The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

By Stanley Collymore



You obviously don’t care do you? And realistically why should any

intelligent person choose to imagine that there’ll be any concern

on your part for the financial woes of your customers which

you’ve premeditatedly, gratuitously and greedily created

and lumbered them with because you clearly knew

from the start that you could get away with

doing so; obviously seeing these faceless people, whom you

provide gas and electricity to, solely as profitable milch

cows and nothing more, to be loathsomely fleeced

in the onward, abhorrent and avaricious march

of your ungovernable and unaccountable

pursuit of ever escalating personal

and corporate aggrandisement?



Vulnerable people like old-aged pensioners, single

mothers and the unemployed with no effective

or genuine alternatives to turn to or replace

you with, since everyone, except the

utterly credulous, fatuous or totally brain dead knows

full well that with the covert and keen approval of

Ofgem: the fancifully misnomer named energy

regulator, which is anything but a credible

watchdog; the government, influential MPs

and House of Lords lawmakers, all of whom are

themselves venally, deeply, willingly and corruptly

either implicated themselves in consultancy roles

with you or else deeply embedded in your huge

and limitless financial pockets and therefore

deliberately turn a Nelsonian eye out of

their own financial interests to what

you’re doing, that no one in power

will do anything to rein in and

ultimately eradicate this

travesty of justice that’s

being inflicted on the

British people.



Instead what we witness them all repeatedly and cynically

doing is mouthing well rehearsed and totally meaningless

platitudes of contrived outrage, the hot air emanating

from which if skilfully harnessed would instantly

solve all our energy problems well into the future. But other

than uttering populous words and phrases exclusively for

public consumption and to take away the incandescent

heat of a justifiably irate public from their singed

asses, the powers that be: because they too are

deeply involved in this criminality from which they’re

also handsomely profiting, will not seriously essay

to let alone effectively retrench the all-pervasive,

insidious and damnable perniciousness of the

energy utility companies that operate in

the UK, and which indisputably are now

the primary contributors, even more

so than the banks, to the perpetual

hardships that the vast majority

of us are unconscionably

and quite indefensibly

being subjected to.



EDF, SSE, Scottish Power, British Gas, Eon and N-Power:

a powerful cartel of criminal elites, whose names and

crimes should be inscribed forever in a prominent

Rogues Gallery for all to see along with those

of their craven Chief Executives; the latter

though brazenly arrogant to the core and with a robust

disdain for the British public generally nevertheless

like the bullying yet cowardly bastards that they

are were evidently too shit scared to appear in

person before a House of Commons Select

Committee to face the music they’ve consciously orchestrated,

far less explain and justify, because they knew they couldn’t,

their exorbitant price hikes that are well above the average

national rate of inflation when everyday wages are also

in relative terms drastically falling for everyone else

but them, or disclose what they actually fork out

for the gas, would you credit it, that lacking all

measures of transparency that one can logically

think of and is hardly conducive to any kind

of competitive environment or ethical

state of affairs if you ask me, they

monopolistically purchase from

and then sell to each other.



Leaving that demeaning chore, as they saw it, with its

associated insult to a long suffering and enormously

ripped off British public of not actually attending

in person that House of Commons Select

Committee hearing to their identically PR coached

lackeys to obsequiously, and all too eagerly but

unconvincingly, do their dirty work for them;

while most of our nation, utterly confused

by it all, helplessly stand by and watch.



The monstrously inflated gas and electricity prices that the

UK’s public are currently being subjected to we’re told

by a complicit and far from trustworthy corporate

media will be a vicious battleground come the

2015 British general elections with the various political

parties intent on using this public grievance as their

standard bearer and rallying call for support from

the electorate. That will certainly be the case,

I suspect, and specifically so for their

self-centred and political ends juxtaposed with a generous

helping of public posturing and political theatre. But

if you believe any of the crap they’ll be copiously

spewing out between now and the elections or

more ludicrous still think that they have your

true interests and general welfare at heart

vis-à-vis those of their beloved Energy

Six then God help you; for you’re

without doubt, in my honest

opinion, in desperate need

of urgent psychiatric

counselling!



© Stanley V. Collymore

31 October 2013.





Commentary:



This poem was written from the collation of several personal and horrific experiences I’ve encountered at the hands of the Energy Six or personally know about and have recorded, and of the kind which many of you have also and for far too long been forced to endure; and I stand by every word I’ve written. So if those mentioned or involved, proverbially if the cap fits pull the string, who don’t like how they’re justly characterized here then they’re most welcomed from my perspective to prosecute or sue me. As neither prospect scares nor will ever induce me on these pages of mine or in court into retracting an iota of what I’ve said!

