Thursday, 6 September 2012


       Spearheaded by the financial Mafia, and with the IMF, (International Mankind Fuckers) leading the charge, the march of corporate fascism continues unabated across Europe. The social fabric of the Greek people has been decimated and a whole country thrown into deprivation, but still the financial Mafia want more from the Greek people, demanding more unemployment, more drastic cuts to social services and the destruction of whatever working conditions the people still have, one such dictate to their partners, the Greek government, is to introduce a six day working week. Also sell off more of the Greek people's assets to their corporate friends.
       The Spanish people are now well down the road the Greek people have been dragged. The figures of how much Spain will need in a bailout has gone from €30 billion to €70 billion and now a figure of €300 billion is being mentioned. This is money that will be plundered from the Spanish public purse and handed to the financial Mafia. It will be raised by more unemployment, drastic cuts to the social services, the decimation of the health service and education, creating rampant poverty and deprivation for the Spanish people, as has already happened in Greece.
       As this corporate cancer spreads, the people are beginning to realise the obvious, that relying on "the government" to solve their problems, is like asking the fox to take care of the chicken shed.


I’m proud of my people, proud to be one of them,
that great mass on society’s bottom rung.
Those who, with coal-dust under their nails
in their eyes, in their lungs
claw at the earth's entrails.
Their brothers,
cement in their hair
in their mouth, in their ears,
oil ingrained in their fingers,
on their face.
Sisters, glistening with sweat
midst the ceaseless noise of machines
that throw out shirts, shoes, toys, carpets
for other people.
Those with soil and sweat stuck to their skin
smelling of the earth, feeding the multitude,
grinding out their lives in a harsh pitiless system
weighted down
with a sack load of half-dead dreams,
sometimes brought to their knees
by a tidal wave of despair,
never defeated,
groping in the dark to find tomorrow,
keeping hope alive;
they amaze me.
Somehow, from somewhere
in this cold, cruel
unforgiving scheme of things
they find love for their children.
Not a teaspoonful, not a cupful,
but buckets full, to bathe them in,
to pour over them.
They seem to know
that one day this world will be ours
and to take care of it
we will need those who have been loved.

ann arky's home.

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