More IMF chief haiku x 2 21.05.2011.

Source The Guardian.

The President of the IMF, arguably the world's leading banker has been had up for raping a chambermaid at a New York Sofotel. Dominique Strauss Kahn, who until now has been grooming himself for the Presidency of France, could be sent to Riker's Island to do time along with other categories of hardknock.


Chief banker tells world's

poor to tighten belts

while loosening his.



IMF rapist

may go down after making

girl go down on him.



Banker turns bonker,

does time after doing crime

with other hardknocks.

In a doctor's waiting room 20.05.2011

The patients face each other

as if downstairs on a

double-decker bus


In this waiting room

there's some connection

that strings them together

unwillingly;

that reaches across discretion

unhappily;



In this place,

muteness  alone

speaks.


In this place, the posters

talk to us, read us their

stories, ask us questions.

'Meningitis and Septicaemia-the signs'.

'Health MOT. Are you due?'

'Back Ache? Frozen Shoulder?

Joints and Points now have three clinics

on the Wirral'.

'If you had blurred vision

and a sore throat, would you know

what to do?'

'Breast Milk.It's amazing'

On one poster, the joyful figure

of £1,000 has been reached in felt-tip

for the Kenya Camp.


In this place, there is not a single murmur,

though the statuesque wait on with

their small protests; a cough here,

a shuffle there, a vacant stare,

the flipping of a mobile,

a rearrangement of clothing.

A man in workboots grunts

as he rises to the siren call,

heads for the red crisis LED lights.


In this place,

muteness alone

screams the truth.

A parent-teacher meeting 13.01.2011

A parent-teacher meeting. 13.01.2011.



At six, the dark envelope

of a fleeing blackbird

folds itself down at the foot

of a beech hedge.

My bike wheels ticker

in the dusk-ink blue.



I pass the celebratory school room,

lit-up, as though

all its occupants were

tucking into something.



Around the computer desks,

shifting under the dark

bulk of parents,

shorn-headed boys

have been scrambled

for the night.



They sit small,

still wearing grey,

scrunch their fists

under the tables.



Their cheeks colour over

what has been glossed over,

what has come crashing

around their bright red ears.



Elephants tired of being

in the room have left,

have squeezed through

classroom doors,

have left them swinging.

'Too late to say it now'

thinks one lad.

Too late for the bright moment.



The bulky parents,

those who have finally

been drained of questions,

drained of care,

are loathe to leave.

Instead, at Nine,

the teachers rise

to leave them.

Night Journey on the M62

The motorway lights slide over

our driver's pate. His Doc Marten

issues play the soft pedal clutch

of this great white Wurlitzer.



Safety is in his wristwatched hand,

resting on a serge thigh,

and the knife-edge crease

of his pale-blue shirt.

Safety is the mannered flick of

the console switches.

Safety is the thud of studs as

he switches lanes,

the lay-by ghosting past.




Safety is the throbbing wheelbase,

is the cushioned hiss of

air brakes, the coach

kneeling down at his

Gardener's Arms stop.

striding forward,

billowing out, surging over

the Thelwall Viaduct.


Away over home, the neon

clusters, the billboards

say 'The Future's Knowsley'

and the mind roars with laughter,

mistranslates it:

The Future's Nowhere



A hundred novel pages read

do funny things to a night journey.



A thousand journeys say

you will be delivered safely

to your destination;

(we still say 'destination').



The driver takes us down

to 50, then 40;

after all that striding,

all that billowing

and surging

he takes us down a motorway that

fizzles out at Edge Lane,

the end.

Newspeak

Spotted in The Guardian 23.03.2011




'emotional optics'. ' Background: Allied forces attack Libya.. indiscriminate bombing, random strikes kill many Libyan citizens.

'A Senior Cabinet Minister admitted that the emotional optics of cruise missiles raining down backed by coalition military briefings had unwelcome echoes of Iraq.'



In the same paper...



'mission creep'. Background: Allied forces attack Libyan citizens in the week in which a split between a military who urged caution and Cameron's pursuance of Gaddafi



'there was disquiet about 'mission creep' ..and whether the intervention would end in an unstable partition of Libya.



The head of US African Command Gen. Carter F.Ham said he was not worried about 'mission creep.'

Freud and co. cake it 20.03.2011

Source: The Observer.

Fat cat Matthew Freud's Freud Communications Co. is being paid £500,000 a year to 'advise' on the government's new anti-obesity campaign, Change4Life. Funny that, because it also helps obesity (and itself) along via a big dollop of fizzy drinks and sweets promotions.


The £250 million Change4Life programme provides vouchers for healthy foods. Yet Mars, Pepsicola et.al. have been paying Matthew Freud's company 1.5 million per annum for the last three yeras.

It's a family stitch-up really as the vouchers are carried in the News of the Screws, owned by none other than Ruper Murdoch, whose daughter is married to... you guessed it, Matthew Freud (grandson of Sigmund)

Incidentally, Freud schmoozed David Cameron on a big fat yacht last year...



Matthew's portions grow,

fatten Murdochdom by slipped

Freudian standards.



Fat cats Freud, Murdoch

cake it, grow corpulent on

our obesity.