By Stanley Collymore



Winds gusting, though noticeably without any sustained

intensity, upwards to ninety miles per hour; coastal

waters with obligatory but far from wholehearted

cohesion doing their bit to portray an image

of terror whose fearful perception swiftly

grabs the undivided attention of the

credulous, those who’re easily or

quite prone to be manipulated by a

sensationalist media and transport executives of

the Jobsworth School of act first and think:

a commodity that’s invariably in very

short supply where such people

are concerned, afterwards.



People who unwarrantedly but conveniently hide

behind Health and Safety regulations, because

they’ve definitely nothing positive to offer

themselves, to cover up their systemic

inefficiencies in relation to the jobs

that clearly they should never

have been trusted with

in the first place.



The weather, whether it’s good or bad, is a seasonal but

nevertheless an integral part of the natural cycle

of our known universe evidently and

dispassionately designed as

well as significantly contolled by Nature performing a

delicate and seemingly at times impossible balancing

act between the diverse and not uncommonly so

diametrically opposed interests of both living

and inanimate things that generally compete

with but often and not unusually out of a

common necessity complement each

other as well; a state of affairs

however which mankind, even

with the best of intentions

in mind, will perpetually

remain an interested

but all the same

a bit player.



Which doesn’t mean that human beings should throw

their hands up in despair, lazily sit back and do nothing,

retreat from the predicament they’re faced with, or

even worse still add to the worst elements of

what’s a constantly evolving situation

they already know they’ll be faced

with by asininely adopting and

applying measures that are bound to

exacerbate what is predictably a

problematic development in

the offing for everyone

of us who’s around.

and involved.



Other countries with serial worse weather conditions

than Britain routinely experiences or is ever likely

to confront in the foreseeable future manage to

cope exceedingly well in either forestalling

or successfully combating the very worst

climatic outrages that a volatile and

tempestuous Nature throws at or

recurrently subjects them to.



So why not Britain? Where train schedules are universally

disrupted or completely scrapped as a consequence of

infinitesimal things like leaves falling on the tracks;

bus services similarly halted because of rainwater,

designated as flooding, falling and collecting on

badly constructed roads with no effective or

efficient run-off facilities and water logging them in

the process; with nonsensical risk averse advice

unwisely tendered by the authorities, absurdly

suggesting that people should stay indoors

and work from home. How does that

actually help, I wonder, if your

profession happens to be

a nurse or a doctor?



The weather is quite an obsession in Britain

but that seems to be all where it’s concerned;

because no one in authority here, sure as

hell, seems to have any sensible ideas

how to efficiently deal with it; a

self-inflicted problem that our

Continental neighbours

and others globally

don’t appear

to have.



© Stanley V. Collymore

29 October 2013.



Commentary:



St Jude is the official saint of lost causes; fitting therefore, I suppose, that the storm, which haphazardly struck some parts of Southern England on Monday 28 October 2013 and bearing in mind the ineptitude with which the authorities in Britain consistently deal with natural emergencies here, should be named after him.



The tragedies in terms of the unfortunate loss of life and the destruction of property, though minimal in actuality, are none the less to be deeply regretted. But overall the rather chaotic and invariably incompetent manner in which the British authorities, particularly in a country where the general populace literally obsesses on the weather, deal with impending and even actual natural disasters leads a lot to be desired.

By Stanley Collymore



Why can’t you leave well alone and stop sticking your

oar unwarrantedly and unwelcomed into what

frankly doesn’t concern you? Don’t you

think you’ve caused enough trouble

already as it is; and what makes

you think that your belligerent and unwanted

interference in a private affair, which to

be quite honest with you is none of

your business, is going to help

matters in any way? Because it won’t I assure

you, as I’ve heard it all before and I don’t

give a damn what you or others think

or say as what you’re indulging in

is both utterly senseless and

also downright irrational.



You’re my sister not my keeper, and as a responsible

adult I’ve a specific duty to myself to individually

choose how I legally want to live my own life

as well as ultimately determine what’s best

for me; and not be forced, whether out

of societal pressure, sibling coercion

or the undue influences of others

into subverting those inalienable

rights which I’m entitled to, to

the capricious or, worst still,

the perverse demands of

people who might very

well be complete

strangers to

myself.



Far less so have these rights summarily hijacked by a

scheming sister for the gratuitous satisfaction and

the sole purpose of her utterly selfish and biased

agenda, and who I categorically know that

while unasked nevertheless wastes no

opportunity that she can grab for herself

to tell anyone who’ll bother to listen

to her that her life is her own and

she’ll do with it as she damn

well pleases, still thinks

that she has a right to

control my life.



