I think we've got a lot players in the squad who are more suited to European football at the moment.
quote by Steven Gerrard
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Twin State
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Veterinary Camps
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Using Boot Camp
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Irony And Unthinkability
Just like football helmets that create
illusions of invulnerability
irony can’t truly mitigate
the trauma of unthinkability.
Lacking helmets football would not be
the game it is, but they do not protect
the wearer any more than irony
protects politically the incorrect.
The trauma that’s inflicted when a skull
is fractured is no less than the concussion
that’s suffered by those people who are dull,
but miss the irony of a discussion.
Inspired by an article in the WSJ on November 11,2009 (Is It Time to Retire the Football Helmet? New Research Says Small Hits Do Major Damage—and There's Not Much Headgear Can Do About It, by Reed Albergotti and Shirley S. Wang) :
This football season, the debate about head injuries has reached a critical mass. Startling research has been unveiled. Maudlin headlines have been written. Congress called a hearing on the subject last month. As obvious as the problem may seem (wait, you mean football is dangerous?) , continuing revelations about the troubling mental declines of some retired players—and the ongoing parade of concussions during games—have created a sense of inevitability. Pretty soon, something will have to be done. But before the debate goes any further, there's a fundamental question that needs to be investigated. Why do football players wear helmets in the first place? And more important, could the helmets be part of the problem? 'Some people have advocated for years to take the helmet off, take the face mask off. That'll change the game dramatically, ' says Fred Mueller, a University of North Carolina professor who studies head injuries. 'Maybe that's better than brain damage.'
The first hard-shell helmets, which became popular in the 1940s, weren't designed to prevent concussions but to prevent players in that rough-and-tumble era from suffering catastrophic injuries like fractured skulls. But while these helmets reduced the chances of death on the field, they also created a sense of invulnerability that encouraged players to collide more forcefully and more often. 'Almost every single play, you're going to get hit in the head, ' says Miami Dolphins offensive tackle Jake Long. What nobody knew at the time is that these small collisions may be just as damaging. The growing body of research on former football players suggests that brain damage isn't necessarily the result of any one trauma, but the accumulation of thousands of seemingly innocuous blows to the head…
Nonetheless, the strongest argument for the helmet may turn out to be an economic one. The NFL is shaped around the notion that players can run into each other at high speeds without consequence. It's the same sort of idea that has made Nascar the nation's most popular form of motorsport. And beyond all this, there's the very real question of whether the prospect of serious mental impairment later in life will ever discourage people from playing the game—let alone watching. 'Without the helmet, they wouldn't hit their head in stupid plays, ' says P. David Halstead, technical director for the Nocsae, the group that sets helmet-safety standards. But without helmets, the game 'wouldn't be football, ' he says.
11/11/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Football
I'm a football baby,
Rollin' round the field.
I've been passed and fumbled,
Till I don't know what I feel.
Everybody's the same,
They're all footballs too.
Setting up the big play
And trying to score.
I'm a football baby
In a football game
I'm a football baby
Run--kick
Life's a football game,
As every chump and champ knows.
We don't touch, we collide,
Till we're worn out inside.
We're kicking each other,
Right where it hurts,
Setting up the big play,
And trying to score.
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
Block--pass
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
Run---kick---hit---goal .
song performed by Iggy Pop
Added by Lucian Velea
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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Unsuited
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Neither are you 'now' for me.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Today you're not suited for me.
If one waits around,
What appears will change.
And those noses in the air,
Will one day sniff a shame.
With a misery to come,
Like a mental stinging pain.
From their heads to their toes,
And this will show...
When they tumble from their gains,
And everybody knows.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Uh,
I wasn't suited
To be or breathe,
In your company.
Unsuited!
The feeling your eyes,
Laid on me.
I was not suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
For me.
I wasn't suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Football A Game.
What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
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Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.
What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
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[...] Read more
poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)
It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.
Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!
