Today, Of Tomorrow

Alcohol is my default. Drunkeness a refuge for the insecurities and bitterness that dwell in these bones, indeed my very soul. Alcoholics (we rabid, wild flowers), regard intoxication as medicine who crave it as instinctively as breathing. To be born an addict, as there is no choice in this matter, is to be born with a heavy, persistant darkness that one learns quickly can be made bearable through liberal use of alcohol or pills (or both). So fast is this knowledge one is tempted to be overly dramatic with descriptions of angels and divine solutions but truth is more mundane, fact is that self preservation is as much part of the human fabric as any fraility and the minute we boozers get a taste of our 'medicine', addiction sets in. A wretched journey of despair, pain, lies, loathing and filth. A journey not everyone survives. In fact, I would wager more die from addiction than are accounted for because by its nature it is a disease that instills secrecy.

Today, Of Tomorrow 

 All of the horrors are given and known, have been lived through time and time again, yet the temptation of another drink remains. Not small and insignificent, harmless in the background but lurking on every thread of thought, constant in its danger to sobriety. A relentless bloodlust that should I ever lessen my grip on sobriety will ravish my soul with unspeakable terrors, as it has many times before. Sobriety isn't a natural state for me, in years distant I have used my powers of manipulation and deceit to avoid it at any cost. Today I am five years clean but its not game over. It is never game over. There is too high consequence in wanting a drink today. There is never a today. Today in drink becomes tomorrow in drink, and tomorrow after that, on and on it slides into oblivion. Like thousands of other alcoholics, the trickster becomes the tricked. The grain mistress has no equal when it comes to seductive poisons.

 Ode to Zero

 Alas I must refrain from pretty words for fear of getting distracted and this would be fatal with this disease. To put it bluntly: there are those of us where tomorrow must cease to exist. There can be no healing finish line in this race. The minute I allow to trust in tomorrow, is when things get dark. Get grim and bloody. Tomorrow is a new slate, a reset and if I believe in those, I am in danger today. Too many times I have indulged today, believing tomorrow was a new day that wouldn't bring the craving and therefore I would be safe. Alcoholism doesn't do safe. It wants you to trust. It wants to be an old friend. It wants you to put faith in it. And we all fall down.

Like Bones In A Storm

Readers familiar to trese blogs and thoughts will know by now that I am a recovering alcoholic. I spent many years under the cruel whip of addiction, and many years getting sober only to fall again and again under its spell. Its a recurring theme im afraid, as many fellow alcoholics and addicts will agree. In the life, nothing could be rarer than an alcoholic who 'gets it' the first time out. Nobody drinks, quits and suddenly become sober forever more. The moment of clarity does not drop like switching a light on and off (if only were it the case). Five years. This will be my fifth year clean from booze but I can never again believe for one second that its safe to crack open a bottle because if I did these years of sobriety would be for naught. I even hesitate to type this post for fear of stirring a demon to tempt fate and lure me back. The disease is cunning and patient, it can take refuge within any situation, ready to kill sobriety with a crushing blow. Love, pain, worry,loss; these and a hundred more can swiftly end the sober souls reign. I have been there, done it and regretfully wear the scars. We are never truly sober, even as we shy from wine. Strange as it may sound to non addicts, it really is possible to be a drunk without a drink. "Drinking thinking" we called it in rehab. Alcoholism is like a cyst soldered to the soul. A grim shadow. A beast continually searching for a chance to escape and maim. Ten years sober? One kiss from whiskey will cure that. Free from the cruel sting of alcohol withdrawal? Take a drink of ginger grain and the anguish can return like bones in a storm. Today God willing, I am sober but always guarded because like life itself, it can end in a second.

The Cauldron of Vengeance and Deathmaker

In memory of Larry Fitzgerald, Texas Dept of Criminal Justice spokesman


First, I 'think' I am still a supporter of capital punishment. I have spent years on death penalty forums arguing in favour of it, rolled out many blog posts and even created a website that gathers records of executions that happened here in Wales hundreds of years ago. I'm a tad on the ghoulish side, I openly admit this but allow me to get back to the 'think' part of my opening.
Nobody on earth can be 100% either way regarding killing in pursuit of justice. I have met many (via forums) who claim to be fully pro death or anti and yet often it only takes a minor detail to push someone the other way. Might be the inmate on death row has murdered a child, a crime so heinous to make even the more liberal of folk wave a noose in anger. Perhaps a wretched soul has had their innocence come to light after their appointment with the deathmaker (famous, historic cases shows us this has been so), and is a potent force in stopping the fry circus get more supporters into its camp.
Pro and anti are as common and varied as flower petals, and much like petals, it can take only the gentlest of wind to change direction. I myself am in constant struggle to find where justice sits with me, and to wear the shrouded hood of death with at least a pinch of grace and honesty, one must answer the question: are we a civilised race?

