That 47% MAGA don’t care!
They know he’s a lying conman, crook. They don’t care!
They know he’s lining his own pockets and parroting what they want to hear. They don’t care!
They know that he will do what they want – he will come down hard on immigrants, foreigners and act mean. They want nasty. They are full of hate and frustration and want to hit out.
They don’t care if he believes it; he just has to do it!
Trump is the product of their anger. They feel they are being side-lined in their own country. They want Trump to put them first!
We are the products of our genetics and experience.
Sometimes a negative experience can help shape us too! One incident from when I was a young boy (thirteen/fourteen-years-old,) still haunts me today. Bullying and violence are things I detest and, when I became a teacher I set about dealing with it.
Excerpt – A passion for Education – The story of a Headteacher
Chapter 8 – Relationships
For me the philosophy I applied during my tenure as a Headteacher came right out of my experience as a student. There were lessons to be learnt from how I was treated and taught as a child and youth and the things I had witnessed.
Simon was in my class at school. He lived in a council house on the estate but Simon put on airs and graces. He and his family had pretensions.
Simon, who in my memory was the spitting image of Rimmer in Red Dwarf, always came to school immaculately groomed, his crinkly fair hair brylcreamed into place. He had a supercilious attitude that got up people’s nose. He adopted a sophisticated voice that sounded a bit put on.
Simon, like Rimmer, annoyed people and became the focus of bullying.
Every class has a pecking order. Boys vie for position by being hard, showing off, cracking jokes, developing attitude, being athletic, being violent, being big and tough. It is very primitive.
Simon was considered soft, puny, annoying and a pretentious pain in the arse. He had few, if any, redeeming faults.
Simon was rooted to the bottom of the pecking order.
This was good news for all those swimming in the benthos of the Form’s lower levels. The heat was off them. They could keep their heads down and let Simon take the brunt.
Simon was laughed at, pushed around and abused. He was the butt of nasty quips and put-downs. It seemed as if no-one in authority cared a jot about this. Boys will be boys. Fighting was normal. Simon got picked on; Simon got in fights – so what?
One day word got round that one of the hardos in the year was going to have a fight with Simon and flatten him. This was all going to kick off after school on the top playing field.
It was all very electrifying. The whole school was in a state of extreme excitement. There was a touch of mass hysteria.
The only person who amazingly had got no inkling of what was planned was Simon. He remained oblivious. To this day I cannot conceive how he could have remained so unaware of what was kicking off. It seemed to be the only topic of conversation around the school. Simon must have gone through the day in a complete bubble.
Simon always walked home through the back entrance, on a path past the adjoining junior school on the right with our school playing fields on the left.
When the bell went the whole school rushed out to gather on the top field to wait for the main event. There were literally hundreds of us.
Simon rambled off home in a dream.
There was a short cut-through to the field and it was only then that Simon must have got a sense that something was up. He must have heard the crowd gathered on the other side of the cut-through and somehow realised it was to do with him. He turned round and tried to dodge back into school to avoid them.
Unfortunately for Simon this eventuality had been foreseen and arrangements made. The path was blocked by four sneering sidekicks and Simon was pushed and herded down the cut-through out into the open field the other side.
A great roar went up when he appeared and everyone surged round like a pack of excited dogs.
Soon there was a circle in the centre of which was the hard kid and Simon. Simon tried to bolt through the crowd and escape but they pushed him back. There were far too many people for that. They were too densely packed.
There was a great roar of excitement, with chanting and jeers.
The struggle seemed to go right out of Simon as if, realising there was no possible escape; he resigned himself to his fate. He turned round to face the other lad and stood there limply with his hands down by his side.
The other lad was grinning at him with his fists up.
‘Come on then you faggot,’ he gestured, playing to the crowd.
He stepped forward and punched Simon in the face.
A great roar went up. They must have heard it in the school.
Simon stood there and looked back dolefully so the lad hit him again. Blood trickled from Simon’s nose but he just stood there.
The lad goaded him and pushed him but got no response.
Someone shoved Simon forward into the boy. They wanted action. The crowd were shouting at Simon to fight back.
The lad hit Simon hard but still there was no response. He shoved him and hit him again.
Simon just stood there defencelessly and took it. He stared straight at the kid with his arms dangling and did nothing.
