back in london where the streets have no point, 
the graffiti spray truth at war. 
politicians lies marching in through the out door. 
there's slaughter in the air, corruption in the wind, 
the violence inside you

casually surfacing. 
underneath friendly smiles, everyone is jaded or broke

and the only things that matter are the

shrieks of the woke.

yes back in the city, my home town, the place that spawned me, chewed me up and spat me out london calling, london burning, london's tendrils corrupt the world, where money is laundered, where arms are bought and sold, where big business decides the fate of the world. the zieglist motto among them is 'we want a war and we want one now.'

the pubs are packed with people who all share concealed trauma, smoking endless cigarettes and drinking pints until they can't talk sense and then as they re-acclimatize to surfdom and fall out the doorway to cotton infancy dreams only to return to work tomorrow and do it all again. working for the man, working for the pound, working for britain, working for her majesty, working for the tragedy of an empire that appears to have failed but is really expanding, more powerful than ever, more occluded in it's agendas than ever, harder to fathom unless you understand the ambitions of globalists. 

everyone here still thinks in terms of left / right so i can't see a way out for them. unless they shake of the ideology and invoke a framework of personal liberation. the zombie apocalypse has reached a new stage in it's evolution and unfortunately i am in the minority. it#s not i've seen the future and it's bloody, it's the present. it's not if you tolerate this then your children will be next, it's can you tolerate your children. 

on a lighter side, i'm enjoying hanging with family, catching up with my dad who is living his twilight years. he's frailer than ever and needs a lot of help, hearing gone, body weakened, mind loosing lucidity slightly. he clings to the established order of doctors no what they are doing, he takes so many medications and is completely dependent upon them to the point he won't take anything i offer in the way of alternatives or natural therapies. then there's my mother who withdrew £1000 and then immediately after threw it in a public dustbin outside the bank. he's me 30 mins later rummaging through the garbage bins among the old half eaten macdonalds burgers, old decomposed bits of food, soggy paper, cigarette butts and the rest of disparaged civilization. it's pouring with rain and notice this must seem like a very common occurrence in the high street as no one seems to care, notice or seem phased.

this has a happy ending as i do a bit of detective work and retrace mum's steps, like an antipodean dirk gently, i put together some random fragments and uncover mum never threw anything away, she just thinks she did. 

i do some book shopping in folyes, waterstones and watkins. i find a kenneth grant books i wanted but they are very expensive and i decide to let them go, not essential reading. i do pick up the new alister reynolds, 'inhibitor phase' which is something i can't wait to read.

i spend the evening at jakobs new place, a lovely spot overlooking hamstead heath, we chill out, he makes a nice dinner and have a few deep conversations, he's worked it all out.