I too exist in this liminality of past and futures to be. The bus is
quiet and my mind turns to the figures and ghosts of imagined years and
decades to be, that have been and still might be. It's dark and unreal I
glance at houses as I pass no lights can be seen as those within sleep,
hide or deny this time of year. The Christmas lights occasionally shine
for a Christmas gone and a New Year to be.
As it begins to dawn on many that while they voted Tory the expect the workers rights given by Labour and the EU.i have to force down the schadenfreude within myself to stay silent. As Johnconia prepares to be birthed out of the relic of the British state the bus heads towards Pontardawe and on to Swansea. Perhaps the unpleasant dreams will not arise into reality and my cynicism be dashed .Perhaps these thoughts are the product of liminality where I am still unformed and unsure. Perhaps they are a defence against possibilities and fears, perhaps I show off and reveal my own defence or cleverness. These days of liminality between the decades and holidays ask much of us. As Brexit claims to be done we find it undoing so many things. As Johnson claims a new golden age I sense instead a new gilded age born and slouching towards 2020. I reflect on Johnson's boast of Etonian schoolboy Greek and am reminded of the Iliad where Homer stares " Hateful to be, as the gates of Hades is the man who states one thing and keeps another secret hidden in his heart. This is the gilded age of a toxic racist Britain set in a polluted sea, fed by chlorinated chicken and on the path to a Singapore like state on the edge of Europe. This is xenophobia writ large, as the sheep bare their throats to Trump's crocodiles and the corporate wolves of the boardrooms. It is not that Brexit is done or that we have our country back instead others have taken control and ii is millions of the vulnerable and outcast that are done for. Welcome to the nightmares and ghosts moving through the liminal days at the end of 2019..
As it begins to dawn on many that while they voted Tory the expect the workers rights given by Labour and the EU.i have to force down the schadenfreude within myself to stay silent. As Johnconia prepares to be birthed out of the relic of the British state the bus heads towards Pontardawe and on to Swansea. Perhaps the unpleasant dreams will not arise into reality and my cynicism be dashed .Perhaps these thoughts are the product of liminality where I am still unformed and unsure. Perhaps they are a defence against possibilities and fears, perhaps I show off and reveal my own defence or cleverness. These days of liminality between the decades and holidays ask much of us. As Brexit claims to be done we find it undoing so many things. As Johnson claims a new golden age I sense instead a new gilded age born and slouching towards 2020. I reflect on Johnson's boast of Etonian schoolboy Greek and am reminded of the Iliad where Homer stares " Hateful to be, as the gates of Hades is the man who states one thing and keeps another secret hidden in his heart. This is the gilded age of a toxic racist Britain set in a polluted sea, fed by chlorinated chicken and on the path to a Singapore like state on the edge of Europe. This is xenophobia writ large, as the sheep bare their throats to Trump's crocodiles and the corporate wolves of the boardrooms. It is not that Brexit is done or that we have our country back instead others have taken control and ii is millions of the vulnerable and outcast that are done for. Welcome to the nightmares and ghosts moving through the liminal days at the end of 2019..