I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.
Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.
It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!
My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.
Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.
Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.
Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.
The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.
By now, there was no doubt that Ken knew he had my attention for I was leaning forward in my chair, hanging onto every word. Vortex-like, my concentration was being pulled and drawn into the centre of what could only be described as the secret world of the soccer-addict; a passionate and breathtaking intensity which would encompass anything related thereto, from a humble soccer boot to a moth-eaten ticket to some long-ago and memorable match played.
'Look! ' he said, paging through a well-thumbed book, 'here's a picture of Wednesday's first match at Olive Grove. This site was bought from the Duke of Norfolk. Did you know that? ' As if I would! But no reply was necessary as he pressed on regardless to tell me about how officials at the time were unable to persuade either Preston or Aston Villa to provide the opposition for a match but Blackburn Rovers did decide to accept the invitation to play. Things weren't going too well but I wanted to fall off my chair to show him how thrilled I was too when Wednesday recovered from a three-goal deficit to draw 4-4 but he wouldn't have noticed. He was in another world.
And then he was down in the depths again as he showed me pictures of headlines proclaiming how Dooley had broken his leg at Deepdale way back in 1953. It was to be the end of the big centre-forward's career. Oh, shame, Ken, I said. And I really meant it.
1954-55 proved to be a disastrous season with Wednesday finishing bottom of the table, nine points below relegation companions Leicester City. The Owls won only 8 games, losing 24 and conceding 100 goals. However, Ken assured me, they won the Second Division Championship in 1955-56 with three points to spare and in the following season they finished mid-table. But, oh dear, by 1957-58 they were down again. The Addict's voice faded and I thought he had been called by the angels.
'And then....? ' I encouraged. Momentarily, he seemed to surface.
'Go on, get along with you, ' he said with a half-smile, 'you're not really interested.'
'Oh, I am, I am, ' I protested gamely, whereupon he went on to tell me all about the so-called bribes scandal or betting-coup revelations which broke in the Sunday newspapers of 1964. Not only did Wednesday suffer in terms of its reputation but it also lost two of its best players.
The situation sounded sufficiently grave for me to try my mournful-look but no, it wasn't necessary as The Addict changed course and went on to tell me the good news about how in 1971, that bloke Dooley, (who'd broken his leg 18 years or so earlier and subsequently had to have it amputated) had been made manager of the club. He was still an idol in the city and the folk-hero of Hillsborough. But his magic was limited and he proved that he was as human as anyone else in his lack of anticipated performance.
But Sheila was rattling crockery in the kitchen and the thought of a nice cup of tea was becoming more and more enticing. Escape was out of the question. We still had about twenty years more to work through! There's a limit to a body's endurance and a feminine mind's appreciation of a predominantly masculine interest.
So, a little less stoically now, I went 'up' with the Owls and 'down' with the Owls as we travelled through from one Division to another over a timespan of many years. But much of their pain was to dissolve in relief when in 1985, they reached their highest position for 25 years by coming fifth in the FA Cup semi-Final. Even if they did lose to Everton.
In that same year, Wednesday were to equalise in the dying seconds of the match with Chelsea. They were 3-O up at half-time and I can well imagine how Ken had nearly fallen off his chair when hearing on the BBC World Service later that evening that the game had ended at 4-4. He still hasn't got over the sheer horror of it all.
There was no stopping him now and I just had to give in and hear about how the next time round, Chelsea lost the toss with the Owls' Chairman tossing the coin and the replay going to Stamford Bridge. Wednesday lost 2-1 proving that the Chelsea bogey had struck again. 'We can't even beat a bunch of pensioners, ' the Addict grinned. I was impressed by his ability not to take himself and his beloved team too seriously.
'And last year, you actually visited the Club, didn't you? ' I asked, determined to hastily gobble up the few remaining years so that I could go and have my tea. I knew of course that the highlight of his addicthood had been when Wednesday were promoted to First Division by beating Man. United in the Rumbelows League Cup Final at Wembley and didn't want to go into all that lot again. Like I said, there's a limit........
