Reluctant Blogger, Average Poet

[notes-from-wonderland]

In a memo to Interior Secretary Doug Burgum and Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem regarding tribal members recently detained by ICE, Frank Star Comes Out, president of the Oglala Sioux Tribe, said:

“This is a treaty violation. Treaties are not optional. Sovereignty is not conditional. Our citizens are not negotiable.”

He added:

“The irony is not lost on us.”

[jonboudposts]

Cafe Life #9: Hastings Special

‘I became a ghost in the machine, filling several nearly invisible roles’ – scott crow, 2005

New Years Eve

The walk from St Leonards to Hastings and back is getting quicker. On New Years Eve it was pretty populated but without excitement. It feels like being in a stop off point before passing into another realm as this one ends. Much of the two towns are still open, except the antique dealers or specialist art shops. There are less boarded-up shops around here than in most seaside towns. It feels less burnt out than most seaside towns.

We are just around the corner from the lovely B&B we stayed in the first time we came down here; sadly fully booked this time around.

Green House Cafe; Hastings

Cup of tea = £2

The interior has a lovely set of green and white tiles. The tables and chairs mostly match, in a sort of Art Deco style, but with a more Middle Eastern feel. No tea here though, it’s lunch time. Halloumi burger with roasted peppers and lentil soup. Both are very tasty. There is a decent amount of middle eastern fare around these parts, makes me feel at home.

We sit awaiting the end of a truly terrible year.

Over the road is a smoke shop where two old geezers sit smoking cigars at outside tables. They are no doubt drinking in the atmosphere of the cobbled street, or just wasting their time pretending to be big shots. Witnessing two middle aged wasters sitting around doing nothing in a cafe is jarring; what losers.

Petit Fi

We moved over the street to get a chai latte and a piece of cake. I cannot remember the name of the cafe, but it was staffed by nice old ladies and was full of fake old fashioned warmth but I didn’t care this time (obviously I remembered the name later). The toilet was down the steep staircase, next to a food storage area. Inside the toilet there were pictures of Elvis Presley all over the walls, plus a shelf of cookery books.

There were many families in these two cafes. Sitting with their children, grown up and young, sharing the wonderful Twixmas period in their security and comfort. No one seems to be suffering from the breakdown of the country.

Two old ladies sit next to us; one is discussing her grandson and his wife, who is American (‘not a Trump one’). She talks about how he has found someone ‘aspirational’ like him. I fucking deeply hate the aspirational, who use that word because they do not have the balls to admit to being selfish and greedy, or that they do not care what and who they destroy in the process of getting whatever they want. ‘I am a self-serving psychopath’ would be a more honest way for them to describe themselves.

I suppose I am jealous because I have no aspiration, right? Sure, I have no aspiration; except to change the world, make it led by the concerns of people and not the greed of the wealthy; to provide a place for great culture to once again exist. To make sure everybody has food and shelter. But what’s aspirational about that? Fucking idiots. I want to grind broken glass into the gaping wound that this vile society has become; make them feel an inch of the pain they inflict on others. The rhubarb and custard cake is really tasty.

Daydream Cafe; Hastings

Cup of tea = £2.50

This is a family run place and the food looks great. Middle eastern fare again, I would guess the family are Turkish. The menus hang over the counter, fixed on to old piping, which is a neat look. A very good menu and not too expensive, comparatively. There is some Latin music playing quietly in the background; although it is such an insult to describe any good music as background. Wish I had come here last night, although I did get a good wrap at I Love Falafel next door.

There is a birthday happening. The two kids of the family (kids to me, early 20s probably) must be twins, as an older lady from another shop around here comes in to give them both birthday presents. It is nice to see how much she and the family connect. It brings a great warmth to the place. The kids clearly like her very much and the parents/owners are very happy to see her. She’s a bit too keen that the parents see the presents. She is struggling to breath a bit, says she always does in the cold. England in January; bad luck lady.

This is the most human I have felt since we got here. Daydream has the biggest tea mugs so far, huge white porcelain that contains the powerful drink that powers my impotent writing. The local paper says Hastings council have a plan to end rough sleeping. I should keep tabs on it. If only I could write characters.