And the depressing truth of it all is, that I do not think we are. Not by a long shot. Heck by looking at humanity through ragged, bloody history we are able to see slivers of the soul in all naked savagery. Stripped down, laid bare, the barbed folds of life complete. Twisted mechanics o in all its suicidal, craven glory. We are not purehearts, or saints by nature.
Certainly we like to think ourselves as kind, generous, loving, open minded race but life will cure one from that thinking all too soon. giving way to uncomfortable fact. Humans are a selfish, cruel, greedy bunch. Self obsessed to the point of indifference toward others. And this isn't entirely wicked, indeed its vital for self preservation because a honest to God, pure pacifist wouldn't be long for the world (especially this world) if they were uncompromising in his or her pacifism. So a little cold is good for the soul, and I wish folk would recognise it.

The March of the Purehearts


Listen, im not saying humans are damned to hell and locked into a terrible future. Corruption and bad intentions do not dominate every waking heart and neither do I believe this planet lost to hope. If we were swamped by a ocean of never ending evil, the world would have eaten itself long ago. There is a future, there is change for the better but there are more thorns than saints (afterall saints need courage and that seems to be in short supply these days), and the world is never going to turn into some kind of utopia where sh!t tastes like sugar and nobody hunts unicorns.

Muhammad Ali:

"I know where I'm going and I know the truth, and I don't have to be what you want me to be. I'm free to be what I want -

Muhammad Ali

There are many, many lights in this world, gentle but fierce fires that find troubled souls to feed and shelter, see them through the ink black tides that would otherwise drown a desperate heart. Not always noticed (at least not at first) dancing specks of energy to whip up lights of comfort that shred the terrible silence when man struggles free of hope and believes in god abandoned.

There are occasions, rare times but non less true, when one light touches all who hear and see it. In this moment courage, wisdom reaches kings and beggars both. A glimpse of love unbridled.

Aye, seldom is a light for all, that has all and fortunate are we who share it. That silent mother light, a goodly shard for dark corners. Not a cure for ills or sandstorm prophet to make the dead walk. No steel messiah to drown the demons.
None of this but still something more. A leather sun to devour a world of hate and forge new hope for a million fellow souls. The grand inspiration, greater love for life and lives.

Fortunate are we who lived to see such naked love.

Diolch, thank you. Rest in Peace beautiful man x

Cold World Shadow

*These topics could almost write themselves these days but certain topics require more than Twitter

Boxing. Whenever a fighter is seriously injured, the ban hammers emerge wielded by the paper party mob (who to be fair have good intentions and there is nothing wrong with that of course). Boxing is a dangerous sport and nobody wants to see young men and women damaged. But a ban? Come now my friends, if we are going to stop something that might lead to harm, then we might as well get started on a pretty long list of eligible sport/hobbies.
Formula 1, motor sport, rugby, rock climbing, horse racing, even football (wouldn't want the precious dears breaking a fingernail now would we). Allow me a sip of tea on this cold Easter monday, oils the cogs. I admit, I am fairly surprised boxing has lasted as long as it has in this soulless, new world of cotton hearts and yoghurt knitters. This is an era of safety first and damn the consequences, to hell with the future James Hunts and Jack Dempseys. Thou shall not follow a path that might lead to a stubbed toe or split lips.
Are ye with me here? This attitude is infinitely the more dangerous. People aren't daft (mostly), we know the risks and simply chucking a few bans around really won't help, all that does is drive the sport underground to the badlands where the few rules that are in place are not enforced, a place where danger is multiplied tenfold. Im sure the staunchest yoghurt knitter wants this?

*****

Ban. Ban this, ban that. It must be hard living a life with hazard lights on. I don't know how they do it, really I don't. But then I have no iron morals to answer to. Its why the anti death, guns, hunting rabble can't get a bead on me online. All the names are true my friends, even the bad ones (hell especially the bad ones). You can't figh a honest reflection. Now obviously I do have morals and right and wrongs but im a poet before all else and in an effort to power up words its essential to play fast and loose with words.