'Ah yes, ' he replied dreamily. Even he was beginning to tire. But no, not yet. I had a feeling we were about to move into extra time. More like injury-time, one would say.
'Come, ' he said, leading me towards a cupboard filled with everything and anything that could have any association whatsoever with his team. I'd seen it all before and I would see it again, but there's an indisputable thrill of sharing both old-time and current mementoes and memorabilia of a soccer club, some six thousand miles away, right here in the living room of one of its most ardent supporters.
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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They're Not Suited Totally
Two strangers,
Too soon meet...
To agree,
No one else can match their needs.
Two strangers,
Too soon meet...
To soon discover,
They're not suited totally!
After feeding sexual needs,
They're not suited totally.
Petty issues raises heat.
And they're not suited totally.
There's no cure or remedy,
That will make two strangers see...
Eye to eye,
As days go by.
Two strangers,
Too soon meet...
To agree,
No one else can match their needs.
Two strangers,
Too soon meet...
To soon discover,
They're not suited totally!
Between them there's no history.
And two strangers will never see...
Eye to eye,
As days go by.
After feeding sexual needs,
They're not suited totally.
Petty issues raises heat.
And they're not suited totally.
There's no cure or remedy,
And soon two strangers will agree...
Between them there's no chemistry.
And one of them wishes to leave.
Since there is no history.
And two strangers will never see...
Eye to eye,
As days go by.
Two strangers...
They're not suited totally!
Between them there's no history.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Is The Football Season
This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.
Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.
And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.
This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Station To Station
The return of the thin white duke
Throwing darts in lovers eyes
Here are we, one magical moment, such is the stuff
From where dreams are woven
Bending sound, dredging the ocean, lost in my circle
Here am i, flashing no colour
Tall in this room overlooking the ocean
Here are we, one magical movement from kether to malkuth
There are you, drive like a demon from station to station
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, making sure white stays
Once there were mountains on mountains
And once there were sunbirds to soar with
And once I could never be down
Got to keep searching and searching
Oh, what will I be believing and who will connect me with love?
Wonderful, wonderful, wonder when
Have you sought fortune, evasive and shy?
Drink to the men who protect you and i
Drink, drink, drain your glass, raise your glass high
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
Should I believe that Ive been stricken?
Does my face show some kind of glow?
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here, yes its here
Its too late
Its too late, its too late, its too late, its too late
The european cannon is here
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her
[...] Read more
song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soccer Rollback
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Death Of The Middle Class
Oligarchs and Banksters tighten financial screws
In a bold attempt to kill the global Middle Class
Heads of State unable/unwilling to halt this ruse
The “Great Depression of 1929” we soon surpass
ROTMS
By Andrew Gavin Marshall - Global Research
We now stand at the edge of the global financial abyss of a ‘Great Global Debt Depression, ’ where nations, mired in extreme debt, are beginning to implement ‘fiscal austerity’ measures to reduce their deficits, which will ultimately result in systematic global social genocide, as the middle classes vanish and the social foundations upon which our nations rest are swept away. How did we get here? Who brought us here? Where is this road leading? These are questions I will briefly attempt to answer.
At the heart of the global political economy is the central banking system. Central banks are responsible for printing a nation’s currency and setting interest rates, thus determining the value of the currency. This should no doubt be the prerogative of a national government, however, central banks are of a particularly deceptive nature, in which while being imbued with governmental authority, they are in fact privately owned by the world’s major global banks, and are thus profit-seeking institutions. How do central banks make a profit? The answer is simple: how do all banks make a profit? Interest on debt. Loans are made, interest rates are set, and profits are made. It is a system of debt, imperial economics at its finest.
