A Twisted World

Regarding writing and books, long given up any thoughts of having this long diatribe “published” ..in the old terms..

When I first started writing, maybe thirty years ago, publishers were people who were treated with respect, as with the police, doctors, so many other institutions, most institutions are now a subject of mockery, when the Metropolitan police pay a black man $800 a day to “Teach” them how to behave towards the so called “minorities: then respect starts to cave in.. Respect…. a word which is no longer in the English heritage, as so many others. ………….Bravery, distinctly out.

Only very recently was a farmer jailed for life for shooting and wounding only, a persistent burglar. Insult to injury, this same criminal sits on the board deciding the farmer’s fate……… Alice in wonderland !!

Consideration, initiative, honor, such words no longer politically correct. Within fifty years, the country has changed beyond recognition, the past swept away faster than the rest of history put together, people themselves have changed.. the people today who attempt to recreate the past .. even just so far back as the war, fail, because they have had no experience, no conception of those times and cannot see that men were men then.. not simply pressurized, plastic, obedient numbers, under intense, constant, photographic surveillance, as they now are. …

A remarkable government achievement through planned manipulation and control…by the most insidious means….

Far exceeding anything George Orwell could have stretched his imagination to.

Hardly feel political with the old fervor, evident even to the biggest fool that whatever government, whatever faces are up front ..it will make not the slightest difference to the individual in the street .. Government now means “control “ whatever the implied political bias may be.
Unlike most , I have been in the position to simply sit and watch , at times with some amazement, some incredulity at the gullibility of people, exploited quite blatantly by those who call themselves politicians, I could give such beings another label, endless labels, starting with, egotists driven by greed.

Regardless, the masses still struggle on, still hounded by sex, money, and the propagation of the species, still toil to a dubious end, those that have work.

People still get “married” , not with the same conviction in the West, as in my time, then, a point between birth and death, now it is one occasion to get married , another occasion to get divorced, the female with one eye on the net gain. A domestic industry , if you like. Somewhere in the middle are the “children” .

Sit here now, alone, listen to the barking dogs, the stringent car alarms, sound of tires bouncing on cobblestones, the frequent squeal of brakes and the occasional bang of metal against metal. Hardly have to go down the winding spiral stair case and step outside to see the shouting, gesticulating, harassed, pressurized, population, going so very hurriedly about its business on this Tuesday morning. Not even have to close my eyes, can see it all quite clearly, the brilliant sunlight, high overhead, concrete just starting to warm up after the cool night air. ..Bucharest , in full swing.

The pressure not quite off Peter, even now. Still make my appearances in London, still chained in the unrelenting, hot steel box, but only very briefly, hardly feel capable of prolonged exposure to that any longer.. hardly wish to simply die at the steering wheel as my friends have done. Very recently one died quietly in a traffic jam on the corner of Piccadilly and Stratton Street, another found dead in his cab at the Royal Oak … thought he was asleep. Endless faces who have slipped away silently, unnoticed.. alone.. Empty chairs at the long tables , or strange, young, perhaps eager, new faces, showing their new, shiny badges.