Llawer o Cariad, a pasg hapus/lots of love and happy Easter x

Lemmy: Killed By Death

Lemmy is dead. Cant quite believe I had to type that. Ian Kilmister seemed indestructible, the Keef Richards of heavy metal if you like (although the man himself didn't think Motorhead were geavy metal). Ageing gods like Lemmy, Ozzy, Rob Halford don't die, they can't, its not part of the plan. Or this is what I had always believed in my 35 years as a metalhead before last nights news smacked me around the head.
Crazy as it sounds (and this is something else I can't believe im typing) I wasn't much into Motorhead, in the beginning, preferring instead Iron Maiden, Saxon and Judas Priest. There is room for all of course but the younger me wouldn't have it and snobbishly I always looked down on Lemmy's crew. I loved Ace of Spades and Killed By Death but there my appreciation ended. Luckily it didn't last and when I finally succumbed to the iron fist, I went to HMV and hoovered up every Motorhead album they had. Ah those wasted years, but I put it right in the end.

No more Motorhead. Funnily enough, half an hour before the sad news broke, I was listening to the older records, so one might say that I was with Lemmy when he passed.

No more Motorhead. I can't believe it.

*This is just a quick post, I will tidy it up when im less stunned. The music is all that matters anyway.

Diamonds in Earthly Bones: Organ Donation

Today Wales becomes the first country in Britain to introduce a different approach to organ donation with a presumed consent ‘opt-out’ system. And if I wasn't already a supporter of it, then hearing people in desperate need of a transplant call in to radio stations to applaud our "brave new" approach would certainly have swayed me. If I could wrap my arms around my beloved Cymru to give it a big Cwtch (hug) I would do so.
How could I not be proud? That last earthly act of unrivalled genorosity is a perfect good; a love that truly has no end. To wear my poetry clothes, a Spirit of the heart eternal. Not everyone believes in angels (and this is why I wince a bit on mentioning them) but surely in this selfless act of love supreme, this is where such beings would walk?
How incredible! To welcome new life as yours makes an exit, to live not only in the hearts of loved ones but in strangers too! I suspect I could type a million words but they could never hope to do it justice. Saints and heroes have no need for them, the deed is enough.
.
Kindness in words creates confidence.
Kindness in thinking creates profoundness.
Kindness in giving creates love.

Lao-Tzu Poet and Philosopher of ancient China.

Paris: Perfect Hope through Wild Cruelty

Its difficult to keep a sober heart in times when we see more gravestones than horizons, and those dreadful scenes in Paris barely a week ago, has made that foul brew of tragedy more bitter. More soul crushingly dark. It would be all too easy to mould our hearts into fists of vengeance and get lost forever in a carnival of blood and anger.
Fortunately the descent into chaos is slowed by exceptional souls. People like Antoine Leiris, a Parisian who penned an open letter to the terrorists telling them that they will not win his hatred. The achingly sad letter has gone viral on social media, and gives us a glimpse hope in purest form. I have read it five times now and each time the reading forges what feels like solid tears anew. I won't copy it all here because I feel that would somehow intrude on his Facebook post but here is a snippet:

"I saw her this morning. Finally, after nights and days of waiting. She was just as beautiful as when she left on Friday night, just as beautiful as when I fell hopelessly in love over 12 years ago. Of course I am devastated by this pain, I give you this little victory, but the pain will be short-lived. I know that she will be with us every day and that we will find ourselves again in this paradise of free love to which you have no access."

And I am crying again now. Such a beautiful force to make the darkness tremble! A lone voice among the fiery bones of despair. Pure hearted spirits like Antoine Leiris are truly the lifeforce orld needs to crush evil, keepers of a diamond light that can, and will, banish send hatered howling into the void.

.
Antoine Leiris. Your strength and courage brings hope with the power of a tempest. No words of mine can ever describe the love. Godspeed your healing.

Wales Win World Cup Shocker!

