred and british born and having once been the mother of all parliaments and so fine with this aspiration as we furthered a step-by-step process of moving slowly but utterly sure we may return once again to being ... this GREAT BRITAIN!
Chester was a place that gave a lot to me and took a lot from me.
It allowed me to grow into adulthood, with an epilepsy that struck me at ten years old, and was medicated with barbiturates until a better solution was duly found six years or so later.
In the 1970s it was a place of little attraction for young people, at least people like me … though now it has vibrant sociocultural institutions, and a small-town vibe that works for very many people.
But small-town vibe cuts both ways. It can lead to the beauty of the gentle and the unsuspected: of people who reach out to you and want to be reached out to, equally. Or it can lead to the embracing of criminal and mafia-like behaviours. Where who you know is much more important than what you describe and experience, even when you communicate it with absolute accuracy.
Today I saw in this very same town of Chester its very best side and its very worst. In its remembrance of the sacrifices of two world wars, and more before and since, it was exemplary and compassionate.
In its defence of mindsets I myself recall from my childhood — for example, things that happened at school to me and my classmates, which today would lead to criminal prosecutions — it also showed such evil people are still alive and literally kicking.
Earlier today, I was walking into the Tesco in the centre of town and a woman cut closely into my path with a suitcase trailing behind her. I had to stop. I bided my time. I then headed away from her into the shop itself, and lo and behold, she drove her suitcase, now in front of her, into the back of my left leg.
I turned round and she asked me if I was all right, with a beaming smile. I answered I was, and asked her pointedly if she was.
She said nothing. We went our separate ways. But the mindset she had didn’t. It planes over this city of two curious parts. One part, beautiful and scenic, in the physical, emotional and intellectual, and with the cultural organisation it never had in my childhood and now, obviously deservedly, manifests to the max for all who wish to value it properly:
But there’s another part, a quite different layer of society in Chester. It’s a layer which mainly chooses to defend its own very restricting, manipulative turf at the expense of the innovation and invention the first half not only treasures as it always attempted to, but is now capable of formulating wisely and assertively.
The layer which looks to defend its always-has-been looks to the past as a justification of all current behaviours: the woman with the suitcase and her mates videoing the scene are just a silly example of how the past can be (wrongly) used to justify a #gaslighting present.
The other layer, the one of cultural vision and fabulous statements where every human being has value, meantime, looks to Chester’s past not as a justification of the nowadays and the cruelties these others are continuing to deliver, but as a way of intelligently informing a collective future-present of the most wondrous: a world where all of us fit in, strive and eventually not just live but thrive.
This is Chester UK, then: the marvellously creative, wise, generous, gentle and compassionate on the one hand. And on the very beastly other, what I experienced in Tesco in the town centre not long ago: a group of people who have nothing better to do than track, using mobile phone tech and related, the simple movements of people, like myself, who will not stop telling inconvenient truths.
It’s Brexit Britain right down the line too, is the Chester I experienced today: so many good people who just want the best for the world, on the left of politics and in the decent centre both, whilst on the extreme right the monsters who, in truth, have become one-bit mobsters.
I spent most of my youth in Chester. I’m proud of the sociocultural environment its good people have managed to fight into being in the past few years from practically nothing previous.
Today’s incidents, on the back of other things I didn’t report on other days, because even sillier, have made up my mind, a mind that was unsure, for sure.
My decision after the Chester #gaslighters of this afternoon? I now intend to work here too, to join the better half.
Why?
After being unduly incarcerated back in 2003 by the outliers and institutions of this city, you’d maybe wonder why indeed. I’ll tell you, then. Now I shall. The good people who’ve stuck it out, and made this place so much better, deserve other good people to join the fight.
The bad, the one-bit mobsters I mean, don’t deserve anything any more. They certainly don’t deserve that the good abandon them to their victory.
In fact, they don’t even deserve our disapprobation.
Just to be ignored, is what they deserve. Just to be ignored.
I do join, then. The movement of the best. Not a city of #gaslighters. Not a city of beautiful #roman even.
No. Rather, a city which has begun to learn to fight a layered criminality with ALL the tools to hand. Something which in my childhood never seemed conceivable.
