Twitter Is Killing Me

Time was
My mind was free
To roam
To choose delights
Upon which to settle
Free to contemplate
Deepest mysteries
Of philosophy
And our world

That is
Because she had
She was the
Mistress of her own

She might spend hours
Pondering the meaning
Of a single word
Or a fleeting instant
Dismissing the collected
Works of Immanuel Kant

I lament.

For now, in each moment
Where she begins
To ponder
Where she settles down
To contemplation,
As if on a sofa
Before a fire
With a good book,
She is interrupted
By the persistent
Whine of social media
For attention
For her attention.

The noble
The trivial
The mundane.

Ironic therefore,
That she has chosen to use
This medium
To share this rare
Example of considered

But she’s only trying
To warn
Those of you
Who use it most
Before it is too



Just like the internet
In general
Social media fails to fulfil
Its original promise

When we first leapt
Naively onto this bandwagon –
Eyes wide shut to the
Dystopian possibilities –
We found
Love, friendship
Laughs, self-expression.
We found humanity

And we loved it.

Now that potential
Lies wasted on the floor
Ink-stained silk.
We can hardly remember
The joy which brought
Us here in the first place

It’s become a platform as a platform
A springboard for marketers
Politicos, journos
Nomarks and shysters

Yes there are good people too
But their voices are being
Sumberged under tides of
Incessant noise

It’s noise that I don’t need
A two-point-four kilohertz whine
That hurts my head

So that’s it. I’m switching off
Running away
Looking for more organic
And soulful places in which
To play


We are the dark underbelly
The ying to your yang
Your unfathomable subconscious
Your point of origin

We are the beat that you dance to
The words that you speak
The moral imperative that you run from
The soul that you seek.

You love us, you hate us
Seek to make us gone
A suicide wish
We are your shadow
You die when we do.

So continue
Shoot, imprison, denigrate.


The invisible string
That binds us mean that
When we climb you do too.
But when we

(for #blacklivesmatter)

TV Gotcha Now

Educated one.

You of refinement
And know-how.
Or should I say

I ran with you
In the nineties
From Woodstock Road
To The Strand
And in the lovely Lanes.

Oh, how you despised

The – what was it –
Opiate of the masses?
You – we –
Were so much better
We didn’t have

If we did
It was a tiny
Portable thing
Maybe even
Black and white
And stored in a cupboard
In case of events
Of significant magnitude

You said.
Cafés and culture
Theatre, cinema
And nightclubs

You laughed
A life wasted.

But brother,
My sister
Ain’t it the truth that
TV Gotcha Now.

It changed
It did a little side shimmy
and changed its form


TV’s gotcha hooked like drugs
Everywhere you go
You got TV
The channels have
New Channels
New TV
And you can’t escape

In your cosy little cafés
You’ve got TV
In your bookshops.
In your theatres and cinemas
You must be told
To turn off your TV

Yes my friend
TV gotcha now
TV gotcha bad.

News – huh! – What is it Good For? (Say it again)

parliament mono

Houses of Parliament from Westminster Bridge – Photo by Montag

Have you ever seen the once-familiar in a whole new light? Looked really hard at something (or someone) previously taken for granted, and regarded it/them completely differently?

It happened to me once at junior school. I remember staring at one of my then friends. It was strange. It was like I was doing so for the very first time. A train of thought alighted upon me: Who is this person? Why am I hanging around with him? Why is he my friend? I stopped being so chummy with the lad shortly after that. It wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong. It’s just that awakenings can do that to you.

I had a similar episode regarding the concept of broadcast news a while ago.

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An Alternative Interpretation


The Frozen North (2014) – Photo by Montag

My digital SLR is at the manufacturers for repair, so while there are beautiful, snowy Christmas scenes beyond my window (such as the above, taken with my mobile phone), I’m unable to go out and fill my SD card with clichéd images of the UK under snow.

The snow added a little more festivity to Christmas 2014 – and for me personally, it was an interesting one. I spent it with my ageing parents and other members of my family, and in quiet periods read Kierkegaard and pondered life and the meaning thereof. Meanwhile the media theme for this holiday period seemed to be the centenary of what they now choose to call the great war. These labels are odd. Firstly this war was not great in either sense of the word (the second world war was bigger, and war ain’t great). Even the other moniker for this conflict the first world war also misses the mark because it was more of a European rather than a world war.

Anyway, enough of my carping. Let’s get on shall we.

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