In the United States, President Woodrow Wilson signed the Federal Reserve Act in 1913, creating the Federal Reserve System, with the Board located in Washington, appointed by the President, but where true power rested in the 12 regional banks, most notably among them, the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. The regional Fed banks were private banks, owned in shares by the major banks in each region, which elected the board members to represent them, and who would then share power with the Federal Reserve Board in Washington.
In the early 1920s, the Council on Foreign Relations was formed in the United States as the premier foreign policy think tank, dominated by powerful banking interests. In 1930, the Bank for International Settlements (BIS) was created to manage German reparations payments, but it also had another role, which was much less known, but much more significant. It was to act as a “coordinator of the operations of central banks around the world.” Essentially, it is the central bank for the world’s central banks, whose operations are kept ‘strictly confidential.’ As historian Carroll Quigley wrote:
'The powers of financial capitalism had another far-reaching aim, nothing less than to create a world system of financial control in private hands able to dominate the political system of each country and the economy of the world as a whole. This system was to be controlled in a feudalist fashion by the central banks of the world acting in concert, by secret agreements arrived at in frequent private meetings and conferences. The apex of the system was to be the Bank for International Settlements in Basel, Switzerland, a private bank owned and controlled by the world’s central banks which were themselves private corporations.'
In 1954, the Bilderberg Group was formed as a secretive global think tank, comprising intellectual, financial, corporate, political, military and media elites from Western Europe and North America, with prominent bankers such as David Rockefeller, as well as European royalty, such as the Dutch royal family, who are the largest shareholders in Royal Dutch Shell, whose CEO attends every meeting. This group of roughly 130 elites meets every year in secret to discuss and debate global affairs, and to set general goals and undertake broad agendas at various meetings. The group was initially formed to promote European integration. The 1956 meeting discussed European integration and a common currency. In fact, the current Chairman of the Bilderberg Group told European media last year that the euro was debated at the Bilderberg Group.
In 1973, David Rockefeller, Chairman and CEO of Chase Manhattan Bank, Chairman of the Council on Foreign Relations and a member of the Steering Committee of the Blderberg Group, formed the Trilateral Commission with CFR academic Zbigniew Brzezinski. That same year, the oil price shocks created a wealth of oil money, which was discussed at that years Bilderberg meeting 5 months prior to the oil shocks, and the money was funneled through western banks, which loaned it to ‘third world’ nations desperately in need of loans to finance industrialization.
When Jimmy Carter became President in 1977, he appointed over two dozen members of the Trilateral Commission into his cabinet, including himself, and of course, Zbigniew Brzezinski, who was his National Security Adviser. In 1979, Carter appointed David Rockefeller’s former aide and friend, Paul Volcker, who had held various positions at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York and the U.S. Treasury Department, and who also happened to be a member of the Trilateral Commission, as Chairman of the Federal Reserve. When another oil shock took place in 1979, Volcker decided to raise interest rates from 2% in the late 70s, to 18% in the early 80s. The effect this had was that the countries of the developing world suddenly had to pay enormous interest on their loans, and in 1982, Mexico announced it could no longer afford to pay its interest, and it defaulted on its debt, which set off the 1980s debt crisis – collapsing nations in debt across Latin America, Africa and parts of Asia.
It was the IMF and the World Bank came to the ‘assistance’ of the Third World with their ‘structural adjustment programs’, which forced countries seeking assistance to privatize all state owned industries and resources, devalue their currencies, liberalize their economies, dismantle health, education and social services; ultimately resulting in the re-colonization of the ‘Third World’ as Western corporations and banks bought all their assets and resources, and ultimately created the conditions of social genocide, with the spread of mass poverty, and the emergence of corrupt national elites who were subservient to the interests of Western elites. The people in these nations would protest, riot and rebel, and the states would clamp down with the police and military.
In the West, corporations and banks saw rapid, record-breaking profits. This was the era in which the term ‘globalization’ emerged. While profits soared, wages for people in the West did not. Thus, to consume in an economy in which prices were rising, people had to go into debt. This is why this era marked the rise of credit cards fueling consumption, and the middle class became a class based entirely on debt.
