America a quagmire of debasement with increments of corruption-exploitation and perversion of the human mind, body, spirit

She thought how life was equally simple and difficult-why she was here was down to America-the land of the brave the free the undead.

She is incarcerated in this home-the crime-getting old.

The reason behind everything that is:

‘for your own good’is:





It is called cultural cannibalisation-the consuming of the consumable-in other words humans-puppets to play with-she reasoned.

There is no point in losing the will to live-you must will to death by

losing your life.



For ‘your benefit’-we know best. That applies to anything in the human that can be colonised.

Your language-your lifestyle-your culture-your mind is invaded by the stars and stripes. This bottomless urge to hunt down is unfathomable.

As the eyes of caring colonisers glazed affirmatively over her -the perfect candidate-house-money-assets and children who wanted her as an hourly visit-they had no choice she just would not bloody die aka Dr God is in the room.

The days lingered and washed over each other in an insalubrious stench-the kind that goes up and into your brain-never leaving.

Milk, dinner, piss, shit, polish, breakfast, oldness, tea, each other, Mary, Ann, souls, yellowing tongue breath, gangrous brains, whispering farts,



Death saved the world she thought. Death is the living unconscionable problem of the living.

Without death life would not exist-but America wants a share in the never ending life.

The necessary. The pain. The fear. The pretence. The control. The Money.


NO stop she thought as they rolled her over

‘Ok lift’  the black man said.

And sat her in the wheelchair.

It was bath time.

He was black and strong and new.

Indifference the usual carer grabbed her back and helped blackness by doing nothing.

With his strength indifference let him at it.

Her eyes held a frozen fear-God help me-kill me.





She looked at her hands resting on the leather armrests- loose skinned and mottled-good hands strong hands creative hands that used scratch his back and arouse him.

Hands with strandlines that cooked, cleaned, made, washed, ironed, slapped, turned a heel, knitted jumpers, added to future life.

‘Ah stop would yeh! stop shhhut up now’ indifference said. Pushing her off to dwell in a watery hell.

In the cold bathroom blackness started pulling her nighty up-it was light cotton with a front button tie-blue like the tiles on the wall.

As he pulled it up-she saw indifference looking in the mirror at herself admiring her makeup smoothing her hair.

Pulling her arms out of the holes-they were thin and saggy like the outgoing tide with razor fish brown squirrely lumps on her skin.

Blackness pulled the nighty up to her neck-her arms used be strong to carry the turf-the children-hold the mule-bring the stones to build a wall-carry the earth-her grey black hair fell around her shoulders-exposed.

She was in momentary darkness as her head birthed out the top.

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