I had all these fancy titles ringing around my head but in the end I chose a cheap headline grabber. Please forgive me and read on, you know I love thee really.
Sport doesn't have the same magic for me as it seems to for everyone else. Even in 2012 when everyone had Olympic mania and the Queen impressed the planet by arriving at the Olympic stadium via parachute with James Bond, sport barely registered in my dusty old mind. Winning trophies? The pulse of a cheering crowd as victory calls? I don't 'get it', and never have.
I remember as a boy being taken to Wrexham to see Wales play Russia in football and all I remember was that I was cold, bored and shocked that so many grown ups would willingly choose to waste their time with such a misery. So much dreary, dreary.
But that was football. Rugby was a different beast. Being Welsh and having lived all my life in west Wales, how could it not be? Everyone loved rugby in my sleepy corner of the world. The stunning defeat of New Zealand at Stradey Park in 1972 when the pubs ran dry (true story) after Llanelli beat them 9 - 3 was still fresh and though only a year old in 1972 the cheer carried on for many a year (even today).
I love rugby. I went to Strade comprehensive which was across the road from Stradey Park, our teachers would regularly take a class over to see the bigger games. Local legends Ray Gravelle and Phil Bennet came to the school, rugby was religion.
A force to channel a surge of passion and excitement, and bring some sunshine to a soon to be winters soul. Cawl for the spirit if you like.
So its pretty depressing to wake up every morning (2015 rugby world cup has kicked off) to hear of yet another injury to the Welsh squad. Do the rugby gods not want a Welsh win? Or are they planning a spectacular run of victories? Who can tell?
Life has a funny (and sometimes tragic) way of showing us what is and isn't important and for me I only need think back a week when the news was full of pictures of that poor child washed up on a beach dead. Real life is heavy and though the soul can withstand ferocious heartbreak when called upon, it was not made for such unbearable weight.
Naturally I want Wales, Cymru fach, to win and feed the dragon but ultimately its not important. Its not in the slightest bit important when we see others going through so much hurt.

Oh and remember! I am not saying this with defeat in mind and trying to pass it off as "there are other more important things to worry about" (here you can picture me winking knowingly). I don't play that game, as honest as the day is sharp, I can take both sweet and sour in equal measure and face them naked in my honesty.

Goodnight, Wes Craven

Horror at its brutal best

Ah, it had to happen. Wes Craven, director of some of the most iconic horror films has left us for the last great adventure in the sky. The young Dai Jakes grew up in the 1980s, when the summer blockbuster and slasher pics were born and A Nightmare on Elm Street was the first movie I lied about my age at the local video shop. Those were the days before this splendid beard and I was rather surprised my 14 year old baby face passed for 18. But im glad it did because it was the beginning of a love affair with horror films that was the perfect partner to my other love of heavy metal.
We could sit here and list classic 80s movies until teatime, and I doubt anybody would argue that the Elm Street films don't belong way up there on the shelf marked 'iconic'. Freddy Krueger is the Pac Man of its genre, sitting comfortably at the bar with fellow gore obsessed villains Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers (just don't go spilling their pint).
If I was to choose one Craven movie that stood out the most for me, it would be the Hills Have Eyes. Many say its not his best work but it stayed with me because it strayed into reality, the audience knew a scenario like that could actually happen and no matter how bad Freddy Krueger got, we knew no fiend could murder us in our dreams. Also there was the unforgettable Pluto played by Michael Berryman who was a popular bogeyman in many 80s films (still going in fact).

Anyway its best not to dwell too long in memories and eulogies, you can cheapen the words. Better to leave the great directors impressive body of work to do the talking. Im off to find out if Pluto is free for a date tonight in them thar hills.

Nos da/goodnight Wes, the world is the poorer this morning.

Cold Break before Disney

"Kittens' skulls cracked open and electrodes inserted into their brains in shocking series of experiments at 9 UK universities including Cambridge"

Its certainly not headline to win friends, and positively horrifies a wildlife lover like me (as a boy growing up in a wild, green corner of Wales, I adored animals and even attempted to save newts when winter froze our ponds over). I am not exactly thrilled with animal experiments and would, like most caring human beings, prefer living in a world where such barbarism is not necessary but the cold fact is we don't.
Strip away the Disney blinkers and fluffy hearts and the world reveals its naked colour: life is hard, often cruel and extremely unforgiving. This isn't a place of abundant mercy or good deeds. Sure kindness exists but by and large in order to survive a lifetime on planet Earth, you need to be hard or risk being crushed like a toy soldier. (Im really selling this planet to any alien that might read blogs huh?)
Oh we try our damndest to dull the pain, using reality television, videogames, movies and social media in a vain attempt to ignore the raw knocks but it remains in place no matter what. Life is hard, nobody ever said it would be fair. Bogeymen exist at every turn in the form of cancer, dementia, etc and if experiments on animals lead to a breakthrough cure then I'll roll with it regardless of the genuine pity I feel. I dont wish to sound "combatative" here but I take it those against experiments wouldn't accept breakthrough treatment?
Its so easy using mere words, and ive heard some folks claim that they would prefer to suffer before an innocent creature, which is all very admirable but im afraid I cannot believe it. Like I said, words are easy with no threat of danger but if faced with a very real and very lethal terminal illness I wonder if opinions would change? I'd wager good money on it being so.
Death has ruined many a brave souls intention when faced with the final chapter of their lives because you know...death is DEATH and nobody in receipt of a clean bill of health wants to die. I don't care how many dogs or animal charities they help. And take it from someone who has come close to breathing their last: its frightening (to say the least) and most folks would give a barrel load of kittens in order to extend their mortality. Even by just a day.
Add in the fact that 21st century morals are pretty screwed when you consider how much meat most people eat while they condemn things like hunting, and things look even more grim for those purty looking cats. Nobody likes the idea of scientists sticking needles into animals in the name of medicine but if the endgame is triumph over cancer then its worth it no? I realise this subject is like a cold, hard slap in the chops that sobers us up from our coffee laced, fluffy fairytale and the hangover is one we would rather not face but still it remains.

