bimble

By monkus

a bit of a rant...

Rain. The splatter upon the window, as I move towards the reassuring scent of the first coffee of the day, stumbling into the new regime; the morning temperature check shows up normal, in the lift alcohol spray and wrapping over the buttons, handwash by the doorways downstairs, masks omnipresent, out there the monster lurks.


But it's a day of heavy showers, droplets chilled by the north wind, hilltops once again blanketed by cloud. Despite myself I open the newspapers, unsurprised by the headlines, the usual culprits and their apologists, their scramble to rewrite history as the moment unravels their narratives…but these are not usual times, the emperors stand naked, their fallacies and falsehoods caught in the sharpened glare of the oncoming train...

Looking back towards the UK the sense of exasperation sharpens as the lies of the Tories are exposed one by one, excuses and faux justifications still dripping from serpentine tongues. The absurd failure to procure equipment for those who are having to work through this; if they want to show gratitude to those in the front line of what's happening then maybe it would be better to improve wages and conditions for those now titled keyworkers, show the political will to rebuild the safety net that they've allowed to be dismantled rather than the whisperings of a medal to be placed beside, no doubt in their fever dreams, the brexit coin... This feels like it's some kind of distraction, a dead cat transformed into a trinket. It's a shitshow in extremis, maybe not quite Trumpian yet, but there's time...

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