What I Hate About Scotland !

I’ve done a post on what I love about Scotland blog post but never one about what I hate. So here is a list of what I Hate about Scotland

Hate – This might shock some but I hate traditional Scottish literature Robert Louise Stevenson and Walter Scott I find their books dry and not to my cup of tea.

Hate – The way we treat people – It might be worse in England but Scottish people like to label people junkies a lot.

Hate – Shortbread its just not a good biscuit

Hate – Nationalism. I’m just sick of our country saying they want to stay in the EU it might be alright for skilled workers to sit back in their chairs and call us racists but we have family’s to feed , houses to heat we need jobs and there all being taken by immigrants. I wouldn’t go as far to say I’m a unionist but I hate how the younger generation all want independence and that its stupid not to want it when most of them are students and are not actually full time workers or on benefits and think its easy to get a Job I can tell you now. Its not. The rich look after themselves it wouldn’t matter if we were independent or not.

Hate – Our stereotypes. I think people think that us Scottish people are a lovely friendly folk when in reality most strangers look like they want to spit on you for saying hi.

Please leave a comment on this blog post and share your thoughts.

Autumn Lows

Before I start this post, I just want to put a disclaimer that I’m trying to reach 1000 followers by the new year so please follow and like thank you!

Edinburgh With Calton Hill Against Autumn Leaves In Scotland Stock Photo -  Download Image Now - iStock

Although I like to talk about films and poetry and other random stuff on here, I also feel really depressed at this time of year. Whilst others have been out working and having fun as the seasons change and the colours of the leaves turn I feel especially low. All year I’ve been depressed snoozing through the day and going to bed early to avoid panic attacks. I barely leave the house except to go shopping or go to college and do a course im really struggling with. Its true when they say it goes in one ear and out the other. I thought going to college would help boost my mood but all its done is make me feel inferior when other people in the class aren’t struggling.

It’s a known fact that life is unfair but in the past year I’ve realized how stuck I am in poverty.  nothing excites me and around me the area is very bleak. I cant drive and I am getting in a way that im to lazy to take the bus. I used to like getting on the bus and having a look round the shops but now I feel too dependent on my parents, still needing my mum and dad close by.

Its very frustrating for me like a fly entrapped in a spiders web I am desperate for my own independence and freedom. But there’s meds to remember , washing and cooking to do and at the moment I even struggle to clean my own bedroom.

 I definitely think I have PTSD from my time(s) I’ve been in hospital which now effects my life. When I was 17 I went through a horrific time looking back now it was completely out of order to treat a teenager like that.

I think writing this blog helps to get it out on paper so to speak. Doing this is a great distraction. I almost feel selfish for feeling this way as there’s people who have probably gone through a lot more than me. Its not like I went through any major trauma growing up apart from my mum having epilepsy but that never stopped her looking after us yet I feel like I’ve let my family down by dropping out of school and like my blog says I feel lazy as my depression makes me feel like i am just sitting around leaching off the state.

I saw a blogs bio which says their a writer of professionally unemployed so maybe I could come under that bracket even though I don’t make any money (yet) My goal is to have enough money to live comfortably maybe have a bigger house that I’ve grown up in however at the moment it feels like that dream is way off.

Anyway, If you feel the same way as me at this time of year just know you’re not alone. Amen x  

Epistle To Hugh Parker Analysis

Hey Guys So I’m on the road to 500 followers so if your new It would mean a lot of you hit the follow button thanks.

Robert Burns - Wikipedia
 
IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne’er cross’t the Muse’s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:
A land that Prose did never view it,        5
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it—for in vain I leuk.        10
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;
For life and spunk like ither Christians,        15
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
Dowie she saunters down Nithside,        20
And aye a westlin leuk she throws,
While tears hap o’er her auld brown nose!
Was it for this, wi’ cannie care,
Thou bure the Bard through many a shire?
At howes, or hillocks never stumbled,        25
And late or early never grumbled?—
O had I power like inclination,
I’d heeze thee up a constellation,
To canter with the Sagitarre,
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar;        30
Or turn the pole like any arrow;
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow,
Down the zodiac urge the race,
And cast dirt on his godship’s face;
For I could lay my bread and kail        35
He’d ne’er cast saut upo’ thy tail.—
Wi’ a’ this care and a’ this grief,
And sma’, sma’ prospect of relief,
And nought but peat reek i’ my head,
How can I write what ye can read?—        40
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o’ June,
Ye’ll find me in a better tune;
But till we meet and weet our whistle,
Tak this excuse for nae epistle.