Sharing Nirvana

There have been a lot of tributes and eulogies written for Kurt Cobain on this, the 20th anniversary of his death, some very honest in the grim reality of suicide, others relying on sensationalist bullsh!t (to 'click~bait' their cheap articles). Me? I was (shotgun)bang in the thick of it: a 23 year old metalhead who after witnessing Gun n' Roses go from L.A. dive bar to Wembley Stadium thanks to the stunning Appetite for Destruction, was now seeing Nirvana throw a sonic nailbomb into the Platinum party. (And even for a fan of bands like Motley Crue and Poison, it was comical watching glam rockers cut their girly hair and attempt a shot at grunge music).
Grunge music was a venomous shot in the 90s arm after the bourbon soaked gems of 80s hard rock, and the awesome thunder of bands like Metallica and Slayer. To a creative twenty something, seeing the almost anarchic madness unfold before my eyes was was very exciting. Up until then, mainstream radio was reluctant to play what was labelled 'heavy metal' and most imagined fans to be long haired, shabby morons headbanging to a tuneless racket (no matter how much I tried 'educating' them with Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades').
The fact I am a poet/writer who, like Kurt, was also using alcohol and drugs whilst shrugging off the norm, made me understand him even more. Hell alive, take away the magazine covers and arena tours, we could have been the same lost kid, looking for a voice. Neither of us afraid to write about misery and death, me with my poetry, Cobain with his beautiful music (and it is beautiful. Afterall, agony has a unique glamour all of its own.
Nirvan were a great band, 'Nevermind' a permanent rainbow's arch.
I was thrilled (at first) when Nevermind shot them into the wider universe in 1991. It was the new Back In Black, Master Of Puppets, the fresh faced De Niro, eager to show a previously ignorant world just how pretty and hard (or pretty hard?) we liked it. This melodious slab of screeching guitars and orchestrated catastrophe topped with singed vocals was King. A shabby Elvis come to show that angry music could indeed win over the doubters. Heavy metal, punk, grunge, call it whatever, it suddenly became accepted, cool even (insert shocked smiley here). Nobody groaned when Nirvana came on the radio, or pub jukebox.
Here was a band lifted straight from the pages of Metal Hammer, suddenly appearing in 'serious' music magazines and even the 'Art/Culture' sections of broadsheet newspapers (where is that shocked smiley again)? It didn't stop there either (of course music fans know grunge didn't start with Nirvana but we won't go into that here), and soon Pearl Jam, Soundgarden et al were sharing the limelight.
A shame it was so short lived but then, and without being too overly dramatic, life's highs (both natural and chemical) and butterflies always find the quickest path to the morgue. Savour the good times for they are fleeting and seldom hang around to see an encore. So it was with Kurt and his boys (although the boys/songs remain). I was drinking in a pub in my hometown in west Wales when I heard news of Cobains suicide in 1994, and it soured my drink some. I always knew Kurt was a reluctant rockstar, you didn't have to be a genius to know that reading some interviews but suicide? By shotgun? It seemed so vulgar, especially after that gentle accoustic performance on MTV Unplugged.
Some would say it was a fitting end . After Kurt's suicide, the banshee guitars and murderous drum solos could retire back into denim covens where Lemmy was God, and trendy pop lovers could breathe a sigh of relief again as dance floors reverted to monotonous digital, pulse~like tunes. Poetry in music was gone, its chief bard, a shabby Shakespeare dead by his own hand.
And you want to know something? The young Dai Jakes was glad (though not by the frontman's passing obviously). Glad because I wasn't really happy sharing 'my' music for long. Initially I was proud to have the worlds ear cocking its head to grunge and heavy metal, it proved we were more than Jack Daniels soaked ruffians but it also felt like an invasion of privacy. I had something good, something cool and while it was nice sharing, it did feel good to have it back again.