Time to leave. It’s cold and NYE is a waste of time, so we retire early to our room. I night of reading, plus writing an appeal relating to the Palestine Action hunger strikers. It will probably be pointless, but doing nothing is not an option. People are willing to die for justice, while I wander around the seaside lacking a purpose. I hate being from this country. Everything is the same.

New Years Day

NY Day can be pretty good but this year it’s a downer. This country’s slide into self-made oblivion; another year gone; nothing good on the horizon; more hot weather; more scheming cunts in political power.

Our hotel breakfast is nothing special. The hotel is fine, but has the thinnest walls and floors I have ever experienced. People upstairs can have a normal conversation and it echos through our room like they are in the bathroom. Not entirely their fault, although you could take your shoes off mate. NYE of course meant people making even more noise, as if it were acceptable. The fireworks went off at midnight then around twenty minutes later the neighbours rolled in, yakking in their phoney geezer accents and clomping on the floor. The virus of New Years Eve got me again after all these years. I had a process to prevent this, but somehow have allowed it to happen again. You cannot avoid the festivities, so find something to do in as quiet a place as possible until it all passes. Thought I had this down after so many years, but once again the compulsion of stupid strikes again and I sit up in bed unable to sleep while wankers pretend to have the best night ever in my ear drums.

Breakfast time is always a laugh in these places as people wander in and you try and match the body with the disturbing voice from the night before. Everyone seems much calmer now. Good for them. Let’s put this away and get out there, there is New Years Day walking to do.

Dark Circles; St Leonards

I have no idea how much a tea is here because we didn’t have any and I didn’t look. If the ridiculous prices of the vinyl are anything to go by, it would be stupid money for an average brew. We go in to look at the records, in the way you go to a museum to see something that you will never own. This is how I engage with most record shops these days, vintage shops too. This is the place to remind yourself of things passed, or how they have been updated and just how much we can be ripped off for the resale of old shit.

Dark Circles on NYD is only really worth mentioning because as we came in they were playing A Love Supreme, which is a fucking awesome record to begin the new year with. I flick through the unaffordable booty with a renewed sense of life having purpose. I must resolve to fight harder this year, in all ways.

There is a complete disconnection between myself and the world when it comes to vinyl, in that I cannot underline enough the fact that only in an alternate reality would I ever pay £35 for one album. It is literally – Literally – not going to happen that for one item of recorded music, I pay that much. Even if I were rich, that is beyond acceptable in my mind. How many second hand CDs could I buy for that money? Heresy I know, but I prefer CDs. They take less care. Record players have endless problems with stylist or drive belts; while vinyl itself is a dust magnet. Caring for it is really not worth the effort. Paying out these sums for something you have to care of like a baby is mental.

There was a Boris live record on Third Man that I probably could have bought in hindsight, as it was not too expensive. I have not listened to that band in too long.

I am writing up these notes around a week later, with A Love Supreme playing while I do. It strikes me how blurry my memory already is of New Years Day, like it was months ago. I am confused about which cafes we went to on 1st January, or was it the 2nd? This disconnection from daily life may be a factor of the modern world, with its sped-up motion coupled with redundant activity and sameness that grinds the mind. Or maybe I am breaking down. My mind is so fractured that I cannot learn anything. I wish I could include more history in these writings, more about the areas, but this does not retain within my mind.

Last Day: 2 January

The air is carrying the tiredness today. The light barely able to register.

Stereo Retro

Earl Gray = £2

This shop is all about second hand (and very beautiful) stereo equipment and hot drinks, including a very interesting array of coffees. They have imported coffee from Ethiopia among other places, plus the usual classic teas. As a non0coffee drinker, I am informed this is good, strong stuff; all power to your pallet.

Again this place has lovely big mugs that make the tea warm in figurative ways as much as physical. Again the records are overpriced, both new and used, but the ambiance is nice, if rather dark. Chairs and tables are a little like the ones from school, with wooden discomfort that brings back memories you fought to suppress. The fellas running it seem chill.

Breakfast Zone; St Leonards

Second breakfast has turned into early lunch. We are chewing at the fringes of this time out by now, as we wait for our train that sadly has a fixed departure time. This place is busy and bustling, more Mediterranean fare, along with your chips and beans, apple pie. This is your great gastro-mix. This is the future.

