Tag: Adam

Political Comment Mason Cult

If you want to know what went wrong with the working class ask director Ken Loach , for donkeys years this false sense of camaraderie spewed out of the emerging television kitchen sink dramas . I would call it false romanticism all pals together fighting, warring whilst the real struggles were not properly represented or portrayed.

Where were the campaigns against slum landlords it was only when enough hardship and disease accrued that matters were taken on at the highest level and of course the countries population was not as it is now . You would find in amongst it all that the political class were as distant as they are now. It is just a perennial wheel that keeps on rolling similar iniquities throughout the land the big game changer was The Right to Buy which got the working class borrowing against property prices which is roughly where it is at now in society and the self.

Resurgent Community action that will change this country , political parties are irrelevant to most people although any policy can alter any number of lives it is no match for the final dissent of the people as in a movement an example climate activists have pushed and pushed they are now listened to at the very least the same priority should be given to any number of injustices day in day out you could in fact name it The Rebel League…

In The Morning & Find Me

In the morning time the protector rises before the Sun a violet quadrant arrives, in soothing ways it will pass over all earth to calm what it can before the rising of the white absolute giver of life and light, not everyone will be cured there is no law in karma for that to happen but God relates this energy to dispel dark forces for all he tries till sunset and dark forces once more recover their space and claim back all they can in lower realms. They exist and we will continue every day to fight with new light a constant battle for sure.

Find Me

Find me in mountains far away another plateau another day hidden in solace safety away from the storms I am now wise I am told I listened carefully truth could not reside in a better place than I exist Spartan as it maybe I am wise I was chosen to be with you set I energies o a mountains magnetic presences

 

Searching

Searching for the days of Magnificent Unity amongst many disenfranchised remnants of a once tenable society, when lost in a pit of loneliness and isolation. Desperately trying to climb from slippery depth not knowing if a hand would descend to pull them to freedom they screamed and moaned.

Above all they could see, a white dot in erratic form as if something up there was trying to rebuild what had been lost. After the third world war had enough lessons, been learned for a new code of cooperation and friendliness to exist . Soon the remaining world would see, as the sides of this pit dried and those left in could at last climb out.

Blinded by the light they emerged with nothing of material value they stumbled and walked forward as instructed for a world in emergency, an Auric Beacon could be heard followed by ovals of violet etheric flames, as moving soothing fingers attempting to crawl up and down the surviving bodies.

Emerging, the beacons trumpeted hard penetrating ears and colour twirls sparking from beacons, other sound gathered up from miles around, the energy had to be consumed to be felt. Indeed the energies of rebirth had begun to heal cosmic intervention for a new world and rebirth of real and peaceful humanity had begun. Chime Ming could be heard accompanied by a sweet warm draught of  perfumed air.

Junta Vans & the Park Bench

Land of hope and no one, all tomorrows came today. Near the park bench where old Billy used to pass, his time was the last one of the no hopes, who is so called society to judge him. His girlfriend died last year and his ears couldn’t afford emotional music.

So sat upon what was left of municipal benches, waiting cold, watching, no home, no friends, too far out even for leftovers. Soon the low droning’s sound of the British right wing junta vans could be heard drawing ever closer, by now Billy was stiffening, with growing frost that covered all of him . The gun metal grey government armoured car ground to a halt. He is now freezing. One of the crew shouted “get him to basement 59 we’ve nearly cleared them all now of every man jack we will get our bonus for clear up, but I don’t think there’s any porridge left for this one.” Said Mick, loyal soldier, of the Junta. This is Britain, the year is 2035.

Meanwhile in Glasgow the Scrap Yard Carries a Secret.

For more than seventy years in a run down area of a Scottish city called Glasgow a noted compound existed upon the top of a hill existed a place called by locals mad old metal. Commonly known in this world as a scrapyard.  Run down dirty and no match for clean modern on line parts today.  Yet it still existed owned by a cranky septuagenarian named Gonfreid McLeish.  Rusty metal and uneven wire and the obligatory German shepherd named Snooze, not as wild as he looked according to local children who regularly threw scraps for him. Every year that went by the metal in this compound seemed to drop to a darker shade of grey. more grey than rust, that is supposed to be within this mangled menagerie of mess what you could describe as treble sized round dustbin lids but without handles save for a smattering of holes atop of the lids.

“Wee scotty oan th’ wey tae schuil saw a lid chaynge shape tae a saucer ye see in th’ movies ‘n’ back again. Said hamish in th’ howf (pub).

Know one took a blind bit of notice except shrewd schoolchildren walking past this site to and from school they had noticed smattering’s of what appeared to be  vortex lights forming energy of red to the harmony of green, all speckling and arcing then drawing back to the lid metal. The children would scamper home to mums and dads babbling their tales of spinning lights bouncing from oversized grey dustbin lids.

But mums and dads just said “Git awa’ ye wee tell talers its only a jingle jungle of metal but how wrong could parents be, it would be Christmas eve at midnight when slowly the grey lids in the scrapyard would slowly rotate to a spin struggling to rise colour vortexes digging into the surfaces of the lids. Curtains in the industrial terrace district of the city pulled apart, the lids then appeared not to be lids at all but rather something else and it was apparent to all who saw, that they were watching wee space peoples going home for Christmas after seventy years behind Mr McLeish’s scrapyard you see McLeish is an alien and the lids UFOs small to the human eye cleverly masked as they are bigger on and upwards across the sky of Glasgow and who would know it was an alien base in disguise…

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