=D>
Kropotkin
Thank You MagsJ:
I am looking for it, and let You know the effects once inarart a regimen.
As for now: I drink ginger tea very hot and unsweetened instead of coffee.
After swallowing , the residual ginger roots are consumed.
Too kind, Mister Kropotkin. Very grateful for your comment.
From the archives.
Amazing String Theory
Such is the nature of the problem.
All the good things that he said,
Were crammed inside this poor dolt’s head.
Thus it was, he suffered in silence.
Until, one day, someone said,
‘Climb up here, Jack, and don’t be complaining.
You can see.
Up here.
You can see.’
So I climbed up.
And blow me down if he wasn’t telling the truth.
What did I see?
I saw things in an entirely different light.
‘Sit here,’ he said.
‘Sit beside me a moment…
What can you see?’
Lots of little strings.
‘Pull this one.’
I pulled, and watched in amazement
As a little old lady lost her footing.
‘Give this one a tug,’ he said.
I tugged, and watched in amazement
As a young lad leapt from his bicycle
And assisted the elderly woman.
He returned her spilt goods to her tattered shopping basket.
‘Try this one,’ he said.
So I did. I pulled, and watched in amazement
As the young boy pocketed the old lady’s purse.
‘A little higher,’ he beckoned,
‘You can see a great deal more from up here, Jack.’
I explained that my name wasn’t Jack.
‘Give this one a real sharp tug, Jack.
I did just as instructed.
The youth jumped on his bicycle,
Smiled at the old lady.
She thanked him profusely.
‘Tug on these seven, Jack.’
I did.
The lights changed.
A car skidded.
A dog ran into the road.
The car stopped.
A child screamed
A Lorry swerved
The youth applied his brakes.
‘Pull this one, Jack.’
The brakes failed.
The old woman missed it all,
She was searching for her purse.
It was later returned by the ambulance crew.
It happened in an instant.
In full view.
‘What do you think of that, Jack?’
I’m impressed.
‘You’ve seen nothing yet, Jack –
You’ll see things so much clearer from up here.’
My name’s not Jack, I reminded him.
And climbed up.
It was tough in the nineties! [-o<
Promotional Leaflet
Life is unpredictable – it sometimes gets you down
The cheery smile you wear today may be tomorrows frown.
Well I may just have the answer – or a temporary cure
For what I have to offer makes life easier to endure.
Cooking, cleaning, ironing – an arduous tale of woe
You work too hard, you never stop – you’re always on the go.
So listen for a moment (if you can spare the time)
Sit down and put your feet up – it isn’t such a crime.
You deserve a little luxury, so give yourself a treat
Get me to clean your carpet, or perhaps the three-piece suite.
You really won’t regret it – it will brighten up your life.
And your husband’s sure to benefit – he’ll have a happy wife!
Fucking Gulf War
And I cleaned carpets whilst the planet burned
And every fucking pound I got was well and truly earned
It’s fucked my back – it’s fucked my mind
That now I turn to you and find
It’s fucked you up as well.
Gulf War II
Seconds out – round two
War in the Gulf.
Allied planes this very day
Are trying hard to find a way
Sophisticated weaponry is taking to the air
Taking flight to God knows where
To bring some sense – some common sense
They’re taking off from God knows whence!
And where they drop their deadly load
On new built school or infant road
It makes no odds to you and I
It matters little who should die
But where they go and where they fly
There’s some mistake and God know why
They’re flying with their deadly load
Perchance to kill a school or road.
Some are flying
Some are dying
Tis a savage little game
They are flying
No one’s whying
That’s the greatest shame.
Two extra pints this morning
Says the note upon the door
Rice pudding for my baby, he’s going off to war.
What a thriller, what a killer, what a job to do.
Aye, that’s my boy in khaki.
That’s my boy in blue.
Who’s right? Who’s wrong?
Who’s stringing who along?
Hussein? Who’s mad?
Who’s sane? Who’s sad?
At school my boy was bullied
But it didn’t do no harm
You should see him in his uniform
He fairly oozes charm.
Boom!
The eighties were a tough time:
A man: Give me a hero’s welcome when I return from war
I deserve a hero’s welcome when I walk through that door.
I must have killed a thousand men, and Jesus, what a high
They have to learn their lesson – the bastards have to die.
Another man: I’ll get a hero’s welcome when I return from war
A change of clothes, a bite to eat, I’ll soon be back for more.
Then back again, and back again, until our flag flies high
On every rooftop ‘cross this land, lest fate decrees I die.
Yet another: The wise men got me in it, they can get me out again
I didn’t join up to shit myself in all this bloody rain.
Such a scandalous waste of money, I’m forever aiming high
I know nothing of my enemy, save, he wouldn’t wish to die.
CHORUS
A man: Two more weeks of combat and then a well-earned rest
You may call it dirty tactics, but we’re dealing with a pest.
We have the latest in technology to inflict the greatest pain
But it’s as well to keep in mind, these bastards are insane.
Another man: The odds are stacked against us, seems they’ve called in outside aid
As thousands die around me, thoughts of victory start to fade.
Yet the fighting will continue, we will scale new heights of pain
The weapons they’re employing are quite hideously insane.
Yet another: I’m not sure we can justify the suffering we cause
Like an uninvited party guest we crash the strangers’ wars
Yet on and on the conflict goes, youth and innocence bear the pain
At the behest of older, wiser men, who are really quite insane.
CHORUS
A man: The hands of time slow down now, just one more week to go
Is there a harder thing to do than bury friends I’ve got to know.
But morale must never falter, for the cause we chase is right.
Good comrades die about me, and still I’m made to fight.
Another man: And soon, alas, I’m homeward bound – the time it moves so fast
My brother died three days ago, he’s the youngest and the last.