This was not quite the fight we had been expecting and it certainly wasn’t what the lad wanted. He’d wanted to provoke a fight, knock a flailing Simon around a bit, floor him and walk off a hero.
This was not quite going to plan.
Simon had blood dipping from his nose and mouth and still just stood there. It was evident that there was no white knight from the school who was going to charge to his rescue. There was no help to be had.
The crowd had quietened down and become a bit apprehensive.
The kid sensed his moment of glory was passing and decided to get it over with quickly.
He stepped forward and started whacking Simon in the face as hard as he could with a flurry of blows. He wanted Simon to go down so that he could walk away the victor and still retain a little of that glory.
However this didn’t work out either.
Simon refused to go down. The punches smacked into his face and he reeled and jerked but remained standing defiantly facing the lad and took those blows.
The crowd had changed. This wasn’t the exciting spectacle they’d been expecting. It was nasty. It was getting revolting and everyone wanted it to stop.
Some called out for Simon to fight back. Some called out for the lad to stop. Some instructed Simon to go down.
The lad desperately tried to knock Simon down. He threw everything at him. He was getting frantic now as he could sense the sympathy of the crowd had turned. He had no exit strategy.
Simon’s face was rapidly becoming a swollen, bloody, bruised mess and still the punches thudded in and still Simon neither fought back nor went down.
There was something really sickening about it by now. It was making everyone ashamed to be there witnessing it.
It is incredible how quickly the mood of a crowd can change. The lad felt it. There was no glory to be had here. It made him feel cheated and angry.
He tried a couple more shots and then stood back, a little confused, raising his fists and declaring himself the winner while Simon stood there swaying with his swollen wrecked face streaming with blood, tears and snot.
That’s all I remember except to this day I am utterly ashamed that I got caught up in it and went along, all excited like everyone else, to see Simon get beat up. Not one of us told a teacher. Not one of us warned Simon. Not one of us tried to stop it.
That’s human beings for you.
We can be so cruel and heartless.
I wrote this novel out of rage. I had reached the age of fifty-three and was taking a real hard look at the world, humanity and myself. There was an element of despair. What came out was a vitriolic howl of fury!
Excerpt – 53 and imploding
Bear baiting, cock fighting, dog fighting, bull fighting, gladiatorial fights and stoning to death are all cruel activities carried out by evil fuckers in the past or evil barbaric fuckers in uncivilised countries. Except these evil fuckers are or were considered ordinary people by everyone and themselves. Those cruel displays were eagerly visited by the masses of ordinary people. They sat and ate their equivalent of popcorn and oohed and aahed as the victims got ripped to pieces before their eyes. That’s real. Our civilised revulsion is a thin veneer covering a festering propensity towards violence.
There are no rules.
We make it up as we go.
We probably need the rules because deep down in our genes we are all evil fuckers.
I have to check down into myself to see if I can find the symptoms. I crane my neck at accidents.
53 and imploding eBook : goodwin, opher: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store
I just picked this up to have a check. I read my own stuff from time to time to see if I still like it.
I liked it.
I stand by this intro:
Introduction
It is the tail-end of 2023. I am seventy four years old and have spent my life wondering, loving and protesting. I have discovered that life is a heady mixture of awe and pitfalls.
I live on a big hunk of rock hurtling through space at colossal speeds. I share my home with billions of wonders. Each organism a living miracle.
I stare out into the universe and my jaw drops.
I coexist with a mad bunch of apes whose brains have outgrown their ability to reason. Overcome by selfish lust for power and wealth, possessing a love of violence and inflicting pain, they are intent on destruction. Their ability to hate outstrips their ability to love. They invent banal religions faster that bacilli multiply so that they do not have to try to fathom the wonders of reality, of mind, space, infinity, the creation of the universe or how life began and evolved. Job done. God, Allah, Beelzebub, Apollo, Zeus, Vishna or Viracocha (or any of the other millions of gods we invented) did it. They have a plan and a purpose. No need to think or wonder. All will be revealed.
Their politics is just as insane.
So this year the Muslims try to kill Jews and Christians. The Jews and Christian kill Muslims. The believers in democracy kill the tyrants and the totalitarian despots kill the people.
