A Queen-Like Speech

This time of year makes it particularly hard,
as light shines toward war but
war responds shooting darkness
and winds send sand to
parade around Westminster,
covering a dream called Abbey
who only ever wanted peace.

Oslo bulbs, Bethlehem flashes Albert,
it goes around and comes
around the family-birth, stable-ideal idea -
will do for aeons to come.
Fleeing could be advisable, but
are you hooked on the human story?
Can any of us claim we are not
whilst searching to slurp another cold
Persecuted Christ-Love from a pressed paper cup,
patronising a chain only children like?

"FOLLOW HARDER!" barks the tweet robot.
"Love happiness," I sang once.
Some listened to it on YouTube, royalties subverted.
Spread the love thick on all breakfasts' toasts,
wherever Christmas trees appear,
wherever oxygen is breathd and,
whether you can see it or not,
replace curse with cure,
a chanty mantra naturally rooting.
Hope today! Tomorrow's sales will cash in on
supposed thankful Yankee candle
light reduced. Though today's a small part
of nothing in the universe,
I wish you a very happy Prospectmas.

Merry Christmas

THIS is a Christmas jumper folks. It looks horrible. The pattern can only have been designed by a badly acid-damaged amputee on a bus. Presumably it has been made of materials so crap they had to be put into a the jumper equivalent of a concentration camp to preserve the purity of fashion.

These days you can get these other jumpers (shown to the left). Look at the colours. Completely sanitized. Red and white? Where's the gaudiness in that?

To all those tossers lined up at the bar in Wetherspoons across the country, wearing these and thinking 'ooh, look how cool I am. I'm wearing something uncool, but making it cool because I'm such an awesome, arrogant tit who really wants another Corona with a wedge of lime and a Jagerbomb and maybe some Sourz and maybe throwing up and hating anyone who's different to me (thank God all my friends are wearing the same stuff as me or I'd have to hate them), and if I don't objectify every woman I see tonight then I'm gay (urgh)', to them I say fuck off.

Merry Christmas everyone!

The Name's Chisum, John Chisum

Ah, Christmas day on the ranch. Is there anythin' sweeter? My little niece came down from Roswell County with her husband Billy an' me an' him spent the mornin' lookin' out across my ranch while the women folk made the rattle and clatter in the kitchen. Nowhere more beautiful on God's green earth. The company's fine, the cigars are tastin' swell and there ain't a care in the world for now. The herd's meanderin', drinkin' from the purest river for miles around. Even the dusty winds that sometimes roll in from the north can't spoil their drinkin' or our watchin'. I remember White Buffalo told me that the comanches call it the lonely wind, but I sure don't feel lonely today.



Christmas dinner's the same every year, no nasty shocks or surprises there. The best food's put on our table, we give our heartfelt thanks to God and chow down. Everyone's happy just being together talkin' about the time I did this, the time they did that and that guy from Whatever County they once knew once done. No-one really understands my stories, all being cattle drivers' tales as they are. Surrounded by the new generation, it sure makes a man feel old and outta place. But then, everything around here's old enough. Even discountin' yours truly, the ranch here, the town, the sun and the sand around us, all older'n' Methuselah himself, an' there's some things you can't change.


I can hear the 'noon stage come a-rollin' in to Lincoln County from way off, chuggin' its way into the station. Brett Harmond - the manager of the local general store - is there a-waitin' on the platform, so it seems there may be a new delivery of somethin'. Must be fancy, he's been waitin' on it from 'noon til four... Don't know what it could be...

Have Fun at the Circus

Christmas. Just the three days away now. Christmas spirits at an all time high everyone? Good... GOOD! I can't believe in my last post *war memorial reference* I complained about no-one reading my blog and three wonderful persons commented straightaway! Thanks folks, you make life worth living. You'll change your mind in a sec, though, 'cause I'm gonna tell somethin' that AIN'T makin' life worth livin': Christmas.

I've felt for such a long time that I'm an old man trapped in a young man's, wait, trapped in my body and Christmas just makes me feel worse. I'm not even gunna bother going in to what's wrong with it 'cause it's all just cliches. Christmas is a cliche machine, a bit like a sausage mincer. Cliches and pre-made, recycled 'festive' tripe is continually poured into the mincer and our oesophagus is the sausage skin. It goes down our throats whether we like it or not and you can't get away from it without doing a Jeremiah Johnson. I'm not gunna bother elaborating because, if the same ol' tripe goes in, the same ol' crap comes out. I'll be an ugly, smelling, boring walking cliche if I went into the 'ins and outs'.

Stuck between a rock and a bloody cliched place when you're a sad, grumpy and bitter guy like I...

Merry Christmas.