All the tools. Absolutely all. And even with the written word, I say.
it takes ten years ramming a new idea down people’s throats for them to get it.
i started what would become the #intuitionvalidationengine back when a discovery interview with a #liverpool university. in the middle of this interview i came up with the phrase #industrialisationoforiginalthought. i didn’t know, then, the roots of this occurrence.
i do know now.
my first university qualification, of the three i now have, was a ba hons in film & literature, back in the early 1980s. i realised a few years ago now that this was the very source of my thinking around #intuitionvalidation.
film, until #generativeai, was an example of how, despite the temptations, movie technologists chose to make a tech that enhanced and expanded human beings, rather than diminished and automated them out of relevance.
the microphone made the voice more powerful; the camera, the eye more beady-eyed; the film language of close-up and long-shot making the actor able to express their feelings with more impact; and even the stage and a wider mise-en-scene serving to extend the ability for great actors to deepen their expressiveness using the surroundings designed specifically around them.
that, then, all a clear example of the #industrialisationoforiginalthought.
and with that, a direct precursor to the #intuitionvalidationengine, and what then became #platformgenesis:
if we take 2016 as my baseline of these later ideas, though not where the ideas originally connect back to, of these ten years i allude us to, ramming a new idea down everyone’s throats, i’m in year 8 of the aforementioned decade.
what next …
i’d like now to make something firmly tangible of all this.
and this, for two reasons and two reasons only:
1. under the current #totalsurveillance philosophies, 9/11, putin’s russia, and hamas all flourished. i’m not saying those who promoted these solutions, where machines have humans as extensions of their processes and procedures, wilfully ignored an alternative i’ve been proposing for a number of years now: that is, humans with machines as extensions of themselves. but if it does continue to be rejected, the ignoring of them does become wilful:
2. the second reason is more personal. i’d like to think that some good people at the highest levels of #tech begin to recognise that perhaps everyone — all of us, that is, without exception — should have considered other options sooner.
9/11 was a horrendous event we considered absolutely singular and, thankfully, unrepeatable.
but then came along the utterly illegitimate invasion of ukraine by putin’s russia, where we still even today — some of us, that is — choose to see him as a man who stumbles into one misadventure after another. only this isn’t true at all. he’s a horrible nonconformist whose awful capacity to think out of the box is left untouched by our machine-driven teams and ways of working.
and so, finally, 9/11 does repeat after all. with, you can’t say no, hamas’s dreadful attack on israeli and palestinian people, both. and under the very same philosophy of #totalsurveillance which didn’t succeed as it could’ve done the first two times round either.
my ask
so what do i say? what do i want? what can i get reasonably from you?
what can we all, ultimately, achieve together?
it’s not #totalsurveillance that’s the problem: it’s a #totalsurveillance which upscales exclusively machines over humans for every security, law-enforcement, and espionage process ever.
it’s the philosophy and implementation, not the need or the instinct to protect and defend absolutely: because the latter is absolutely spot-on. meantime, 9/11, ukraine, and now hamas surely question the former in ways we never cared to in the past twenty years.
this is why i am now looking proactively and openly for a powerful and paradigm-upturning partner who can provide the runway to get this blended approach to #totalsurveillance all underway: an approach which i have proposed with so many challenges to my own person all along.
and the aim of these ideas?
simple, tbh.
no more 9/11s, invasions like that of ukraine, or attacks like that of hamas on israeli and palestinian peoples both.
i want to save us all from future pain.
that is the gain i most want out of my legacy.