All I can think about is state repression, killing protestors for daring to stand up and fight back. Nothing is new but everything is so naked now; raw, exposed, not even bothering with excuses. I yearn for the death of the American Empire, the downfall of Israel, the liberation of all people.

I am tiring of cafe life.

Fika; St Leonards

Chai Latte = £3.60

We really have nothing to do now until the train comes, so spending more fucking money drinking the overpriced tea and staring out a window of this chichi and pretentious little eatery. How worthless. Do I even deserve life? Then again, do you?

There are worse ways to seek time out, it is just a pity more time out seems to be required all the time these days. I wonder if a long-term solution can ever be reached; or do we just grind our wheels until they break?

As we leave this last cafe and head to get our bags, I pull my coat around me. We have a long winter ahead. Replenishment will be necessary, so take it where you can. I will be as involved in action as I can manage, but otherwise it is the comfort of reading anti-fascist books, listening to the winter albums (a wide range, from Street Hassle and Wounded Rhymes to A Love Supreme) and lots of exercise. I need to break this, for myself and my wider role in the world. I must embrace that responsibility.

On reflection, the New Year was particularly pathetic this year; it disappeared quicker than Christmas. Starting the writing up my notes on 4th January, three days before seems genuinely like months ago. I have avoided work for long enough now; if you are not ‘recharged’ by this point, give up.

[jonboudposts]

Cafe Life #8: Munch Munch Sandwich Bar, Bethnal Green Road

Cup of tea = £2

No creativity.

Fucking hell, I need a cafe. Slouching through another post-Xmas burn out. Sharp sunshine is slicing through the streets of East London, but it cannot cancel the darkness. Fuck inflation, prospects low, we are running out of time. Out of the tunnel, into the morning light. Cut it back, break it down, remove almost everything. Silence yourself.

The city’s homeless have been mostly cleared away again, into schools and disused buildings; the once-yearly tradition that keeps many a charity CEO employed and you dirty fucking hypocrites feeling like you have done something other than please yourself during the time of goodwill. We can do this all year around you know.

I was going to ride the Central through to Liverpool St and just get home but I need a tea. We just closed down the Stratford Day Centre for Crisis Over Christmas; another year, yet more homelessness. A thinking person might conclude that our system is not working. A failed state, with fascism on the horizon. We have to prepare for a fight at any time; really any time; both physical and mental, but it’s so fucking hard. This is my failure, but also their design.

Been passing the Munch Munch for a while and today it is open. The food supply is limited, as the time of year dictates, but a chicken sandwich does the job (around £4.50), the tea even more so and I can sit in the narrow space looking out onto Bethnal Green Rd, the over the road is what looks like a former factory building, at least in the upstairs. The windows not updated to any modern standard; the facade hard brick and with layers of grime probably my age. Next door is a swanky set of new flats above an off-licence. A One has a TV so big on their wall I can see the screen from here.

This tea is perfect. I should have another but for some reason choose to move on. I should have stayed. I am the only customer in here, just me and the woman behind the counter. A nice warm place to watch the world sliding into oblivion. I love East London so much; this is the Reform cunt’s worst nightmare and I have never found a place where I feel more comfortable. No wonder capital is trying to kill this. Beware, if you take everything away from me, I will have nothing to lose and I am smart enough to know who my enemies are.

[jonboudposts]

Jehnny Beth

It’s been a long and hot fucking summer

Full of dread; starvation and massacre becoming routine

Pissing up the lampposts high enough to hit the flag

Realising how many cunts live around you

But in the dark of a small room in the undefeated city of London

As Jehnny Beth takes to the stage

I feel the first breeze of Autumn

[jonboudposts]

Summer 2025

Those burning summer albums sound heavier as time goes on

The music does not change of course, but life does

As Britain becomes a fascist state, slowly softening up to leadership from one of the most politically irrelevant men ever, whose whole career has been forced upon us by the BBC, LBC and probably MI5

Somehow not being able to march though the streets of our own capital makes The Stooges and MC5 sound more relevant

Death to the IDF; they are the scum of the earth

The city is disappearing into the pockets of the mega rich

As neo-liberalism crumbles, taking us all with it

I am still full steam ahead into the wild city for all that my little irrelevant life could be worth

