Now that all the books have been burned

Now that the sea has told you you’re a fish

Now that the baker has eaten all your cake

Now that you know how the bread gets buttered

Now that you know how the wheels get greased

Now that you’re clear on who owns the jam

Now that your water has been turned in to wine

Now that you lie in a trolley made bed

Now that the bright and the best are in charge

Now that you know your future is history

Now that you know at whose table you sit

Now that you know to keep a civil tongue

Now that you know all you read is the truth

Now that the light has been quenched in the room

Now that the dark is your natural state

Now that fear is a constant companion

Now that the exit sign has been lit

Welcome to the ignorance.

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Diary of a middle aged redundant man (part 240113, especially for the hard eyed advocates of the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps and stop whingeing” school of economic Calvinism. Those fine, self-made men and women, who make the journey from “self-help” to, er, “self-love” look very short indeed).

Dear Diary,

Epiphany

is not

always sudden

sometimes

the truth

like

an old

dropping penny

falls

slowly

My beloved parents

lived

honourable

modest

lives

and

believed.

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