76. The sheep and the washing machine. (04 Mar 15)

An excursion into the political with this, although at the time propped up in bed on a Sunday morning, it wasn’t by design so much as rhyme as the first two lines parked themselves on the page. At the time my first thought was that this is gonna be deliciously surreal. Eventually it was neither.

It might’ve taken a couple of days to finish off but it was mostly there first time. Especially the sense of hopelessness at the way the media and the establishment combine to poison and shackle so many minds.

And the sheep’s got its head in the washing machine again,
Lord it must be Sunday and it’s time,
For the newspaper supplements and the preachers amen,

Where Saturday’s sectarian,
Sunday’s denominational,
And if you won’t eat the stale bread,
There’s the final scores for you,

But they both do the same job,
And still you go along,
Eyes closed or open you know,
They only gather and divide and control,

And the sheep’s got its head in the washing machine again,
Lord it must be Sunday and it’s time,
For the newspaper supplements and the preachers amen,
For the newspaper supplements….

Amen.

Outtakes.

And if you won’t eat the stale bread,
There’s the finsl scores for you,
Where Saturday’s sectarian,
Sunday’s denominational,
But they both do the same job ,
They gather and divide and control,

With your eyes closed or open you know,

About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.

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