In Paris…

Wednesday 7th January 2015 –  People who draw cartoons are killed for no good reason.

Bus driver clicking his heels along the pavement. Heading to the toilet in the co-op “I’ll be a minute”, shuts the bus doors behind him, leaving us all standing in the rain while he goes inside to take a shit.

Mostly empty bus. Drop the newspaper on the seat and reach for a codeine tablet. Shitty bitter taste.

Paris. Terrorists have shot dead 12 people. Islam is the suspect, again. Nobody is safe from guns, or bombs in shoes, or strapped around kids in schools. Religion – for suckers. Or the crazy. Or the violent and the crazy. This time I’m fucked if I can work it out.

Muslims who I know are posting up messages on Twitter “Not all Muslims are bad”, justifying themselves, but they are fighting a losing battle now. Too many safe, fat, thick, white folks have made up their minds – “those fucking immigrant bastards…..” Moments of madness, factless conversations in the dirty streets of my home town. “Iffy” (from the tattoo on his right hand), a fifty year old man with the tongues of his cheap walking shoes poking out halfway up the laces, stands transfixed by the newspaper headlines. He mouths the words “Muslim…..Paris…..CUNTS”

Paris – heatwave in 2001, or was it 2002? Or 2003? I can’t recall. Lots of Muslims there then too, standing with me, but no bombs or guns, just smiles and laughter. What has changed? Why now? Bombs have been raining down in the Middle East for years. Pigs in the sky – Nostradamus – hunting for the new Satan.

Bury him at sea. No grave site to pilgrimage to. Let’s see him fuck a holy virgin when he’s covered in seaweed eh….

Torture, then say torture is wrong. Don’t apologise. Hide what you can before you have to roll in the PR wagon. Don’t tell the truth, tell YOUR truth to us and make us believe. Believe, like waking up from a dream where you fucked Pamela Anderson years ago. That half moment of hard-on in the second before you realise you are alone. That kind of loss is too much for anyone to cope with.

The Police State is getting stronger; we’re all in this whether we like it or not now. From long gone village bobby to snooping info police in twelve easy steps and ten hard years. Our village copper couldn’t close his lips over his prominent front teeth. He couldn’t work a computer either but he knew how to run. Left breast out at the lodge meeting. He knew his secrets but he never snooped a day in his life.

They all called it right. This is NOT the end. We are all at war, sadly.


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