If you have any idea where I am going, a quick shout in my direction would be greatly appreciated

Burn down the betting shops

Take back real control – for the working class

Stop participating

There is no reason to get involved here

It will not go the way you want it to, or how you imagine

Disconnect

It has all been brought down to a level no one with taste or caring could possibly engage with

Stop talking

Just let the silence wash over you

Withdraw

[jonboudposts]

Save the Prince Charles Cinema; Letter to the Mayor of London

Dear Sadiq Khan

I am writing to you regarding the Prince Charles Cinema (PCC) in Leicester Place - the only remaining independent cinema in the West End of London. As you probably know, the cinema has recently been informed by their landlords Zedwell LSQ Ltd (a subsidiary of Criterion Capital https://www.criterioncapital.co.uk/contact/) that they will not have their expected lease renewed this coming September; in fact another lease with a six month ‘get out’ clause will be put in place, allowing Zedwell to give six months’ notice to vacate the premises. There is no legitimate reason to do this and fans of the cinema including myself feel this course of action should be prevented and the cinema should be preserved.

The PCC is in no way a failing business. Last year it saw record numbers of customers – 250,000 tickets – up on 2023 (for the second year in a row). It hosts regularly sold out shows, for audiences of all ages. Many travel from outside of London to see films here because of the varied and rich programme of films offered; from Hollywood blockbusters to b-movies (you have probably been there yourself and if not, I recommend you visit). The owners of the PCC have made public their intentions to grow the cinema, in a time when many multiplexes stand empty for many of their screenings.

The Prince Charles is fit for the future.

What we are really seeing here is the unrelenting greed of certain rich individuals who own property in London, destroying the cultural life of this fine city for their own financial gain -building endless expensive flats and desecrating the cultural environment around them.

I write to ask you to intervene, as a fierce supporter of London nightlife. The PCC is part of the fabric of the West End (Soho in particular) and everyday gives people the wonder of cinema. It has comparatively low ticket prices, allowing greater accessibility for all income brackets (further savings for those with membership). It is an act of cultural vandalism to even consider closing this cinema and it must be prevented. Zedwell/Criterion Capital have enough money and properties around London and have no need to destroy a wonderful institution like the PCC. Please work with the management and staff of the PCC to support their campaign to stay open and remain a vibrant part of the West End; we do not need any more moulding of London into a sterile business wasteland.

Please do not be swayed by any donations that Criterion have made to the Labour Party (see https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/2025/02/the-prince-charles-cinema-and-the-death-of-culture-in-london). Asif Aziz should not be allowed to shut down anther much loved venue in London. Please consider all avenues for preventing this, including any changes to regulations. Be the mayor for the working class of London, not the ruling class.

Yours sincerely

Jonathan Boud

London resident and lifelong film fan

[jonboudposts]

Cafe Life #7: Aroma Coffee Cafe, Hastings

Pot of Tea = £2.20

Hastings is the only seaside town I like. It is the only one I have been to that is not full of people with that seaside resentment. You know, they hate you because you are from London. They hate that they are not from London. They hate that you know they hate you because they are not from London. But Hastings does not seem to be like that. Maybe it’s all the weed I keep smelling; impressive amounts for a Tuesday afternoon, considering we are in a seaside town. This has always been a thing, along with any youth subculture being represented along the sea front. I do not remember ever smelling this much in London. Right now we are under right wing attack for being ‘stab city’, which never happens in any other city around the world, especially not the ones full of white people. It also never happened in London during Boris Johnson’s time as mayor. Nothing ever went wrong then of course. In fact, he was scrupulous with public funds that one. No money wasted on non-exist bridges for the rich, nor unknown amounts of cash pushed to some ditzy business girl he was fucking, who looks like she could be his sister. Our state of New Feudalism will simply not allow the truth or facts to get in the way of their self-victim narrative.

