facing the sack

-

The shop floor is a faded beehive on this very day: soul after soul crumpled up dead on the smoking heap of prices and tags and codes and notes. Eyes jumping from rock to rock, bed to bed, the gleaming canyons of heaven vomited onto a canvas of shit: oh wool, knitted, draping jumper; oh so crumpled and green and soft, as the ocean round england’s rocky shore.

The man had his focus set from the starting whistle, eyes narrowed and hair waxed straight in furious needles. What more could I say to the chap, as he marched through the clicking switching flinching trench: Oi! Fucking move that jumper you prick! Hurry up! Oi! You! You! Move!

But in that moment I glimpsed him naked, eyes swiped bright and fresh and live with the burning wires of panic, a crippling shock which sent fear sprinting in a rattle through his every limb and hair. The rope had been tugged and the faceless hand twitched: a tremor in the stakes of a man’s living, the earth only laughing as it started to shatter beneath sprinting feet.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Miliband the sycophant, yet again

-
Image
Yawn. That's all it induces, as your eyes doggedly scan the text, procuring the scarce semantics conveyed by the tiresome punchlines and lifeless descriptions. The text, exactly? Ed Miliband's latest interview in the New Statesman, of course. If, in some hypothetical, fitting theatrical realm, the Conservative Party was to secure the role of King Claudius, appointing from its considerable array of ministerial actors, the cursed Polonius would no doubt be assumed by Ed Miliband. The Labour leader as ever, offers little in the way of ingenuity, contradicts himself occasionally and intellectually, turns in speechless. Yet it seems as if Miliband cannot even summon the political fight to defend his own party. Labour's legacy in power remains under perpetual Conservative attack; verbal artillery decrying that ghastly, murderous, torturous, massacring, horrible, contemptible, foul  budget deficit remains live, the offensive driven forward by battle cries of irresponsibility and
Read more

How Do You Sleep - Stone Roses (1994)

-
Image
This is a true gem of a tune. It’s probably the most poppy song on Second Coming , and I much prefer it to it’s sister song on the album, Ten Storey Love Song. Ten Storey is a good song in its own right, but lacks the lyrical anger and bitterness of the first album’s snake-fanged bite. Ten Storey is also the showcase of the new Ian Brown vocal: a voice which no longer slips and bleeds through the instrumental fabric but, ala Gallagher, tries to roar over and even fight against it. John Squire’s meatier, bold guitar lines demanded a louder, more potent vocal than the soft whispers of Fools Gold, and the smothered wail heard on This Is The One. Instrumentally, The Second Coming songs lacked the loose, almost improvised roll of the first album. There are fewer empty spaces, fewer moments of pure bass and drum and therefore, fewer moments for Brown to intone gently without competing against the lead guitar.  The lyrics on Second Coming were written entirely
Read more

History repeats itself; first as tragedy, second as farce

-
They just never learn. " The swiftly changing paradigms of the political world pose a vital question for the future of the Labour Party ; evolve to incorporate new, radical ideas and provide a visionary, specific future for the British electorate with which the public may engage and participate within, or simply wither away to political insignificance, fighting the Conservatives over tiny fractions of ideological battleground. Whether or not Labour as a political party has the capacity and internal will to evolve in such a way however, is an entirely different question altogether. "
Read more