And, the people, exhausted,

sat on their hands

and/or assumed whatever broken pose

felt appropriate,



sucked dry,

they had no more to give…





The newspaper’s full of lies,

sad surprise,

pretend integrity,

John Bull(shit),

bulwark of democracy,

deluding the masses

and buying

election victories

for the controlling classes,

puppet masters,

since the days of yore


forever more.




Honest John and other lies…

history teaches,

media, agendas,

delusions paralyze.




In Petrograd’s embrace,

tantalized, I lose my place,

the queue is long but


I don’t care.

At peace, I look up,

staring at the sky.

I fall asleep.

Beautiful, detached sleep,

life in another realm.

Poking me with a stick,

they accuse me of falling off the wagon.

“Wagon?” I reply,

“What freaking wagon? I’m from Siberia.”




Warsaw Ghetto


Stupidly grinning,

we slide into oblivion.


mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers,

civilization’s daughters and sons,





The government wants to execute you!

But their heart isn’t in it,


otherwise it would already be done.

The pretence of justice,

trial and jury,

would be dispensed,

abiding by convictions,

the system would do as expected,

and you would be shot.

But instead you are hung

and left hanging,

in limbo,

in hell.

Often, you wish they would shoot you,

like a dog,

just get it over with,

but society cares more about dogs

than people.

Uncertain fate,

neverending circle of hate.

Inside, torment

is never dormant.

Yes, they have decided to torture you

in the way that only life and living

can do.

The government wants you

to execute yourself.




Visit the newsroom,

if you dare.

For some it’s a vibrant place,

information, process, disseminate, fast-pace.

For me it’s depressing,

an overload of noise and soundbites,

mostly meaningless shit.

The editors push,

the journalists (they don’t have time or freewill to properly think)

churn out crap,

factoids and innuendos,

the readers are ready to be fed.

Welcome to the Times, New York, London,

the Sun rises and falls, Daily News, Daily Mail,

hearts fail.

Welcome to democracy’s bulwark.

Welcome to lies and fear.




It’s night-time.

I have better things to do at night

than drive

but I have to fetch the car

(Who’s car? Someone’s car. I don’t know…)


not my choice.

Isn’t life just a series of coercions?

Parked on a steep hill,

total darkness,

beckoning abyss,

I start the car,

try to balance clutch and throttle,

but gravity is stronger,

the car rolls back,

hurtling downhill,

and I can’t stop,

no brake,

no help,

no chance …

Unwilling passenger,

fate and futility,

life in this world,

spiralling down

out of control

until the road ends

a sickening crash,

tree, ditch,

I don’t know.

I wake up,





She tells me,

her husband earns shit-loads of money,

like I should be impressed,


I tell her,

society doesn’t reward people appropriately,


as I bandage her wounds.




“Populists!” the Liberals sneer,

but… isn’t that Democracy?