January 2019

The Eight Social Classes in Britain (March 29, 2019)

  1. Elite 
  2. Established middle class
  3. Technical middle class
  4. New affluent workers
  5. Traditional working class
  6. Emergent service workers
  7. Precariat
  8. EU Citizen dregs

More about the first seven can be found here:

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/12037247/the-seven-social-classes-of-21st-century-britain-where-do-you-fit-in.html

Number eight will be a mandatory default for many on March 29 2019

winter is coming

Today I woke to a world covered in snow. Once upon a time, that would have made me happy. Not now. In the kitchen the leftovers of yesterday’s dinner, cold. Nothing’s really changed, Domino’s deliver my pizzas cold; running more than an hour late. Without a real effort to apologise, it’s the weather and some shit about a broken down vehicle. I am blacklisting dominos.co.uk in the router. Never again will they enjoy my business. Winter is coming, tell your friends.

I was happy once,

I recall the ache of too much

laughter

.

Where did that all go?

.

All those years ago

.

Did I not deserve more?

.

Was there sin of

karmic proportions?

.

I was unaware then; loitering,

walking down a path

not meant for me

.

Ending up here; alone,

where happy is a word

in a dictionary

I do not own

.

sadly

.

Te guila / through fire water from a mother’s womb was born / beneath mountains forged through halestorm and fire rain succumbed / her power unshaded by centuries of smouldering dead / Te guila / my love / this abyss with no end awaits / I desend without farewells / I trust you to greet me / in Hell

the cross

On my back; a cross,

a filter pertinent to a

world unbearable

.

I explot thus; shading

them by shielding me,

never though; however vast

the cross will be a burden

.

I got lost in translation

Without the tears; and the smiles

I got lost in translation

Without words to help me out

I got lost in translation

Withering; dithering; to this day

On Being Wrong

Of ‘Celia Upon Her Sparrow’ I wrote // thoughts made up through staring at books // for too long; too small a font // I never could lament // no well to draw upon // I pretend I have // a future down a path // less trodden; less bare // I think I might // be wrong indeed

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