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    In The Old Mansion...


    In the old mansion, the elderly woman lies babbling in bed and dementia, in a dimmed room while watching re-runs of SAS death squads slitting the throats of teenage Argentinian conscripts on far away islands in stormy seas, clutching as she does to her heart the photo by her bedside of the good old American boy born in Tampico, Illinois, the bitter actor who in his most famous role armed and funded death squads to murder men, women and children in Central and South America, and as the accomplished actor that he was said it was freedom fighting.

    Silent Miners' towns, generation holes not cole or dole, holding in her other calloused claw a lump of coal, a trophy of a war won and done, now not the Pits but the Pits.

    Society torched, create a wasteland and call it peace.

    The Bomb of Brighton narrowly missed, the more's a pity.

    And her greatest achievement she said, before dementia scored a direct hit in laying waste to her mind, was the man with the winning smile who finally destroyed the Westminster Left from within, aided by the the power-seekers like he.

    He who destroyed Iraq and helped George II. Lies and spin, Iraqi corpses lay where once there was life, an arm here. A leg there. A Head in the gutter.

    And the man with the winning smile's greatest achievement is the man with the Camera On and the man who is the Calamity Clegg, sealing the ConDemnation of a nation long since started from the broken mind of the wretched, who Morrissey quietly asked: "When will you die? When will you die?"

    The son of Ralph is asked "why aren't you like your dad?"

    Ed smiles and laughs nervously. Aren't people naive. It's the markets and Corporations that decide elections.

    Molotovs in Athens, 
    Fascists in Athens. 
    ACAB in Athens. 
    The Troika feast in Athens, but the people resist in Athens.

    A singer dies in a plane crash in Mexico, it will be called a tragedy. 
    Ex-Mayor beaten to death, all the President's men and all the Men's Presidents spark unrest.

    Inauguration and coronation.

    Zapatistas targeted by landowners whose weapons of violence are against ideas that are weapons.

    No country in the world would tolerate missiles being fired on it's territory proclaimed Yes-We-Can-Hope '08 and Pocket full of Hope '12 as missiles were fired on Gaza, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, Somalia, Sudan.
    Drone voice. Drone missile. Attack of the Drones, Star Wars.

    The Tampico Kid would be overjoyed. The Democrats returned to him, and how.

    Sri Lanka - Genocidal clean-up, Tigers silenced, now for the judiciary.

    All change and no change please for the 10 year plan in Capitalist China, Hu is King, Wen is now?

    Party like it's 2022.

    KGB-KGB ticket for 2016 or maybe it is KGB-KGB, KGB-KGB, KGB-KGB or Revolution. Lenin's corpse twitches, maybe.

    And in the tundras of Ukraine, a Tachanka awaits to be rode.

    North of the peninsula of 39, and the great successor may fire a old missile to impress upon the masses.
    South of the peninsula of 39, military exercises, and one, and two, and stretch, and fire North.
    The Land of the Rising Sun militarises, the old Kamikaze applaud from the temples of the Rape of Nanjing.

    20,000 thousand Fascists march through a Polish city.

    The Man of Caracas shall go to Havana for treatment. 

    Langley allow themselves hope, but in the barrios, in the barrios of Caracas they sing: Uh Ah Chavez no se va.

    Fidel Castro smokes a cigar. 11 Presidents of the USA and counting.

    Still here, Che.

    England and India play cricket on the crease and the score is anyone watching?

    All roads lead to Damascus and on to Tehran, pave them with blood and corpses, and don't spare a dollar.

    Terrorists are not terrorists when they are our rebels, rebels are terrorists when they are not our rebels. 

    Get with the Capitol Hill programme.

    Deals done for a spot under the Libyan sun. Show me the money, and I'll show you the oil.

    The Man sat in a tent set alight from the lighter he gave to the man in Rome.

    Man in Rome who every so often needs a rest from party-party before coming back to rule country and media.

    A statue to the face, fall from grace, marketed as a lovable disgrace.

    In Oslo, receive your award. Economic War is Peace. Economic Freedom is Slavery....Athens burns.

    And Lisbon will burn with them.
    And Madrid will burn with them.
    And Paris will burn with them.
    And Brussels will burn with them.
    And London will burn with them.

    In the old mansion, the elderly woman who once bellowed she was not for turning is turned to prevent bedsores.

    And she cackles. Dreaming of far away islands in stormy seas.

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