And to be fair to you Sis you’ve lived your life as you

pleased and effectively done so every since you

were a teenager. So what’s the difference

then between your right to choose who you want to

share your life with, and moreover do so without

your countenancing let alone tolerating any

criticism or input of whatever kind or

however beneficial it might be to

you from any source, and my

earnestly wishing to do

the same things too

with my life?



Except, of course, that while you’re ecstatically happy to

shack up with someone of your own race and unmarried

have his kids, you nevertheless in your sick mind

consider it rather infra dig for me to marry the

Blackman I very much love and who I know

genuinely and respectfully reciprocates

that love; and furthermore intend to

have lawfully conceived, born,

properly raised and immensely loved

children by him; which is a darn sight

more than can be said for the feral

and pallid bastards, in every

sense of the word, that

you’ve produced.



© Stanley V. Collymore

26 October 2013.





Commentary



On the 25 January 1964 a baby girl was born at a hospital in the North Riding of Yorkshire England to a maxed race couple. The black father was from Barbados and the white mother from Yorkshire and they had both met while they were student nurses at a major psychiatric hospital in the North Riding.



Both parents were 19 at the time and the young woman’s pregnancy caused quite a stir among the hospital’s administrators and even some of the white female nurses that were themselves routinely sleeping with the small number of black male nurses: the complement of black nurses, male as well as female, at the hospital in question was very small in any case; however this pregnant young lady was upbraided by her colleagues and superiors, at a time when the pill was unheard of and other forms of contraception were haphazard to say the least, not for having sex with a black man which they said she should have done covertly and was always deniable if openly challenged as many of the others were doing but because she had got herself pregnant which was a fait accompli.



On being told of her condition from the outset the child’s father offered marriage and although he had not yet reached the age of 21, the legal age of majority then, his parents not desirous of their son having an out of wedlock child, a sentiment shared by his grandparents and other close relatives but also happy about his relationship, since they were totally convinced that the young man genuinely loved this girl having communicated his feelings for her to them all, were very much in favour of his marrying the girl and happily and unanimously granted their consent. However the girl’s parents refused all such overtures and demanded that their daughter have an abortion, which then was illegal under any circumstance. The girl refused and decided to have her baby.



Already forced to give up her nursing job she was admitted to a home for unmarried mothers which were themselves quite replete in England at the time where she stayed until the delivery of her child at a neighbouring maternity hospital on the 25 January 1964. Still together despite the ostracism they’d been subjected to the father was at the birth, something quite usual now and certainly so then and probably only occurred because the matron of that hospital was herself Black and empathized with their plight.



It had been agreed from the outset of the young lady’s pregnancy, a suggestion made by the woman’s black partner and would-be husband, that whether or not her parents allowed them to be married he very much intended that their child be officially registered in his name. This happened with him even with the mother’s voluntary permission as well allowing him when he went to the local registry office to give the baby girl the names they’d both agreed on.



Unwilling to have her back home this young mother had to make do with returning to the home for unmarried mothers and when it was suggested and mutually agreed by the child’s father, his parents and even relatives in Barbados to have the baby entrusted to the care of his paternal biological relatives, the girl’s parents who didn’t want her home because of the shame they perceived she’d brought to their all-white community in Yorkshire, stepped in and blocked this agreement.



Instead they suggested that the baby girl should be adopted or else failing that fostered by a white couple. At the home for unmarried mothers where all this was taking place the young mother was again subjected to endemic racism not only from the home’s warden, who told her that she should eschew marrying any Blackman since no matter how civilized they appear to be they were in actuality not so; and not having been to the West Indies herself, much less so Barbados voiced the opinion that a white woman, regardless of who she was, was a feather in a black man’s cap in these overseas countries, but also the all-white complement of unmarried mothers there whose children, or as yet unborn ones, were for the most part as a direct consequence of affairs that these young women had with married men still very much committed to their wives and the families from them, whether or they unwittingly knew in some of these instances that they were fathering kids they didn’t sire. As such these unmarried mothers views were the same as everyone one else; clandestinely sleeping with a Blackman was fine, getting pregnant by him in a love relationship, which in their opinion should never have taken place, was unforgivable!



Unable to exercise any legal force in the matter because he wasn’t married to this young mother, her parents still holding out against this, and his parents and relatives though keen to have the baby to raise and bring up as their own, and everyone fully cognisant that the courts would not rule in the father’s favour the father and his relatives accepted the inevitability; that while the girl’s parents didn’t want to have the child themselves they would dog in the major forbidden do everything they could to stymie the father and his family from having the little girl. And they did!



