So I have recently found myself travelling for work, which is equal parts exhausting and fun. The exhausting part is standing on platforms in the cold and squishing into crowded carriages. The fun part is suddenly having time to doodle, read and scribble again, and of course, being on trains. I love trains. I wonder if I asked nicely enough if they would let me drive the train.
Public safety aside, here is my latest commit scribble, a comuscrib if you will. Please ignore the embittered nature of the early morning inner voice.
Wate Of Space
Everyone’s wasted, the young and the old
In pubs and galleries where litter’s pasted on wall
With more alcohol the egos come in from the cold
To test their mettle, and scratch their balls…
There’s posturing, posing, transference of guilt
The chests puff out and the consciences wilt
The numbers dip down as the evening drags on
With more and more booze a revolutions begun
“The problem is, with people today,
They do one thing contrary to what they say”
“There’s no family values!” “The world’s turning to shit”
“Well I can feel better because I have a bag with a fair trade label on it”
It’s made with high quality fabric by substandard wages
In a place where they don’t care about the ages
Of their workers, or their living conditions
But it’s assembled elsewhere which means we can all take higher moral positions
So we sit there sipping our whiskey and cokes
Forgetting soft drink slavery and swapping rude jokes
Soon a fight breaks out about what is worse:
Is science a blessing? Religion a curse?
Is it fraking or drilling? Unnessecary land filling?
Is it bankers bonuses? Politician’s spending?
Rainforest animals no ones defending?
Holes in the O-zone? The height of the seas?
Machines taking over? The death of our bees?
People starving in Africa or starving at home?
Heat vs. Eat? The old dying alone?
Earthquakes or storms? Floods or fires?
Or celbrities shocking and sordid desires?
When the last bell tolls and we’ve all stumbled back
Burping and farting, passed out in the sack
It all seems irrelevant when you are tucked up indoors
With vodka and beer oozing from pores
“Don’t worry for now, we’ll let the kids fix it all
we’ll keep on spending” and scratching our balls.
The kids are the future, we’ve already passed
But only because we couldn’t be arsed
We’re wasting and rotting, hurtling through space
But I can ignore it just to save face.
In other news, I have found a way to fight the post work blues… Cartoons and Nachos, a winning combination of childish comfort and cheeses goodness