In the 1990s, the ‘new world order’ was born, with America ruling the global economy, free trade agreements began integrating regional and global markets for the benefit of global banks and corporations, and speculation dominated the economy.
The global economic crisis arose as a result of decades of global imperialism – known recently as ‘globalization’ – and the reckless growth of– speculation, derivatives and an explosion of debt. As the economic crisis spread, nations of the world, particularly the United States, bailed out the major banks (which should have been made to fail and crumble under their own corruption and greed) , and now the West has essentially privatized profits for the banks, and socialized the risk. In other words, the nations bought the debt from the banks, and now the people have to pay for it. The people, however, are immersed in their own personal debt to such degrees that today, the average Canadian is $39,000 in debt, and students are graduating into a jobless market with tens to hundreds of thousands of dollars of student debt that they will never repay. Hence, we are now faced with a global debt crisis.
To manage the economic crisis, the G20 was established as the major international forum for cooperation among the 20 major economies of the world, including the major developing – or emerging – economies, such as India, Brazil, South Africa and China. At the onset of the financial crisis, China and Russia’s central banks began calling for the establishment of a global currency to replace the U.S. dollar as the world reserve currency. This proposal was backed by the UN and the IMF. It should be noted, however, that the Chinese and Russian central banks cooperate with the Western central banks through the Bank for International Settlements – which the President of the European Central Bank, Jean-Claude Trichet, recently said was the principle forum for “governance of central bank cooperation” and that the G20 is “the prime group for global economic governance.” In 2009, the IMF stated that the BIS “is the central and the oldest focal point for coordination of global governance arrangements.” The President of the European Union, appointed to the position after attending a Bilderberg meeting, declared 2009 as the “first year of global governance.” The 2009 Bilderberg meeting reported on the desire to create a global treasury, or global central bank, to manage the world economy. In 2009, prior to the Bilderberg meeting in fact, the G20 set in motion plans to make the IMF a global central bank of sorts, issuing and even printing its own currency – called Special Drawing Rights (SDRs) – which is valued against a basket of currencies. In May of 2010, the IMF Managing Director stated that “crisis is an opportunity, ” and while Special Drawing Rights are a step in the right direction, ultimately what is needed is “a new global currency issued by a global central bank, with robust governance and institutional features.” Thus, we see the emergence of a process towards the formation of a global central bank and a global currency, totally unaccountable to any nation or people, and totally controlled by global banking interests.
In 2010, Greece was plunged into a debt crisis, a crisis which is now spreading across Europe, to the U.K. and eventually to Japan and the United States. If we look at Greece, we see the nature of the global debt crisis. The debt is owed to major European and American banks. To pay the interest on the debt, Greece had to get a loan from the European Central Bank and the IMF, which forced the country to impose ‘fiscal austerity’ measures as a condition for the loans, pressuring Greece to commit social genocide. Meanwhile, the major banks of America and Europe speculate against the Greek debt, further plunging the country into economic and social crisis. The loan is granted, to pay the interest, yet simply has the effect of adding to the overall debt, as a new loan is new debt. Thus, Greece is caught in the same debt trap that re-colonized the Third World.
At the recent G20 meeting in Toronto, the major nations of the world agreed to impose fiscal austerity – or in other words, commit social genocide – within their nations, in a veritable global structural adjustment program. So now we will see the beginnings of the Great Global Debt Depression, in which major western and global nations cut social spending, create mass unemployment by dismantling health, education, and social services. Further, state infrastructure – such as roads, bridges, airports, ports, railways, prisons, hospitals, electric transmission lines and water – will be privatized, so that global corporations and banks will own the entirely of national assets. Simultaneously, of course, taxes will be raised dramatically to levels never before seen. The BIS said that interest rates should rise at the same time, meaning that interest payments on debt will dramatically increase at both the national and individual level, forcing governments to turn to the IMF for loans – likely in the form of its new global reserve currency – to simply pay the interest, and will thus be absorbing more debt. Simultaneously, of course, the middle class will in effect have its debts called in, and since the middle class exists only as an illusion, the illusion will vanish.