Analysis : Part 1

IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne’er cross’t the Muse’s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:   I love the opening to this poem it’s so poignant and

Captivating. I think the first line expresses confusion with the words in this strange land. A land unkown to prose or rhyme. I think this is symbolic of the isolation burn feels as a poor writer not many can relate to him. Also perhaps its symbolic of society’s ignorance whither its to do with illiteracy at the time or poverty that blights Scotland. “Where words no’er cross’t the muses heckles Nor limpit in poetic shackles.” This shows that burns feels trapped perhaps by his situation and lack of money but also by his gift for the written word.

A land that Prose did never view it,
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,

“A land that Prose did never view it.” I think this expresses burns frustration that although he is one of the most gifted writers in history he still cant capture all that he wants to. Except when drunk he stachert thro it. This reveals what burns sees the drunks of the streets and perhaps his own battle with drink. Here ambush’d by the chimla cheek. Hid in an atmosphere of reek. This shows what the city was dirty at the time and covered in reek.

I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it—for in vain I leuk.
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;     In this stanza what stands out to me is the line “k
For in vain I leuk. This suggests that Burns perhaps feels guilty about his

 Fame and talent.

“The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel Enhusked by a fog infernal. These lines are symbolic of heat and perhaps the devil or anger, burns maybe feels like the Devil. “Here , for my wonted rhyming raptures I sit and count my sins by chapters.” He feels guilty about his gift perhaps because of his position in society and the fame and talent he has.

For life and spunk like ither Christians,
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!

In this stanza he is in conflict with himself and his religion , he admits he’s not a very good Christian maybe because his love of drink or sex. “Im dwindled down to mere existence “here he feels that society does not value his talent and he is merely living a pointless life that wont amount to much.

Capitalism And It’s Effect On Mental Health

Antipsychotics: Do they do more harm than good?

I stumbled across an interesting article in The Herald today that argued that modern mental health disorders are more down to capitalism than a biological disorder. In the article written about the book sedated its says the economical issues like poverty and isolation are more common causes to why people are “sick” I myself have been on anti psychotics for years and I believe this to be true growing up in cramped housing , having a poor diet and mostly just struggling to get by may have caused my illness. Although I would never put anyone off taking medication as I believe like dementia there is biological factor behind diseases like depression and psychosis. I think any mental heath professional who does not treat mental disorders like any other illness is not doing their job properly.

However , unemployment and cuts to benefits does not make you happy. If you have a job you have some sort of motivation in your life. Your around people so less likely to develop psychotic symptoms from isolation, the wealthier you are the better your diet and exercise is and so on. Which all lead to better mental wellbeing.

Davies argues that radical political reform is needed to tackle the social issues of despair. Basically higher taxation on the rich. So many things including mental health are linked to poverty. Substance abuse , crime , physical illness , attainment gap , shorter life span. The poor are constantly penalised. We blame poverty on ourselves when in fact our lives are made shittier because of capitalism. We’re forced into low paid jobs or benefits. While some (who can drive ) whizz around in fancy cars and spend their money heating their massive houses. It’s a way of life you don’t know unless you’ve experienced it. And for most unless you win the lottery never will.

January

 The muddy water washed over them as they stood shivering on the street corner. Two girls Mary and Gennie. They weren’t wanted by society; they weren’t wanted by anyone. They had a mother. Yes, a mother that lived in unclean squalor who smoked rolled up cigarettes and talked to herself. Who sent them out on an ice-cold day in January to collect messages because she couldn’t be bothered? Mary pulled her arm around Gennie pulling her towards her in a hug. No one was going to hurt her, not this time, this time mother had gone too far. She slapped Gennie in psychotic rage, the doctors had given her pills, pills that she washed down with Russian vodka. Mary wouldn’t say mother didn’t care, that was not it. She had always blamed her father far more than her mother a selfish man who’d run off at a young age with another wealthier woman. Who’d left Mary and Gennie in the care of a woman society would claimed as unfit. It was the nineteen forties and the second world war was still raging on.

