Dear Brexits

Dear Brexits,

I am not talking our country down. You voted to leave. That decision is actively bringing our country down. I am merely observing, reporting and commenting on the myriad dismal consequences of your “will”.

No Brexit is better than a bad Brexit and there is no Brexit that is good.

If this was not sufficiently evident, to you, before the referendum, whether because you were tricked or just did not bother inform yourself, it bloody well should be plenty evident, by now. It is not my fault that you either cannot see or will not admit this.

I love our country and you have endangered her. It is a poor patriotism that would seek to demand my silence.

Regards

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witlessly led

Britain is swinging the lead;
Being witlessly led
By its well-fed ringmasters,
Right into disaster, for crumbs
From the Top Table’s bread

High on their vacuous vistas,
They’ve built with an imbecile’s pride
They keep pushing their luck
Just to cover the fuck-ups
They made with their swivel-eyed lies

They yearn for a future that’s passed
So their best before date they deny
With rhetoric mnemonics
For faux histrionics, they polish the shine
Where their judgement has died

As the blighties of Brexit
That thought themselves smart
Grow increasingly thicker and
Desperate fast, they quicken the proof in
The elbow and arse because,

Even if Brexit where not a dumb farce,
Not one of those bozos is up to the task.

The way Farage laughs

The way Farage laughs
As though what he is saying
Has embarrassed even him
Or when Corbyn sniffs as if
What he is saying
So impresses him
And how Trump gesticulates
That intimates what he is saying
Second-guesses him

All ways the first tell
Is like the last knell
Before the din

Creeping Charisma

When a ‘populist’ looks more like the creep you try hard not to find yourself alone with at parties and, because few in your circle seem to be willing or able to properly stand up to them, makes you feel uneasy, even when they’re absent, because you now can’t help but question your peers’ judgements and boundaries on a whole host of other things.

ends the same

Populists are dangerous creatures
Hunting for bugs to sell on as features
Thumping away at their primitive chests
For the tyrannous point
Where the Right meets the Left

What about..?

Whataboutery.
Well, pointillist:
What about it?

Did you get the memorandum?

Did you get the memorandum?
Truth is not a referendum
That’s reflected in a ballot,
In accordance with our palate.
An opinion doesn’t mean you’re right
And blackmail is a pretty risky
Filthy way to start a fight
And bleeding hearted populists,
So expert in promotion,
By exploiting our emotions:
They well know it.
And it shows if you try looking
At the mess they’re busy cooking,
That they haven’t got a frigging clue
Beyond what they told us to do
And if you think about it, nor may you.
For a better understanding,
Take a gander at the chaos
Of the dross with which
They play us.
Do you know which face is speaking?
Can you count the fakes and spot the spin
In all the lines they’re tweaking?
Have you looked around the back for strings?
Seen the cracks within the shite?
Checked your confirmation bias
And that lazy soundbite?
Do not pander to post-truth.
Don’t misunderstand a purpose
Where agenda can usurp us;
Have a pref’rence for some proof.
Stop pretending white is black,
Cease meandering around the facts
And open wide those glassy eyes,
Unglue the ears and hear the guile
And change the dismal diet,
For at least a little while.