Already, towns, cities, and states across America are resorting to drastic actions to reduce their debts, such as closing fire stations, scaling back trash collection, turning off street lights, ending bus services and public transportation, cutting back on library hours or closing them altogether, school districts cutting down the school day, week or year. Simultaneously, this is occurring with a dramatic increase in the rate of privatizations or “public-private partnerships” in which even libraries are being privatized.
No wonder then, that this month, the Managing Director of the IMF warned that America and Europe, in the midst of the worst jobs crisis since the Great Depression, face an “explosion of social unrest.” Just yesterday, Europe experienced a wave of mass protests and social unrest in opposition to ‘austerity measures’, with a general strike in Spain involving millions of people, and a march on the EU headquarters in Brussels of nearly 100,000 people. As social unrest spreads, governments will likely react – as we saw in the case of the G20 in Toronto – with oppressive police state measures. Here, we see the true relevance of the emergence of ‘Homeland Security States’, designed not to protect people from terrorists, but to protect the powerful from the people.
So while things have never seemed quite so bleak, there is a dim and growing beacon of hope, in what Zbigniew Brzezinski has termed as the greatest threat to elite interests everywhere – the ‘global political awakening’. The global political awakening is representative of the fact that for the first time in all of human history, mankind is politically awakened and stirring, activated and aware, and that generally – as Zbigniew Brzezinski explains – generally is aware of global inequalities, exploitation, and disrespect. This awakening is largely the result of the information revolution – thus revealing the contradictory nature of the globalization project – as while it globalizes power and oppression, so too does it globalize awareness and opposition. This awakening is the greatest threat to entrenched elite interests everywhere. The awakening, while having taken root in the global south – already long subjected to exploitation and devastation – is now stirring in the west, and will grow as the economy crumbles. As the middle classes realize their consumption was an illusion of wealth, they will seek answers and demand true change, not the Wall Street packaged ‘brand-name’ change of Obama Inc., but true, inspired, and empowering change.
In 1967, Martin Luther King delivered a speech in which he spoke out against the Vietnam War and the American empire, and he stated that, “It seems as if we are on the wrong side of a world revolution.” So now it seems to me that the time has come for that to change.
Andrew Gavin Marshall is a Research Associate with the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG) .
poem by Ray Lucero
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Shes So European
She walked in like a lady, with a glass of pink champagne
I wouldnt look if you paid me, cause to me shes still the same
Well you oughtta see her, wearin her heart on her sleeves
Youd never believe her, shes got a well-planned look in her eyes
Shes so european, shes one of a kind, one of a kind
Shes so european, shes one of a kind, all in her mind
And shes so european, I found out today
She still speaks with an accent from a week in san tropez
She makes love on her brass bed cause her parents are still away
Well you oughtta see her, countin the stars in her eyes
Youd never believe her, shes got a well-planned coverless smile
Shes so european, shes one of a kind, all in her mind
Shes so european, shes one of a kind, all in her mind
And shes so european, she told me today
I wanna hold her tight all through the night, I must be dreamin
I wanna take my time, shes so refined, is that her screamin
Ive seen the looks in your eyes, youve seen through her disguise, yeah
Shes so european, shes so european, one of a kind, all in her mind....
song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thanks A Lot, Mom
Thanks a Lot, Mom
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for loving me to no end.
Thanks for being my loving mother.
Thanks for being my thoughtful friend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for feeding me and giving me a home.
Thanks for clothing me and holding me tight.
Thanks for caring when I felt alone.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for always making me smile.
Thanks for giving me the extra push.