This is a nice cafe. Wooden-style panelling inside. I should have had a beget, but instead had my Earl Gray with a scone. It was an average scone but at least they warmed it up. The people running the place seem very nice and I will probably come back, if I get here again. Spring is here. It’s getting warmer, as America flounders in the grip of fading empire dreams; while the K’ed up unelected dip shit in chief fires everyone he can (most will be able to take him to court anyway) and your food basics continue to get more expensive. Imagine not only voting for this, but this being your last vote; you die before the next election rolls around, when once again Elite #1 faces off like a cut-price wrestling match with Elite #2 to offer you as little as humanly possible and once again you trudge down to the town hall or wherever they hold these things in America to stamp your card and then fuck off for another four years to watch TV and tut. But as is inevitable, this will be the last vote for some people. You die having helped unleash this torrent of shite. ‘Well, I did my part’ you rationalise on your deathbed (or in the comfy old chair a relative left you).

Aim higher. Never open the doors for these abusive dog fuckers, even if they can kick the doors off perfectly well themselves. Let them make the effort and get in their way at every opportunity.

We finish up and walk off to find a museum. I should probably say something meaningful and celebratory at this point, but I do not really have it in me. Middle age in unforgiving, not least in exposing your failures in ways you can no longer ignore. At least we have the cool Spring breeze for now.

[jonboudposts]

Cafe Life #6: Paula’s Cafe, Hackney

Cup of tea = £2 (if I remember rightly)

This is heaven. A full London cafe on a Sunday afternoon. The smell incomparable as a community eats, drinks, laughs and mourns, kisses and cuddles and gets ready for another week. Children play; oldies remember; wanky wannabe writers sit in the corner scribbling.

Hackney gets a lot of shit these days. In fact it always did, but for different reasons. This area is now condemned equally for the population of poor people, mostly ethnic minorities whose existence still seems to cause the Telegraph apoplexy and next to them, the incomers of more secure economic means gained through bullshit jobs. They sit in the same seats as the OGs, have the same conversations; often have the same dreams, with greater social capital to achieve theirs. Sometimes they also want to lynch the landlord and make everything fairer. They might just make it as comrades yet. Maybe.

While the economic situation is a disgrace, socially this area shows a degree of intergradation that the right hates to recognise, no matter how minor it is. This is their only battleground, even though they lost it decades ago. But their combined power in politics and economics has not sated their perverse desire for domination (actually it has driven them mad). They want the one thing they have failed at time and again – culture. They will desecrate the education system, housing and our working life to try and gain a hand over us in the one place the working class has always exercised power over society. From student grants to decent rates of benefits, they will not rest until hope is destroyed; all TV and film are costume dramas; all music in Mumford-ised.

There are an alarming number of eateries down this road now. Gentrification on full (although that is a little unfair, as some of them are not that expensive and the food is good). Paula’s stands out; a proper cafe (yes, that description is used too often in these gastric frontline reports, but I am a limited writer). The tea is strong, sometimes stewed and the food is as much about filling you with the energy to do battle for another day. For what are our lives now, in work and play, but the endless fight for leverage with the ruling class? It is starker than ever.

I could go for the full breakfast at lunchtime, or my default setting of Sheppard's Pie; but today is about tea and cherry pie. With custard, naturally. It takes the mind and body along a road to comfort in the familiar; not the hated nostalgia that has crippled the country, but a reminder of those that came before, that loved us and created that which we rely on to enrich us; from the NHS to baking pies. Homes full of warmth; work for the betterment of all. Spaces we can occupy and enjoy, with no economic incentive. It’s all connected baby.

As we wonder through the dull winter sunlight with haunted looks upon all the faces. We know London like they never will. The ravers and punks use to have this city. You can still feel a subdued bass from once-abandoned buildings, now being ‘reclaimed’ by the property parasites. We loved East London when it was dangerous. I wish those cunts on social media crowing about every knife crime really could not walk these streets. They would be a nicer place without you.

Things were not always like this, I want to tell the two youngsters sitting next to us. This city can sing again to the sound of our voices, not the monied scum in the unaffordable tower blocks. The city is wounded, but not dead. Cafes are another site of political and social resistance. This is where we feed; our fuel for the class war.

[radicalgraff]

"Remember Kids, refugees aren't stealing Ireland's resources. Real estate investment companies are!"

Sticker spotted in Rathmines, Ireland

[jonboudposts]

Margate beach; 16/07/24

[jonboudposts]

Margate; 16/07/24

[antifainternational]

July 24, Washington DC - Arrest Netanyahu for War Crimes Against Humanity!