that is what i want my ideas around #totalsurveillance to begin to deliver: a more secure world which feels, also, so much safer …
it's funny because the word resolution has multiple meanings and one of our glories as human beings is precisely this where our capacity to understand what was meant outdoes by far what was apparently sent
but sometimes it's not so hot and sometimes it hurts a lot when knowing well what was really intended undermines the secrecy with which one meant to convey
the essence of the signs to hand: for perhaps this is la la land not happy happy hollywood and the resolution wherein we understand ending is final in the sense of something more akin
to a legal compliance of cold and shrugging shoulders and a terminology of delivering soldiers of life as further cannon fodder not the pleasures of neverending love
and so as i begin to sense you didn't choose me i hold no resentments or hatreds at all because above all it is truer than true these days: i love you now and more than when i could've in yesteryear
and as i said in previous words this choice of years no longer hurts because although i'll never live again with other woman as future kin
it'll free me for sure if i survive my instincts for self-immolation in the 62nd year i have in common with earnest ernest himself
to concentrate on my work: a work i cannot judge more important than you but that in your absence will become all-consuming for me
and so dear c and so be it: your final resolution not mine at all goes clickety-clack and snappety-snip as horse and trap down dublin streets
and so just i guess one more thing to rhyme: because although this ain't ever the case in my life and plenty more in time i'll surely write
about the muse and beautiful person who made me man and this is true where so many lifetimes lost with two other women at such a terrible and awful cost
had served only to dismantle my desire all told to show the world what's what about mil i'd like instead to make my resolution true but not to show you how much i might do
but rather to demonstrate never remonstrate how gentle i really can be: for whilst i only wanted the best for you
never the people around you or me it's true it wasn't out of a desire to break anything or anyone nor tumble any fragile house of cards but simply because when one discovers the truth
in what's what about someone (both another and oneself) it's like a prospector panning for a gold suddenly filtered where it's impossible any longer to see life in different way
and so that's what it was and that's how it's been because with you dearest c i've climbed the highest summit any man in love has ever seen and stood at the very top as foothills all around proclaimed
showing as they did that in climbing back down to where mortals do reside in cities and towns and villages of kindly compassions and expectations of mindful passions
it just makes it easier for me to prove that all i have now for you (and for yours it's also true) is a deep and abiding respect and affection where love may triumph and trump all circumspection
and only this remains as clear statement of fact: i love your strong and clever sinews like only tradition is capable of renewing and hope one day all our paths might cross again
because if there's something true i've learnt from your countrypeople and then again from others this year it's that only sensibilities can solve our problems and only by including everyone who acts in good faith
can faith become a force of good again for this human race we all run uncertainly
and so just as much in public and society's i'd like to also assure you in our most private realms
that i'm sorry to all of us i hurt as i have just sorry i say and just this i mean too: just all those beautiful words like this i begin now to feel
never tolling like funerals but only ringing out like weddings of joy no longer sensing hatred of the other no longer wanting to fight sister or brother
no longer caring what my father did to me nor how your mother destroyed deliberately
my joie de vivre and ability to see that womanhood didn't have to be cruel after all and that now after everything that flooded my soul what's left behind is that geology of me (at least)
where the tectonics of all of us do slide along each other's shelves and plates and rocky granite outcrops as if in massive intercontinental shifts
and then together as humans of the rest we lift the entire race to mountains of the best as we really do find it in ourselves to forgive before the coffins of each of us should bid the quiet farewell
just love then just love my love just seeing how it might be forever for it's the unending story of this i see: the love of this man for the woman of his dreams
I lived in Spain for around sixteen years. My Spanish is quite good; but I’m not a native in the language and never learnt it formally.
But the poem below, for some reason today, I felt obliged to write in Spanish: that is, castellano. Because there are a number of sometimes quite different languages the Spanish state and peoples communicate in. I know only castellano.
Mainly, in the street — and then receiving correction via an assiduous daily reading over the years of a linguistically ferocious Spanish newspapercalled El País.
sí lo es una huída hacia delante sin querer en absoluto y sin preocuparse por nada
porque es hora de ver si tienes razones por pensar si hay personas e instituciones que te quieren
y que quedan -como debieran- para que quererles a su vez y de vuelta sea sensato o no
porque he llegado a la conclusión que necesito estar sólo con gente de buena fe
NO las que te hacen reír ... pero entonces nada más que desde sus estupideces y desde sus más profundas idioteces donde crecen sólo sus mentiras cuando no las tetas de sus nenas
por arte del instagram o del tiktok de las narices y de los gobernantes chinos que sólo te miran
porque sólo quiero estar ya con personas buenas quienes saben ya de mi mundo desde su interior: para que otras explicaciones ya no son necesarias
y porque ellos también lo han experimentado y sufrido en el presente igual que en el pasado
y entonces si eso significa que a la gran mayoría (que solo parece que sea la mayoría y -desde luego- constituida en nada de "gran")
me veo obligado a dar mi espalda es porque tengo ganas no de dar la espalda a nadie pero en su lugar mirar con firmeza de frente
a caras como la tuya: es decir a otra clase completamente de gente
gente que sólo cree en un mundo donde el jugo que se derrita no son las sangres de la población mundial entera ni de sus cuerpos frágiles
llenos de las bondades por encima de cualquier abuso cometido por vicio y por medio de la violencia corporal
de todos los hombres y mujeres autoritarios ... pero para que -de otro modo bien distinto y precioso-
lo que echamos no es nada de menos a nada que hemos valorado desde hace siempre como lo mejor de todo ser humano
ni que hayamos querido derretir los jugos de nuestras vidas en campos de guerra y en apartamentos donde bombas despiertan al bebé recién nacido
para que pueda morir en el acto en charcos de su propia sangre con los cuerpos de sus hermanos enfrente proclamando el adiós cruel de los violentos tan poderosos ...