Thanks for going that extra mile.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for living with no regrets.
Thanks for being the life of the party.
Thanks for going all in on bets.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for being my inspiration.
Thanks for helping me with my homework.
Thanks for giving me motivation.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for treating me with respect.
Thanks for knowing I'm growing up.
Thanks for knowing what to expect.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me while I was down.
Thanks for telling me I'm a liar.
Thanks for knowing what comes around.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for giving me my many scars.
Thanks for making me feel at home.
Thanks for breaking my aching heart.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for taking away my friends.
Thanks for taking away my family.
Thanks for not having to pretend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me out of my home.
Thanks for calling me cheap and attention-seeking.
Thanks for putting me out on my own.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for ripping away my Brett.
Thanks for saying you don't remember.
Thanks for saying I should forget.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for believing your husband over your kid.
Thanks for rewarding him for a crime.
Thanks for punishing me for what he did.
[...] Read more
poem by Rebecca Paul
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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My old football
YOU can keep your antique silver and your statuettes of bronze,
Your curios and tapestries so fine,
But of all your treasures rare there is nothing to compare
With this patched up, wornout football pal o’ mine.
Just a patchedup wornout football, yet how it clings!
I live again my happier days in thoughts that football brings.
It’s got a mouth, it’s got a tongue,
And oft when we’re alone I fancy that it speaks
To me of golden youth that’s flown.
It calls to mind our meeting,
’Twas a present from the Dad.
I kicked it yet I worshipped it,
How strange a priest it had!
And yet it jumped with pleasure
When I punched it might and main:
And when it had the dumps
It got blown up and punched again.
It’s lived its life;
It’s played the game;
Its had its rise and fall,
There’s history in the wrinkles of that wornout football.
Caresses rarely came its way in babyhood ’twas tanned.
It’s been well oiled, and yet it’s quite teetotal, understand.
It’s gone the pace, and sometimes it’s been absolutely bust,
And yet ’twas always full of bounce,
No matter how ’twas cussed.
He’s broken many rules and oft has wandered out of bounds,
He’s joined in shooting parties
Over other people’s grounds.
Misunderstood by women,
He was never thought a catch,
Yet he was never happier
Than when bringing off a match.
He’s often been in danger
Caught in nets that foes have spread,
He’s even come to life again
When all have called him dead.
Started on the centre,
And he’s acted on the square,
To all parts of the compass
He’s been bullied everywhere.
His aims and his ambitious
Were opposed by one and all,
And yet he somehow reached his goal
That plucky old football.
When schooling days were ended
I forgot him altogether,
And ’midst the dusty years
He lay a crumpled lump of leather.
Then came the threat’ning voice of War,
[...] Read more
poem by John Milton Hayes
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Football Farce
Football managers and players should hang their heads in shame,
For what they've done to our traditional football game.
Now sportsmen in the game are a dying breed,
with managers and players getting rich with greed.
Sportsmen! They are not, for they will cheat and connive,
winning free kicks and penalties by taking a dive.
Pushing, pulling and shirts being torn,
Punching and swearing are now the norm.
After a night on drugs and all night boozing,
players get violent if their team is loosing.
The managers aren't any better when staring at defeat,
encouraging players to go out there and cheat.
If the players do wrong and it's plain to see,
the managers will argue and blame the referee.
And now referees are getting in on this shameful act,
with the top premier clubs they've now formed a pact.
If the top club is loosing, then with the last kick of the ball,
the referee gives them a penalty for no good reason at all.
If that doesn't help they commit another dreadful crime,
by giving them another chance by adding on extra time.
The F.A. watches these games and don't seem to mind,
What's up with them? are they totally blind?
The F.A. should now hang their heads in shame,
for they have let money and greed ruin our football game.
That's why I have finally decided to call it a day,
Football ain't getting anymore of my hard earnt pay.
By
Alan Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2007
poem by Alan Weston
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