But my spirit, it will never fail, for what we do is right.
In honour of their memories we’ll continue with the fight.
Yet another: Time here has no meaning, I’ve been here two thousand years
And for every wasted life that’s lost, I’ve shed a million tears.
But the saddest thing of all, my friends, you always think you’re right
And don’t those wise men know it – they will always let us fight.
CHORUS
A man: Now, thank God, the morning dawns, I’m homeward bound today
Come this time tomorrow, I’ll be a million miles away.
So get the bunting out, my boys, and some beers to sacrifice
We’ll have fourteen days of partying, two weeks of paradise.
Another man: I’ve had words with my superiors, behind the firing line
We talked for several moments, but of course the choice was mine.
With the situation worsening, my leave I’ll sacrifice
It’s the patriotic thing to do, in our quest for paradise.
Yet another: I’m going home tomorrow, please God deliver me
You promise me, I’ll promise you, my face you’ll never see.
I’ll not be for wizened men, a playful sacrifice
They’ll need to sell some other fool their promised paradise.
CHORUS
A man: Well it’s not what I expected – nor, what you said awaits
You promised me a marching band, a drink with my old mates.
You promised me a cheering crowd, yet I don’t see a soul
Just a world of empty promises when taken as a whole.
Another man: It would appear for me it’s over, and perhaps it’s for the best
My body is torn asunder and now craves a well-earned rest.
So I give my life to you Lord, will you accept this humble soul
Now I see we’re merely killing time, my mind and I are whole.
Yet another: Well I’m home, but I’ve forgotten, I’ve forgotten why I’m here
It’s strange I still feel rather frightened, although a different kind of fear.
Is it the abhorrence of my silence, I feel I sold my very soul
Or is it the feeling in my heart, dear Lord, that I’ll never be quite whole.
CHORUS:
[b][i]“Would you write upon my tombstone: Though I died, I died in vain.
And should my glorious leaders ask, I’d do it all again.
Although perhaps I’d do things differently, I would maybe change the rules
I’d have the wise men and the generals stand alongside all the fools.”[/i][/b]
excellent work my friend…
Kropotkin
yeah, the blissful ignorance of the majority rules, bless us father, they do not know what…
Its only survival to them, being merely a temporary occasion for…
A ring a ring … My kingdom for a ring…
It has alas rung,
they were so tired, they were asleep did not hear it. The awakened ones well, were sleepy as well… Like Joe.
wrung out of them cause its absurdly constrained, backwards , course they can like an excorcised look back while going homeward.
and begin to appreciate both kinds of terrain without falling into the …
Swamp
What about this one? Inspired by a friend.
The noughties were a tough time for some. 
Surely you still dream of hearing!
Me?
I’m still a dreamer.
That’s because my friend here -
My pen
Seize the bigger picture
Seize a different point of view
Sees the realm I live in
What goes on in derleydoo
Come with us - join the guided tour
No mystery trips today
We’ll work from nineteen sixty four
Until the present day
Take your seat please - step on board
And hold on very tight
We’ll be travelling in a circle
At twice the speed of light.
Did everyone enjoy it?
Should we go round one more time?
Perhaps a little slower
And we’ll capture it in rhyme.
But first, a little novelty
As a gift - a souvenir
A ring - as a reminder
That you start and finish here.
.
You do realise I’ve had to travel to the Tonga branch of PCH&N in order to draw attention to your rebellious nature. Broke the travel ban to do it. Essential work allows. 
Breaking a) rule , there now, if it’s there
It’s 3 am everywhere. It hasn’t with the time of day cause of space
Out and over
Of course it’s never over until it’s Over, although sometimes It may be down & out. .?.
Yeah, that’s IT!
Da hell is PCH&N?
I always aim to please, so well worth the effort in having to accommodate and allow for my… rebellious nature.
Moi… essential? nice to know. 
I like how you posted at exactly 3pm… nice touch. ; )
Actually, its most of the time.
“Da hell is PCH&N?”
Pacific coast HI way?
Really a coincidence , me and wife barreling up Oregon way>>>>>>>>>>
…Hi, way- out. but not…over…
Da hell is PCH&N?
Outside the Anchorage offices of PCH&N.
“Good morning, Mister Cumming.”
“Good morning. Why is everyone standing outside? Why haven’t you opened up?”
“It’s the new voice activated security system, sir. We’re struggling with the code, Mister Cumming? We can’t get in.”
“Can’t! Can’t! What have I told you?”
“At this particular moment, here and now, we are not able.”
“I knew this was going to cause problems.”
“We think we can remember the five words, Mister Cumming. But no one can remember the correct order.”
“That’s hardly surprising. I’ll ring Mister Pratt.”
Ten, fifteen, twenty, maybe twenty five minutes later…
“Okay, someone write this down. Person, Woman, Man, Camera… oh bollocks.
Get Mister Pratt back on the phone. This is impossible. You’d have to be some kind of genius to operate this system.”
“Is it ‘TV’, Mister Cumming?”
“Bingo! You are a genius!”
“Why are we here so early, Mister Cumming?”
“I’ll explain later.”
I didn’t expect to see you here, what are you doing?
Shssh, sit down. I’m watching the Republican convention.
Who’s that?
That’s Matt Gaetz.
Wow. He speaks very highly of Mister Trump.
They’ve all spoken highly of him so far.
The two men listen attentively to the various speakers for a further 15 minutes.
It’s bloody marvellous isn’t it.
What’s that?
It’s a pity the president’s sister doesn’t know her own brother as well as these people do.
What makes you say that?
Well if she did, she wouldn’t say such nasty things about him.
Good point.
Make sure you lock up when you leave.
[-o<