Now we plum haired, coffee eyed darlings of the leather nights can go back to making magic between ourselves.

Toodle pip for now!

Last Of The Dark

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living ~ Cicero

Death has never been a solemn subject to me, it is has never been taboo. It is fact that I have attended more funerals than weddings but not once have I shed a single tear (and these were close family members). Now before I am accused of being "unfeeling", allow me to explain. I have such a strong belief of a sweet Afterlife, I believe we ALL go there, good or bad, that whenever I find myself standing graveside I am so convinced the departed have "ascended to a better place" (to be glib about it) that no sadness will emerge. Not even by force. No amount of pleasant memories, or clenching fists or straining veins will tempt sorrow from its den.
At times I have wondered if I was simply cold or indifferent toward death but as the years turn into sheaths of grey, I realise my emotions are in check, their pulse alive and screaming. I believe. That is as simple as it gets.
Indeed if I was stood before a Judge about to sentence me to death, or a doctor about to deliver my cancer act in deadly script, I would more than likely grin in reply. (Of course I don't know 100% for sure of that smirking reply but I could lay my heart on it being 95% certain). Naturally I am wary of DYING but the actual DEATH part? Im no more afraid of it than razor steel is to flesh. Or a crocodile to butterfly (but I am being blown off course now).
For me, death has no end and therefore no sorrow. My bones might miss the company and mortal flashes of the deceased but I know, nay feel, that as the coffin is being lowered into its earthly haven or obliterated by flame, that the soul of Man is rising like a stunned eagle into realms where even the finest pearls would look as lowly as paupers rags. Shrugging off mortality and disease as it lifts unto the sanctity of unknown. And these brief shards of endless joy penetrate my mind so deeply, embedding themselves like euphoric clots, that sadness is obliterated, unable to bring me to my knees.
I have my humanity, feelings, and good many things will reduce me to tears but weeping for the dead is beyond my hearts grasp. I think too much, believe I even know too much and doubt can never get over the threshold of my imagination/beliefs to even begin to try and shatter these ideas. Of course every man will have weak moments, and being a man prone to sometimes rampant, wild emotion there are often times when all I am able to imagine after my pulse is done is a wall of black, blinding in its finality.

Not often I am happy to report. Often a good dose of Welsh coastal air or the sight of a buzzard hunting for its supper will remedy that.

Facebook: Murder, Death, Kill

Facebook has backed down after the controversy surrounding a video showing masked man beheading woman in Mexico and canned the video. But that it was there in the beginning, while breast feeding images were banned, speaks volumes about the site, and if we are honest, society in general. And yes, I use it but it doesn't mean I approve of everything it gets up to. These are real people in these snuff movies, not actors. Its one thing watching a Hollywood slasher movie, quite another clicking on a link that shows real murder. Worrying that some think its perfectly okay to watch.
Facebook themselves seem to be fine with it though: "the public should be free to view beheading videos then condemn the content" Dear me, what is that cotton-mouthed pish supposed to mean?
"Hey chums, look at this video of some geezer being beheaded! Terrible isn't it? It should be banned...wait, I've got another one showing people being tortured, disgusting eh? I don't know why they show these things ... hang on, wait until you see this video
of a woman being set on fire, its well wicked!"
Where are we heading? Don't we realise that by clicking these awful links, we are in fact encouraging more sickos to make them? In the same way that watching child pornography makes the viewer as guilty of child abuse as those who did the actual abusing. Look I know we used to gather at public executions in the 1700s and make a spectacle out of it but are we not meant to advance? And I suspect if the film showed animal cruelty, the outrage would have come a lot sooner.
It all comes down to this: how would you feel if it was your son, daughter, wife, husband, friend that was murdered and the video posted on the net for all to see? Context! Videos of murders, rape, torture and cruelty that are clicked on on a social media site are not concerned with reporting the news. Atrocities have to be exposed but to show a human being's last moments on earth in a video loop denies the victim of dignity, desensitises us to violence and makes us more callous.
I'm sorry, but videos of beheadings are videos of murder, and there cannot be any justification for showing them. It's nothing to do with freedom of speech or terrorism, it's murder, and posting and watching such imagery makes you complicit in that crime.

No Jake's Joy over Kidnappers Suicide

Looking nice?

So Ariel Castro, the Cleveland kidnapper has been found hanged in his prison cell? The creep was was found about 9.20pm yesterday at Correctional Reception Center in Orient, Ohio, just one month into his 1,000 year prison term.