pues NO: no ... no ... no ... no paso más tiempo con gente así
no es ésta la vida que elijo consentir: y estar con la gentuza que sí prefieren consentirla con las sábanas rojas de esos niños todos los días de las semanas tan agredidas
NO es donde voy a quedarme: porque ya pido más a la vida y no me quedo con el lujo de beber el mejor vino por un lado y derretir la humanidad por el otro
como HAMAS nunca JAMÁS debiera haber concebido y ya no digo lo que pudo llevar a cabo porque ellos sí han sabido siempre todo lo que han hecho y han querido hacer
y así -en profundo recuerdo de ukraine y de 9/11- damos la vuelta al verso anterior: bebemos todos YA de las humanidades que más nos hacen nobles
y derretimos únicamente a partir de ahora os ruego -por favor- sólo los vinos de mas esplendor
de los viñedos con más sabiduría y que nos sean capaces de bendecir BIEN con sus alegrías de amores bien vividos y de muchos ciudadanos y ciudadanas viviendo ahora
que deben luchar con una ferocidad que corresponde SÓLO a los que han intentado por todos los medios buscar otros caminos por esos medios e incluso cuando no queremos pelear así en absoluto
porque cuando la guerra te toca a ti tienes sólo dos opciones: ninguna es fácil pero sólo una conduce a una muestra de lo que es firmemente mantenerse humano
y puedes ceder en todo por supuesto y quedar con lo que te dan si eso o puedes luchar para otro futuro bien distinto
y aunque yo sé lo que es para mí y -ciertamente siempre será así- no puedo ni debo definirlo para ti ya porque ser un humano es eso: la elección de cada uno ... elección bien propia
pero lo que sí reservo -sin sentirme mal- es el derecho a decir a la fecha de hoy y la de mañana y el año que viene y desde mis escritos
que quizás durante cientos de años pueda que perduren o -a lo mejor- solamente en las mentes de muy poco gente y a lo mejor ni eso ... ni eso mi amor
pero a decir la verdad me da igual ya porque lo único que quiero de la vida que me queda en los años venideros (y espero llenos de amor)
es encontrarme con mis gentes y NO con sangres encharcándose y ni de hombres ahorcándose ... pero sí -y eso sin duda- con mujeres y hombres tiernos
capaces de vivir la vida correctamente y de manera noble incluso cuando nos han tocado los campos de la inhumanidad más espeluznante
this is a short poem describing my arrival at a series of conclusions about life’s real nature.
i’m going to dublin ireland, month-end: it was always where i said it was the place i wanted to die — but therefore, naturally, live first too.
things have changed since those affirmations: i visited sweden and saw a much better way than anywhere i’ve ever been to of organising society: for the first time in my life, for example, i felt it cool to be old. i felt able to enjoy being old, i mean.
i don’t now know what my life holds for me. tbh, this is the truth. i have seen reasons for what has happened to me and others in the world since i was born, and i have been ignored consistently at best and prevented brutally from acting at worst.
i sense there’s nothing more i can do to share better and more productively my perceptions of what we are all collectively doing wrong these decades; and so i ultimately find it impossible to comprehend any chance of my utility arising before i die.
i therefore sense also it’s better i die sooner than later.
the cs lewis reading room in qub, belfast
the pain is become too much: to know why and be both aggressed for it and, minimum, ignored for it and simply passed over always … well … it has become just too much.