2023 has seen wars in Gaza, Ukraine, Yemen, Sudan, Nigeria, Mali, Congo, Ethiopia, Colombia, Somalia, and Burkina Faso. Then we have the anarchic continuation of previous wars – Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq and Iran.
Russia and China are arming. We have nuclear buttons all over the place.
The USA is being torn apart with populist imbeciles like Trump and Taylor-Green. A wave of populist ultra-right fascism, with the likes of Oban, Erdogan, Modi, Milei, Melononi and Le Penn, is engulfing the world.
We managed to rid ourselves of the narcissistic buffoon but we’ve still got the legacy of thirteen years of greed and corruption. Our public services are in tatters. The country is bankrupt. Brexit is the disaster we said it would be. While the architects of this devastation are swanning off with their millions – Cameron and Greenswill, Johnson and lunch speech clowning, May and public speaking, Mone and PPE, Osbourne and consultancies. The revolving door, backhanders and VIP lanes.
Inequality rules.
Racism and misogyny is evident everywhere.
Never has the stench been so bad.
Global warming gathers pace with floods, droughts, fires and storms.
More species are becoming extinct or endangered by the minute.
The world is in crisis with mass migration as millions flee war and extreme weather. Tribalism thrives and is exploited by populist despots. Outsiders are scapegoated. Civil wars ferment.
Meanwhile, the backdrop to this dark pantomime of gothic horror is a vast universe that is being revealed by Hubble and James Webb telescopes in all its unbelievable glory; the unfathomable mystery of quantum worlds and the perennial mystery of life itself.
Natural continues to inspire and amaze. Sunsets and seascapes are as majestic and overpowering as ever. All life is astoundingly beautiful.
My family continues to pick its way through the pitfalls of drugs, alcohol, violence and social division that underpins the society we live in – and this is close to the best there is.
At times I am overwhelmed by beauty and wonder; at other times I am incensed by the horrors and stupidity.
It certainly has provided me with sufficient stimulation to put together this, my thirtieth book of poetry.
Moved to put pen to paper, to pour out my inner feelings, the words have flowed in torrents.
I distil them into rhythms and let them free in a hopeless gesture.
Opher – 19.12.2023
I was lamenting the case that nobody was singing any protest about the sorry state of the world
The Downside of Immigration
It is obvious to me that with a shrinking population and skill shortage, coupled with a great reluctance of the endemic population to do the poorly paid menial tasks, we need to import workers.
The question is what skills and from where and how can this be achieved without causing problems for the indigenous population.
Last year just short of one and a half million people entered the country. Most of them were legally ‘imported’. They are either coming to study (bringing the brains and high-level skills to the country) or to carry out jobs for which we do not have the labour force or skills (carers, field work, NHS, catering, hospitality, building, electricians, plumbing, dentistry etc.). We need them for the economy and to make sure that services operate smoothly. We have big shortages!
The trouble is that an influx of such large numbers creates a host of knock-on problems. They all need to use the facilities and support:
It puts a strain on areas that are already suffering due to 14 years of Tory cuts.
On top of that the indigenous population feel increasingly displaced as they find themselves in a minority, surrounded by unfamiliar customs, religions and languages. They find this threatening and feel ousted from their own homes. This builds an antagonism that grows into anger and resentment.
So, how do we find the balance to control immigration at a level that does not cause resentment and anger, does not overstretch our facilities, but does supply the needs of the economy?
HALLUCINATING ANGER
Hallucinating anguished anger
In the form of twisted hieroglyphs of hatred
With piercing probing eyes
That splinter X-ray beams of botulistic brooding
Externally cool
Internally seething
Radiating gamma rays
Of rabid radical revolutionary creativity
From churning whirlpools of manic tortured
Washing machine mentality
Smiling fury formed in thunder
From twisted tungsten coated barbs of words
Lone windows to the thoughts
marinating in hormonal juice
Cornered
Chained
And dangerous
Opher April 26th 1995
Something annoyed me. I did not record what it was.
It was probably some cruelty towards animals, deforestation programme or casual act of pollution.
It might have been the mindless act of a fanatic fundamentalist.
Those are the two areas that really get me angry.
I am constantly amazed by the propensity towards stupidity of such intelligent creatures as human beings. I am incredulous at our ability to dispense hatred and violence.
As a species we must learn to control our emotions.I write them out into poems. It’s cathartic.
