Posts Tagged ‘social justice’

We as a race are a broth,
A primordial soup of sorts,
Despite the delectable taste,
It’s an uneven brew,
Unequal in its very composition,
Poverty and fracking reflected in its surface,

The ingredients are indeed all present,
The boiled water of first breathes,
Chicken stock and upbringings,
The ever reliable starches of the working class,
Spices from every corner of the Earth,
Taken and gathered,
Governing herbs to hold it together,
Theoretically,
Chopped vegetable and bankers tax cuts,

Inequality is a salt,
An unfortunate seasoning,
In this broth of a nation,
In this broth of a world,
The majority blend delectably,
The scum invariably rises to the top.

The people and clergy preach righteousness,
Blame all evil on some fallen angel,
As if all malice is inflicted upon them,
Coming from humanity though,
It drips with hypocrisy,
Like drool from a rabid dogs mouth,

It’s a deficit in responsibility,
Man does not approve of the devils work,
But it was they who gave him the job,
Gave him his horns,
With their idle hands and dark thoughts,
Arms deals and genocides,

But alas,
I say this not to absolve Lucifer,
Simply to enlighten,
That in all his infernal majesty,
He is but an accomplice,
And we are on his shoulder.

Spare a thought for the terraces,
The rows and rows of townhouses,
Laid together like crops,
Young families and single parents and renters,
Elbow to elbow,
Like sardine cans of red brick,

And like a harvest,
They are the Mans bounty,
A store shelf of useful bodies,
The working class of corn and hops,
Average Joes and Janes,
Meat for the stock market butcher,

These people,
In their streets of grey,
They weren’t born to work,
But they need work to subsist,
Captive livestock so to speak,
And the terraces provide.

Oh you old patriarchs,
With your blue pill brawn,
Do not test that dame,
For her body is her own,
Your book has no sway over her,
Nor her every sister,

She is not cattle,
She is an alpha,
She heeds no leash,
She is beautiful but fierce,
She is primal but regal,
She is every woman,

Even with your pewter gavels,
Never think you can tame her,
She speaks to wolves,
And she sees you,
She has her fangs bared,
And she’ll tear apart your fetid podium.

Society has a way of corrupting the best of us,
It is unclear how,
Opulence seems to be insidious like a stalker,
Turning all to gaunt consumers,
Even bastardising superheroes,

Gods brought down to our level,
Awash in vice and stigma,
Their powers become trademarks,
Capes and super-suits degraded to mere logos,
Reducing them to intellectual properties,

Through our modern lens,
They shift from paragons of virtue,
To arrogance personified,
No better than us mere souls,
Full of hollow want and indecency,

Like us they chase the next high,
With nobody to tell them no,
Who could argue with Superman?
Tell off Thor?
Hold the Hulk responsible?

Who could save the day,
When the heroes are instead pursuing dollars?
It is a sad day indeed,
When heroism is about numbers and shares,
Rather than the act itself.

That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.

Good day inmates!

So another week is here eh? How’s it been for you? 2022 thrown any spanners at you yet? I certainly hope not, that would be rather rude. I’m really not enjoying the winter, I’ll admit. I’ve had a stinking cold yet again. It’s more annoying than debilitating at this point. It also seems like almost everyone I know is getting similar things. It’s not the great plague either, just the time of year I suppose. Still, it’s not stopped me writing at least.

So, it’s time for part 118 of the Harlequins writing music. I wonder if one day I’ll get to a thousand parts of this series. That’s quite an insane thought, even for me. Did anybody see my clue earlier today? I revealed that I’m showing off a single band in todays edition. Did anybody work out who the band was?

Yes, that’s right! It was Paddy and the Rats! Now, they are a band I’ve listened to for a couple years after finding them purely by accident on the great tube. They are a rather distinctive band from Hungary that take a lot of inspiration from the likes of Celtic and folk music. At times they can sound like a fairly standard punk rock band, but then throw in an accordion, electronica and a variety of instruments I don’t even know the names of. They have their fair share of upbeat jigs, but then are quite capable of slower, more sombre melodies. I’m going to try and show you guys just how broad their music chops can go. Let’s go, shall we?

Join me as we delve into the musical minds of Paddy and the Rats!

Paddy and the Rats – That’s My Nature

Paddy and the Rats – Join The Riot

Paddy and the Rats – My Sharona

Paddy and the Rats – Dark After The Night

Paddy and the Rats – Ghost From The Barrow

And there we go! Quite a varied array of songs eh? I could listen to these guys all day to be honest with you. It wasn’t actually too easy to narrow down my choices to only five songs, but I could hardly put the bands entire discography on here. They even did their own version of the song ‘Drunken Sailor’! It’s really good! As always, I’ll include a link to their website here for your perusal. I hope you check them out, they really deserve the love!

Here you go! https://www.paddyandtherats.hu/

Speaking of links, I ought to include my own eh? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and even a Twitter page! Please consider following me over on those as well, it really helps! Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Cheers for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Let me tell you a story,
A yarn of spies and the spied upon,
Of a world under our own,
A world of shadow and masks,
A world we are not privy to,
For the better,

She is a woman,
But also an agent,
A clandestine weapon with fake lashes,
All false wigs and suppressors,
A dame of deception,
She had slain tyrants while wearing unfamiliar faces,
She once had a lover,
But the flag stole him under its yolk,

He is a man,
But also a tool,
An extension of his nations left hand,
All handguns and sabotage,
An artist of wetwork,
No foreign dossier is safe from his gloves,
He longed for a normal life once,
But the flag kept drawing him back,

It’s a tale of two nations,
A love story spelled out in gunshots and dead drops,
Of two souls under opposing masters,
Once brought together by their humanity,
But rent asunder by the flags inhumanity,
Forced in future to kiss via crosshairs.

Stashed in this dark cubicle,
Like a vintage speaker inoperable,
I languish in pained silence,
No more does poetry and music escape these lips,
No longer do I monologue,

I am alone,
No incoming voices,
No mechanics come to fix me,
Just perpetual let down after sore event,
Spurring me to depressive inaction,

With each crank of the dial,
I am less myself,
Turned down in volume,
A muted soul,
No longer to produce a syllable nor tune,

The loneliest sound is a single teardrop.

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.