i hope you appreciate, at least, right now, for the minute, the technical skill of the poem that follows. but for me, right now, at 61 it’s not a technical act of putting digital pen to paper, at all. (nor, frankly, has it ever been.)
i hope this you also may find it in yourselves to understand.
see you all in dublin … yeah?
st stephen’s green, dublin ireland
“when it’s time to give up on placating loss”
no longer a love poem by mil williams
you loved him because of his words and the words were finer than you ever could but it wasn't just the surfaces it was the undercurrents too and the grace under pressure and the pressure under the mace that life is becoming now and even then was already
and he did the right thing that day he did at that wondrous age of 61 and so it's when you knew you should too it was just finding the way the right way to do the thing you'd wanted to do for so long and long ago because whilst the violent ones hurt your so and continue to violate your intimacy to this day all you can see now for sure is no one else cares
and as he at his 61 realises the world doesn't care for him enough to see why he's right and they're quite wrong in all their cruel uncertainties he sees it's time to leave the world to suffer alone because there's nothing to be done any more because the people in charge are whores to the totem that is the pursuit of money at the expense of humanity
he curls his digit around the figure that is the trigger and fingers it like no woman ever cared to embrace him because grace under pressure is what that's all about: doing what's right not doing what's pleasant never hesitating as the pain beckons and the abuse reminds him
that justice is criminal never natural and so that's been his life and behind him beautiful books and words and things heard that were untrue and others that really weren't and so that's the nature of the east as it grinds democracy to pieces which i no longer want to put together
so i admire and feel inspired by my man of 61 all those years ago and by the things he found it in him that he was able to get out to better a world he knew was awful enough to have to escape one day in mode of personal obliteration because in my case i don't know if in his
only five people of my closest family save themselves in my memory as it stands before i act and no friends at all have ever been more than hidden fiends in ruth: enemies as the swedish say in their tongue of the truths i have possessed but will never be able to hand on now because now is much too late to placate the loss
which i feel deep inside the soul that lays beneath my every step as they have made of ALL my life something i have wept so fully as dully i come to the final conclusion that nothing out there has ever understood a single thought i ever had
just remaining that act i too must pursue at the age of 61 that currently possesses me at month-end when in the country i knew i would cease ultimately to be: when my life WILL wend its way to exposure of necessary closure and where with one last text and webspace i will try and communicate all the things you all should have done
which really you didn't and possibly deliberately didn't and which have led directly to the funding streams and mafia-like revenue pots that enabled 9/11 and putin's russia and hamas's terrifying abuse of both israeli people and its own so-called "own":
because i ask you i really do why no one dares today to describe hamas as availing itself these horrifying weeks of a million or more human shields caring little for their integrity and zero appreciation for their sovereignty as blood and flesh in fragility ...
and so yes ... it's true too that these are the things i have seen every day from birth and all i have ever received in exchange is to be treated by an extended family and their friends and work partners as a piece of facile inconvenience to be disposed of like human kleenex regularly
wherever i attempt to go that is and be the human i needed to be that is
and so that's why now i conclude he was right my man of 61 when he determined there was one place he could go where none of them could follow him ever and just one place to be safe and one place to find peace and one place where the good people no longer had to pretend they couldn't see what the violent ones did to me ...
this i why i consider therefore the number 61 to be so beautiful: clearly NOT because of karen williams's birth nor for the horrors she has visited on so many men over the years just as my own pain was never allowed to subside by her buddies and confidantes
(people exactly like my brother tugomir too having been her lover before and after my own idiocies) nor die down humanly and reach some degree of resolution and proper forgetting ... so NOT because the day she arrived the world would become a better place
because it clearly didn't no it didn't
and then again neither because where turned upside down it's the year 91 of her daughter's birth too being that claire brett of such violent cruelties and instincts and so obsessively ridden (via her techie mates mark kelly & co) ...
so neither for mother and daughter nor for daughter and mother
but simply because i'm also 61 too this year do you hear and this time of life confers many truths it does and it's time to do and NOT write any more as i realise the wisdoms of the ages cannot be denied: for the world is a wonderful place despite what it is and not because ...
mil's page 