They lived in London but hadn’t been fortunate to be evacuated here they lay stiff in bed at night, planes circling overhead wondering wither a bomb would drop upon their heads. Gennie suffered from mad fits of panic waking in the middle of the night shivering at the sounds of the sirens her whole body would shake her teeth chattering, her knees knocking, I cant breath she would yell at Mary , “Mary take her back to bloody bed” mother said dismissing her through a cloud of smoke as she sat in a worn armchair watching some old cowboy film on a black and white television. “You don’t have to be so selfish” She yelled at mother although she was only fourteen, she felt like the only person in the world who cared about her sister. She pulled on Genies hand dragging her into the kitchen and putting some milk on the gas hob to heat up. Gennie hopped from foot to foot as the air raid sirens wailed on. Mary wished they would stop. What good did it do? It only panicked people, people running into shelters or just running around the streets clutching at others anything to sooth their fear. Mary thought it was unnecessary and selfish of the government to panic people in such a way. Once the milk was heated up enough, she poured it into a mug and took Gennie by the hand leading her back up to bed. Climbing the stairs. She Lit a lavender candle and tucking her under the covers. “What if we get bombed” Said Gennie still shivering. Mary took her hand stroking it in a soothing manner. “Were not going to get bombed” she said as if the idea was the most absurd thing anyone could ever conjure. She took out a book Alice in wonderland and began reading to Gennie. Gennie Sipped at the hot milk as her sister soothed her into sleep that eventually came. Mary sat back on the old wooden chair; her sister lay peacefully with her eyes closed. Outside the sirens still wailed on and Mary wished she could be younger, she wished someone could sooth her into sleep, but no one would. mother sat downstairs half drunk and showed her no pity. She felt as if no one showed her any pity, perhaps she didn’t even deserve it?

The mornings were slow but easy. Make the beds, empty the chamber pots get dressed, then go downstairs for cornflakes with a little milk. No sugar, not even on birthdays. She longed for something soft and sweet like the buns she saw in the baker’s windows but there was no money. 

Gennie was staggering about trying to put her tights on, they were laddered and bobbly, but again there was no money. They were both trouncing from school again, they were too scared to go as that would mean risking evacuation, and although she longed to go sit at a desk and learn poems and arithmetic in a quaint countryside town something in her just wouldn’t let her leave her mother.

Mary stared down at her black cup of tea no milk as usual. They used to get eggs and milk delivered when their dad was around. Sweets aswell once a month on payday they would go to the corner shop and chose between sherbet and liquorice balls all laid out neatly in jars behind the counter. They had nothing like that now. Now all they could get where some out of date potatoes and carrots that mary would have to cut the bad bits off to make some watery soup.

Voting ?

Should I vote Labour , SNP or …Tory?


Personally I want to start of by saying I’m sick of the SNPs propaganda I literally hate the party. I just feel like they could do better I almost feel sorry for them with all of the grief we’ve experienced this year.Actually correction I dont think I could have a simple act of sympathy for the snp. I feel that Scottish labour is the only party that can really make a difference to scotland. We dont need rallies with flags and irn bru we need a party who actually care about the most vulnerable in our society such as low wage workers , the disabled and long term unemployed. Even the conservative party want to put more money into the health service.

More over I think the NHS has came to a breaking point and it shouldn’t be free for everyone , if you have enough money you should pay so that we can have a better health care service for everyone. The middle class are only voting for SNP so they can get free university access and prescriptions while the lower side of society suffer.

We use these things to seem superior to England and other countries when really our education and healthcare are suffering and generation after generation are slipping through the net. The conservative party even pulled us out of a fascist European union. People with professional jobs just dont understand the need for jobs , for those at the bottom of society which are taken by foreigners. They just happily skip along in ignorantly thinking the job market is great. The SNP are charming but in reality their just watered down conservatives.


I can actually say this right now at this moment I would literally vote conservative over SNP. If I had to! I really don’t agree or understand what they do but at least even in a country of conservative rule , youd her better treatment than the slums where I live. Overall I want a party that can look after me , not one that breaks me!

Our Day Will Come

I cant stop writing like tapping your foot or slamming your head hard against wood.
They wouldnt say we’re “Very” poor , obesity can say for sure.