Look, don't get me wrong here, im Pro death penalty, so its no loss in my eyes but! I am also in conflict with myself because I believe he got off way too lightly. Have you seen photos of the cell (or similar cells) this guy was kept in? There is one above. His suffering is over, I would also prefer the stiff n' blue option against spending any amount of time in one of those. Then of course there is the fear thing. Castro would have been a marked man in gaol, spending every day, every hour of that day, watching his back, wary of a 'shiv' being plunged into his podgy flesh. Or an eye gouging (these inmates can be terrible with their jailhouse retribution.) He is free of that now too.
Also, because I do not believe in such a place as 'hell', and think we all (sinners included) go to a gentle paradise after we die, its even harder to take this news and I cannot see much to be happy about. It is pretty evident to me that to a lot of folk death is a mighty taboo, the hideous dark to end all darkness; but to me (and there others who feel the same) death is not so frightening, it doesn't posses that dreadful clout and therefore my jubilation at the news of Ariel Castros demise will not include shouts of "YES!" and "Burn in hell!" Because I truly believe he has cheated the 'hangman'.
Here in Great Britain, the vile Ian Brady is on his 47th year in captivity and guess what? He is begging for the right to end his pathetic life. The worm has been on hunger strike for years but the high security hospital he so deeply despises, keeps on force feeding him in order to deny him his freedom. Death is escape. Death is no more weakness of flesh. Death is becoming pure. Death is freedom.
Of course we all hold different beliefs, this is the beauty of Life and there will be thousands of merry people today, celebrating Castro's descent into hell or some other eternal damnation. Good luck to you, enjoy your day but brief it will be. Rather like this cretins sentence.

Diana: Its All...Conspiracy

Scotland Yard to investigate whether Princess Diana was murdered?

Dai Jakes usually enjoys a good conspiracy theory, some are clever and very imaginative but the ones surrounding this accident are rubbish. Some are so weak they can produce some genuine Laugh Out Loud moments. First off, organising a car crash would NOT be an ideal way to get someone killed because very few people die in car wrecks. If it was, as suggested in some corners, a "hit" plotted by the military, they would have much more creative and sure fire methods at their disposal than causing a car crash. A vehicle wreck is loud, bold and attention grabbing. Hardly the ways of shadowy security forces.
We have already had three investigations into this tragedy, I cannot see the results of a fourth being any different; accident no foul play. Anyone with an ounce of common sense will have looked at the evidence before coming to the conclusion that there was never a shred of evidence to support the murder theory. This is why Al Fayed was laughed out of the inquest. The driver, Henri Paul, was DRUNK for crying out loud! And had been on the happy pills. He was driving at speed, at night, with paparazzi flash bulbs going off around the car. Its a miracle to me how he even got as far as the tunnel. I have never been so irresponsible to drive drunk, but I have tried cycling up my garden path after a few too many, and I didn't get 10 yards before I was in a hedge.
Add to all that the fact that none of the car's occupants was wearing a seatbelt, I cannot see how anyone would be tempted to believe it was anything other than a fatal crash. All these stories of mythical white cars disappearing from the scene, or claims that Diana was spotted standing up outside the mangled car, are just flights of fancy conjured up by fantasists. Maybe some cannot accept that a former Princess with the fairytale wedding could die so horrifically in a French tunnel. Others are obsessed with conspiracy and the Illuminati who secretly control the world's affairs (so secret and powerful are they, that weirdos on the internet have them sussed.)
Me? Well like I have said, I usually enjoy a good conspiracy theory but regard them much like the Star Wars saga or any other work of fiction. To actually believe them? That's a tad desperate don't you think? I was never a "fan" of Diana, and thought this "People's Princess business was way over the top, but she was only 36 when she perished in that fatal crash which is a criminally young age to die. Its hard to take, its a knock on our mortality. Perhaps some need to create shady scenarios as a way to push reality away? The reality being that a young mother of two, who lived most of her life in fabulous wealth and fame, had her life snuffed out in a Mercedes S280 due to a drunken chauffeur. And there is nothing more to it than that.