[jonboudposts]

[jonboudposts]

[jonboudposts]

Rejecting Culture Wars

Rwanda is not a safe country. It is an authoritarian state that has documented human rights violations to their name, not least involving asylum seekers and they try to shut down anyone, including international journalists, who bring attention to this.

But we already know this. But we have entered a state of cruel and spiteful one-upmanship from people who even when they have power still want to destroy anything that disagrees with them. Conservativism has ruined the world for at least 40 years of political and economic power; but they will always have a chip on their shoulder about culture.

Our most recent iteration is being anti-woke. This is the latest variation that runs from being anti-PC left-over 90s crap to full-on white supremacy in the mainstream. Everyone from the most extreme racists in public to washed-up comedians now whines about woke culture somehow being responsible for their present state of affairs. Woke, like PC before it, holds no real power. It is just a case of being polite and decent to people, hated by those unable to face that life has moved on; or because the greatest political achievement they hope for in life is to tell racist jokes without feeling guilty. Woke holds no power, so it does not really exist in the people accused of it.

Woke is an excuse for failure; woke is something to blame when time has moved on and no one will tolerate your bullshit and unfunny jokes any more.

The painful truth is we have failed to take real control of our lives. Working for a living has never been fun, but in today’s failed realm of neo-liberal desperation, it defines our lives more than ever; as we work for less, have to pay out increasing amounts for a roof over our head or food in our bellies. Nothing means anything beyond productivity; this is all we are good for and all we will ever be used for - in that world, what do you expect culture to amount to? It’s just another excuse for producing capital in some way and nothing more.

When it comes to the prominent practitioners of anti-wokism, they are very easy to take apart. They are nothing more than an attention-seeking self-serving and usually talentless twat demanding you give them your precious time and sometimes money; sometimes they are the Nazi scum that we dealt with yesterday and they are back with a new version of the old prejudice.

Always beware of false prophets and anyone not taking on capitalism is not tackling the problem, ever. Everything else is nothing more than our old enemy; distraction.

Many try to excuse What is subversive? Is it too much in our broken pretend society to ask for something with meaning? Real subversion is almost impossible to find, not least because it has been co-opted as part of the capital takeover of everything; or it has fallen victim to the very anti-working class politics we have lost out to; because the middle class and higher are never going to take down a system that they benefit from.

I have never had a problem with being offensive; I have a problem with doing it for no reason. This is the behaviour of school kids.

All we are doing is allowing overgrown teenagers to take our time and attention; in a period when it is in short supply and the stress of the world is far too much.

How often do you see a genuinely subversive viewpoint put across? Something that challenges power. I want to see the death of patriotism. I know this viewpoint will annoy some people, deeply upset others and get me death threats if the wrong people pick it up. But I mean it sincerely because I think it is a cultural poison that makes the world a worse place. It causes conflict and the only people who believe it (‘believe’ is debatable) are the worst, most repulsive people in society. Racist, backward, always hiding their extremism (up to and often including Fascist ideals of race purity) behind love of nation and the violent enforcers of that ideology, the police and armed forces. They attack anyone who deviates from this viewpoint; anyone who dares to cross an imaginary boundary in a land we are constantly lectured to is ‘free’.

All of these characteristics were present in fascist Italy, Nazi Germany and plenty of other human rights abusing societies before and since.

It is also just pathetic. You do nothing for the people of this country, yet claim you love it. You are always criticising it; saying people are terrible and they do not belong. Waving a flag is the most low-energy, low intellect activity that can be. It involves no commitment.

Ditch this grievance politics. You get nothing from it and the worst people and corporations just monetise your discontent.

[jonboudposts]

Marx at Play Episode 4: Gang of Four by Power Cut Podcasts

In this fourth episode, Jon is joined by Chip from Poetry on the Picket Line to discuss the great UK band who combined funky basslines with

[jonboudposts]

Xmas 2023: Dead Culture Reigns

Christmas is progressing as I write this with nothing but inevitability. Too much money has been spent. Too much alcohol drunk. Too many people eating too much. Even more people not eating enough. Far too many sleeping in the streets. Looking around the media at least, it seems like nothing truly ever changes; just as many wish it to be. Christmas is a child fantasy orchestrated by adults who refuse to grow up, preyed upon by those who only wish to make money from the process.