I crossed the line
I didn’t care to read the signs
disillusioned by all my rhymes
guilty of my sickly crimes.

Perhaps if I re spun the dial
waited for a little while
and through the crackling static said
go to the forth and baptize your head
with the spilled blood of the dead.

Would you rather see your taxes go
to a sick man
arise poor soul.
Or see your hard working honest gold.
Slide into a stoic MPs pocket.

Damn those civil servants too
the heartless policeman
the shitty nurse
the lawyer with a bulging purse.

I wouldn’t preach to being proud of the poor
oh for goodness sake will you shut the front door.
Your desperation has leaked all over my nice floor.

I feel guilty are words you’ve never said
My poems are all stained in red.

Surely the day will one day come
we’ll bleed our veins
for our little ones.

Oh you’ll be sorry
through the muffled silence
I think that is what he said
when your children are crying I’ll turn away my head.
And cruelly smile.
Perhaps if I re spun the dial.

No One Owns Art !!

PIC: A new Banksy has popped up on the French Embassy in London | JOE.co.uk

(Before I start.I would really like it if you commented and put forward your opinions on this topic)

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. No one owns art. I feel like the only accessible art form in 2020 is music and film. To most the books are left to collect dust on a high shelf’s out of reach to many and great paintings are ruined by the coffee stains of the class divide. Literature like classical music and fox hunting seems to be a possession of the higher classes. Believe it or not I don’t hate the church. The elite built me aside from school and my parents I was raised by the church. The psalms of the bible and the verses of the hymns helped me create poetry and write prose. The summer clubs helped tutor and nurture me. However I wasn’t on the same level as them. My mother dusted the pews and scrubbed the toilets whist the conservative Christians preached the pure word of God towering above us on their high podium.

At school I was always degraded siting in a third set English class I was bitter , but I made friends I will never forget despite walking along the narrow tightrope that was the poverty line. Clutching a pen for balance , one slip and I would of tumbled to my doom. Perhaps I already have. in fact I know I have. What I write is in vain , they will spit on my grave.

Survival of the fittest is interwoven into our society despite anyone taking into account the middle classes head start at the game. Yet to say this puts a black mark against your name. Artwork is too expensive to buy for many , words to extravagant to understand. , and if your a woman who tires to challenge this you may as well thump your fists against a brick wall until they are bloody and bruised , but perhaps I’m biased. No one owns art. That’s all their is to say.

Scotland’s Shame

Scotland’s Shame 
There are children jumping in front of trains , and grown men throwing bricks through window panes.
An old woman drowning out her sorrow by voting for the devils of tomorrow.

There are qualified girls lining up for food , and young boys disguising their face with a hood.
Polite ladies burning up my book , whilst their dearest darlings get up to no good. Kicking the life out of a man until his lips turn to blue.

For I have seen your likes before , I have already chapped this door and ran away I never stay. In the dark I stiffly lay.

For they are you and they are me. Scotland’s shame to the highest degree.
Sentence me with immortality.

You are people in textbooks no more , which teenagers think are just a bore.

For we have slept here before.

A Post On Failure

Image result for kirkcaldy photos

If I am being brutally honest with myself I would call myself a failure. I dropped out of school aged 16 which in some peoples eyes makes you only useful for collecting bins or scrubbing toilets. My grammar isn’t up to scratch my writing misspelt and disorganised. Would I preach to the gods that this is the best way to live your life. No I wouldn’t. Poverty is brutal and takes its tole on you. If you want to spend your life on the couch watching Come Dine With Me and Primark hauls and hanging around the bus station all day filling your lungs with god knows what to numb your reality out then by all means follow in my foot steps.

If you want to drive around in a BMW and go shopping for fruit in Waitrose. Then maybe stay in school. However I suppose our experiences make us who we are. I for example am probably a chav who roams the streets in a hoodie and leggings. I am the definition of slipping through the net. Although I’ve made good friends and art from the depths of hell which would never have happend if I didn’t make the choices I did…. I suppose.

Perhaps In some ways failure is good for us It makes us more humble. It gives us a different perspective. You look at a homeless person on the street and instead of judging them your like Jesus Christ Im one away from being them !! And hastily hand them your months benefits (Jks)

Just go easy on yourself If you find yourself at the job centre your among thousands of people in the same boat. Dont live alone with your fear of failure.