Capitalism, The Devourer Of Everything.

         We view the Earth past and present, and try to see the future, and in our vision stretches a sea of concrete and tarmac, forests laid waste, seas polluted, rivers poisoned and a multitude of hungry pleading for survival. The monster that is capitalism has rained destruction on our planet, endless wars, and the plunder and rape of our planet’s finite resources will continue as long as that beast survives. The insane dream of eternal growth of capitalism is the harbinger of death for our home, the Earth, and all its wondrous and varied life. Look around and see the death throes of a living planet, brought about, not by accident, but by the deliberate actions of a man made system of greed, inequality, injustice and brutality, capitalism is a system of planetary suicide. If it is not already too late, the rescue of the planet must come through the total destruction of this madness of capitalism that devours all before it, in a pointless worship of greed. 
          Only the will of the people will kill the ravenous beast of capitalism, we have in all our hearts that dream of a better, fairer world for all, we have the ability, imagination and resources to turn that dream into reality, but first we must realise that the prime and most important task, is the destruction of beast that is capitalism.

From, On The Nameless:

          Man stands atop the ruins of the world, the Nietzschean prophecy of man become a god unto himself seemingly complete. Wherever modern man looks he sees only himself. Reflected everywhere in the animated corpses of his dead creations living only on the power of his dream-magic. The gods no longer find a place suitable to dwell within the great panoplies of mechanical monstrosities. All around the gods seem to have withdrawn, and the manifold masks of the ineffable torn from the skulls of the gods, their naked bodies dissected and discarded. Everywhere in great pools of blood man sees only his own reflection, and is happy. The vast pantheon, the million faces of the earth laid to waste in the ascension of one arrogant ape. It is true, one could perhaps be forgiven in believing that men have succeeded in defeating the gods and taking the throne of creation for themselves.
           But the gods were and are not dead, and they do not rest in idleness. They persist within the dark places. They ready themselves, they lurk, they hunt, and they haunt from the shadows of the world. They no longer dwell on the earth, and we cannot speak of the gods in the old ways. The great and noble lands which they once presided over have been abandoned, left in ruin as the houses of the gods were ravaged for the self-serving ape. Thus we can no longer think of the gods as the old bringers of life, their only task now much more terrible. The vengeful destruction of a great chaos which has spread under heaven. The great pantheon of the gods become a pantheon of world-eaters. Noble and monstrous. Glorious and terrible. They ready themselves in the darkness, striking from out of the shadows of the world. While the masses of men continue to kneel blindly before their fickle, petty, and self-made idols the gods continue to ready themselves, and wage their endless war. Every earthquake which splits the gray concrete strangling the soft earth, every sea-front town swallowed by the rising seas reminding men of the power of water, every tornado which rips apart the decadent dwellings of the arrogant ape with the fury of air, every sinkhole that opens the jaws of the earth to swallow up the world of men is a victory for the ever-wild gods of the earth.

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Crazy Ape On Stage.

"All the world is a stage",

so said the ancient sage.

Behold hunger seize life's tender age,

sadly, dying children cause no rage.

Poverty's claws, hard and cold

strip the pride from the old,

once society's pillars  of gold

now broken, their dignity sold.

See our leaders stand aloof

proclaiming war a brand of truth,

draining blood from our proudest youth

sacrificed on greed's ugly tooth.

The crazy ape descends still lower,

death oozing from ever pore

crawls across the earth's floor

turning our planet into a festering sore.

"All the world is a stage",

so said the ancient sage.

Can the crazy ape come of age,

act out a more caring page?

To date,
the crazy ape has written brutal stories
tales of cruelty, of hunger,
painted pictures of appalling wars,
shoddily scribbled trite poetry of criticism.
One day
when he flicks back a page of history

reads with compassion,
asks why?
Perhaps then we can write beautiful poetry
causing a hurricane of love
to sweep across this world.  

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

I Am The Crowd.

      The corruption and greed that poisons  our lives is now so blatant that there is not a country on the planet that doesn't have the people on the streets clashing with the state apparatus. Rio de Janeiro, still has people protesting after the massive riots of a month ago, Portugal's recent protests have the financial Mafia feeling nervous, At the weekend the Spanish people vented some of their anger on the streets of Madrid. We could go on picking country by country, but the picture would still be the same, anger at exploitation, greed and corruption, and that anger is always pointed at the state and its festering marriage with the corporate/financial world. The anger of the people will not simply disappear, the illusion of democracy has fallen, the smoke and mirrors have vanished like morning mist, leaving a clear view of the hypocrisy and corruption that oversees the will of the people. There is a battle of wills taking place, the will of the corporate/financial world and the will of the people. If we all realise that they need us, but we don't need them, then we are more than half way to victory.

I Am The Crowd.

I am the crowd

I swim in the quagmire of poverty

its hooks, its barbs, tear my flesh

rupture my dreams,

I hold my breath for centuries

hoping to break through, gasp pure air.

Through the murky mire

I see bright things, shiny things sparkle

I see women in fine dresses, men in silk shirts

I ask myself

why do I swim in this cesspool?

I want the light and warmth of rectitude

to caress my labouring body,

seeds of my dreams to bloom

like wild flowers in a meadow.

One day I will use my boundless strength

to haul this torn, battered being

out of the morass

onto the warm grassy bank,

when I do;

woe betide you, women in fine dresses

woe betide you mister in your fine silk shirt

should you ever try to get in my way,

for I am the strength of the world

I am the crowd.

ann arky's home.