This is a time of inviability; finely tuned to reduce surprises. Although for the first time in a long time, the music charts were a battle ground for the coveted Xmas Number 1 Slot; fought out between two songs that are forty years old and one that is thirty years old. All of which beats the Simon Cowell annual stitch up for sure, but has no other culturally worthwhile feature.

There are new Christmas songs, but no one hears them because radio does not do it’s job of presenting new music for people to decide themselves if they like it or not. The creative powers behind Last Christmas and Fairytale of New York are both gone now. George Michael it seems was beaten down by a music business that wanted him in a box, to be taken out at their whim to make money doing the same album over and over. He had other ideas. Shane MacGowan was also someone judged by the same industry, not least for daring to give us songs about injustice, the vile actions of the British state in Ireland, the working class history of standing up to power, or just the humanity of those rejected by society and left in the streets. Few obituaries discussed his politics. Some mentioned his support for a free Ireland; none that I have seen mentioned his support for a free Palestine.

Now the same powers just want us to download or stream or however you do it; the same songs because no one is allowed to make new ones, unless of course they sound like autotuned versions of the old ones.

But no, I must be dreaming. There are no other options, only what has come before can be repeated – from shit music to failed economic programmes. There can be nothing new, ever. There can never be any genuine progress.

TV was just as empty. All the usual Christmas specials of yesterday (and the day before; and the day before that) were on again. If you missed them, you could catch them on streaming, or another satellite channel that exists purely to make you believe no culture has existed since the late 1970s. The figures came out Boxing Day stating that the King’s speech had got millions of views or plays or however they grade it now. The most popular programmes were Doctor Who and Strictly Come Dancing – ‘no surprises there’ said the BBC commentator; you got that right mate.

Meanwhile, Channel 4, former bastion of all things alternative, gave us all the usual animation features they play every year and on Boxing Day had a double bill of The Great Escape, followed by Raiders of the Lost Ark. Beware that bleeding edge. Rather more seriously, their ‘alternative’ Christmas speech was from Stephen Fry, wearing his Jewish badge for a day and trying to make out he feels unsafe in a Britain that has large-scale demonstrations against the genocide being carried out by Israel against Palestinians (but, you know, Stephen and David Baddiel are the real victims here right?). He was once on a Channel 4 special for the gay community; now he advocates for extremists like Jordan Peterson, who has spent much of his career targeting trans people, who suffer vast levels of hate crime on a regular basis.

Netflix gave us a special from the only type of comedian that gets air time any more; unfunny rich cunts preoccupied with making themselves victims, pretending to be edgy telling the same jokes that would have filled the worst clubs of the 1970s, while claiming they are being cancelled everywhere.

The message is clear; we the establishment and their useful tools have made great efforts to shut down society to any alternative to what we like. The fact this has lead to a near-total shut down of culture does not matter; we are in control. Who wants anything new anyway?

Shallow. Empty. Pointless. Repetitive.

The project has finally taken hold and now it seems we cannot produce anything new. The uniqueness that once sprung forth from streets and towns has been beaten out of us. What do you expect really from a society that prises the middle class followers for their lack of talent and makes sure we all have to consume it daily. Those who never try to step out of their lane and more importantly, shut down the lanes to real creatives, are the only people rewarded. The working class need to understand that Britain can never allow another Beatles, Gang of Four, The Fall or The Pogues. There cannot be another Grime scene. Nothing that shows the raw power of working class creativity and for sure, we cannot allow anything to succeed that is born of the multiculturalism we have spent so much time and effort decrying.

Britain is dead. It is specifically culturally dead because we are incapable of producing anything new. We all know why, it has ben gone over so many times. This is the cultural outlet to fascism. The mythic past and how much better it is than the present is really just a tool to further cancel the future.

The establishment needs to be relieved of their power. The slate should be wiped clean and we can start over, with the priority given to working class creativity because this is always where the best stuff comes from. End the hegemonic control exercised by the worst people imaginable, who go from giving us nothing to live for culturally to justifying the mass murder of a people who make them feel uncomfortable. We must refuse to be a part of this any more. It is no longer just about crap TV and music; it is about power and who can imagine a better tomorrow – and how much they are allowed to.