Wales Opt IN for Organ Donation

Last night Wales became the first country in Great Britain to introduce a policy of presumed consent for organ donation. The Human Transplantation Bill (in Wales) was approved by the National Assembly (43 in favour, only 8 against) so from 2015 people who have been a resident in Wales (18+ age) for more than 12 months will have to make it clear they do not wish to donate their organs, and if not then consent will be deemed to have been given.
Now inevitably there are have been murmurs of disagreement, and arguments from religious angles but on the whole, folk have thought it a positive step with some doctors admitting its very forward thinking of Wales.
Dai Jakes thoroughly approves too; it gives me a warm glow inside to think bits of my body will be living in someone else after ive shuffled off this mortal coil (providing any organs are of use of course!) A final good deed and triumphant last hurrah of a life lived well (or at least as well as one could.) Why not? Im sure there are clever philosophical arguments to be made against automatic organ donation but when all is said and done, you will be dead and being dead doesn't require petty things as limbs and eyeballs, trust me on this. You will either be spirit or dust.
Still not convinced by the always humble Mr Jakes? No worries! This isn't mandatory, having an opt out system for organ donation doesn't remove any rights from you so simply opt out. Easy. I could stir the pot and finish by saying, heck if you feel so strongly about it, carry a card which says, "Im A Selfish Person And Don't Want My Organs Used After Death ", but im in a fairly jovial mood today so I won't. Toodle pip for now!

Justice for April Jones

No fun in the sun here

Yesterday the wretch that is Mark Bridger was given a whole life sentence for the murder of 5 year old April Jones. He will die in prison. And you know what? Dai Jakes is satisfied with that result. Long time readers of this blog will know by now that it is a supporter of the hangman and scaffold but for once there is relief that death will be a very long time coming (providing the Scum That Is Bridger doesn't hit upon some razor blades and a death wish.)
To begin with, he will be a Category A prisoner stuck in a prison within a prison with up to seven others on his disgusting kind. Single cage, monitored 24/7. Just one hour exercise, five days a week, clothes taken off him every evening, meals eaten in a cage after coming all the way from a kitchen (so you can imagine what they will be like when he receives them.) And certainly nobody will want to talk to the Scum That Is Bridger. He will forever be within a shout of the general population shouting out what they will do to him when they get him and chances are someone WILL get to him (they did Huntley and Whiting.) He will never be safe, never be able to trust anyone, never have a friend and best of all the Scum That Is Bridger will live in fear always until the end of his days. One way or another he will suffer every minute of ever day for this vile crime.

Compared to all of this, death would be so very easy.

Rest in peace April fach, justice has been done. Hedd, perfaith hedd x

No Sickness Please, We're British

I could have used the title of Metallica's debut album for this post, "Kill 'Em All", it would certainly be accurate. Why? Because its about ATOS, the wretched private firm that carries out our Government's work capability assessments. Today we hear the news about 49 year old Linda Wootton, a double heart and lung transplant patient who passed away NINE DAYS after her disability benefits were stopped and shockingly was told to go back to work.
This was a lady who was taking ten prescription drugs a day and suffered from renal failure, high blood pressure and blackouts. Sound fit to you? The wretched ATOS thought so because after an interviewed with them, they ruled against her and she was ordered to find a job. And this isn't the first time this has happened, Google 'Atos fit for work deaths' and you will be faced with multiple tragic stories. Tragedies that could well have been avoided if our Government hadn't decided to unleash a monster on the disabled. These words might sound harsh to some but they are forged out of anger and sadness at seeing my fellow man suffer even more than they already do.
Ladies and Gentlemen of Great Britain, the evidence is crystal clear. Both the wretched ATOS and the Department for Work and Pensions are utterly heartless and only pretend to be sympathetic to their victims. Don't believe it! And whoever makes these decisions for terminally sick people to find work should be put on trial for manslaughter.

A Small Taste of Pot

Sweet leaf?

Ageing stoners can sing the praises of cannabis until the cows come home, even sheep and horses but look at the people it attracts (taken from an article in todays Mail on Sunday):

"I meet an Albanian hash baron, through a British gangster. He warns me in advance that Ivan is ‘a right nutter’ before adding: ‘They are the maddest, baddest people I’ve ever met. Step out of line and they murder you."

So, even if the miserable stuff is safe (which its most certainly not) it still has the lethal potential to create victims purely because of the shady nature of its business and the hoodlums it attracts. And if you make it legal, it will still attract these vicious types because to some it is all they know and they will seek to undercut legitimate sellers. Face it, this is world that contains some very dodgy characters indeed, regardless what harm you think cannabis does or does not do. A place where killing and skullduggery are all too common, and as ive said, this creates innocent victims as well as those who some might say deserve it.
All because a few wretchedly selfish pot smokers want to fry their minds.

*And yes I am a frequent drinker of alcohol but im not so naïve to think its harmless if abused.