Eventually the little girl was placed with white foster parents that told the father when he asked to be allowed to visit her that his presence would upset her as she had only seen white people around her and the presence of a black man, even someone who was her father, would be upsetting to her. As a condition of being allowed back home the young mother had been forced to consent to this state of affairs which obviously put a strain on her relationship with the child’s father; all the more so because her own parents were doing their very best to get her married off to any white man that would have her.



The child’s father meanwhile financially carried on supporting his child and eventually the child’s mother was allowed to resume her nursing training at another Yorkshire hospital. But the relationship between the two parents had become strained not least because the Barbadian male proud of his ancestry and lineage wasn’t prepared to compromise either for the sake of white acceptance. Sometime later he got word that his girlfriend had met and was about to marry a white man who was in the British Army. Born in Britain himself his parents and lineage weren’t English but he was white and acceptable.



Married, the little girl was ultimately allowed to go to the home of her maternal grandparents who told everyone that she was Portuguese, even though she had no such lineage, and that they were fostering her; but even the girl herself was told this. Uncaring at first about his wife having had a child by a Black man it was a case of out of sight and out of mind. However when he was unable to produce one of his own things changed and deep resentment set in. The girl, who had earlier been allowed to stay with her mother and him for economic reasons, child benefit and an army house, suddenly became a target of his abuse.



Shut out of his child’s life the biological father still refused to give up and since the other side wasn’t going to relent decided that he would wait until the girl in question was 21 and contact her personally. Which he managed to do, only to discover that she had been trying to do the same herself going by the details of him and her on her birth certificate but to no avail. That meeting happened in 1985.



The story this young woman had to tell was quite traumatic, including how she’d been kicked out of the home she shared with mother and stepfather when she was 16 and literally lived rough. Soon after that she fell in love with someone she met; who was white, said he loved her and got her pregnant but when she related her condition to him he simply deserted her.



Left to bring up a child on her own she got no moral or physical support from her mother, who desperately trying to salvage a marriage that was seriously on the rocks had no time for her daughter or grandchild. Ultimately, or rather inevitably, that marriage collapsed, she got a divorce and quickly went into another marital relationship with a divorced white man with several children from his former marriage. But the ironic and sad thing is that while this woman was more than happy to fully embrace and welcome these step kids of hers there was still no empathy shared with her own daughter.



Cruelly her own daughter was very much on the outside and when her deserted lover turned up and said he was sorry to have left her and their son she believed him and took him back. Not long after that she was pregnant again, he instantly disappeared once more, and she would be physically and psychologically lumbered with not one but two sons to raise on her own. But there’s a happy ending to this story; for at a time when she wasn’t looking for love and was committed to doing her best for her two boys come what may, a young man of principle met her through these same two lads; took to them, befriended the mother and ultimately persuaded her that he loved her and convinced her that she should trust him.



A most difficult task to accomplish; but through patience, endurance and personal integrity he managed it and they eventually got married and still are. Significantly too, he adopted both boys, encouraged her not to give up the search for her biological father, and with that task achieved, started a family of their own: a daughter to complement the two sons they already have. This remarkable man, incidentally, is white and British, but racism neither from the outset of their relationship nor at any stage throughout it, right up to the present, has never featured in the remotest sense in their beautiful relationship together. And why should it when they both see themselves and each other as worthy human beings?



Regrettably though this is far from the norm in racist Britain where the mantra is that black men are unreliable and make bad parents. It’s a mantra that even several of our successful mixed race English citizens of both genders and of black/white racial lineage actually believe, having been fed the same racist crap by their white mothers. The truth is that no self-respecting black man who is worth his salt is going to stick around with a white women, not even one he freely got married to, that asininely believes that her skin colour, and being regarded as or looked upon by that white clan she still desperately wants to feel a part of, no matter how many insults or acts of ostracism those who’re in it individually or collectively direct at her, is going to put up with that kind of intrinsic racial brainwashing which makes him feel infinitely less than the human being he is. Something that these white women would never subject a white man to.



And it makes no difference whatsoever to this analysis whether that Blackman was the father of Barack Obama, the incumbent President of the USA whose dad was a Kenyan and who couldn’t have married the future Mrs Obama or have children by her had their relationship occurred on mainland USA where she would have been sent to jail and Obama Snr would have ended up on death row for statutory rape for consensually marrying a white woman and conceiving in wedlock a wanted child, circumstances to which no white couple would ever have been subjected to, but where a black man and a white spouse were concerned contravened the Jim Crow and supposedly moral ethics of white America. In fact these laws didn’t change until long after Barack Obama’s birth, accounting for the fact that his biological parents chose to marry, live in and had him in Hawaii, which although a US colony wasn’t part of the USA.



Or to the often enforced and absent fathers of those mixed-raced Britons, many of whose black dads are largely of Caribbean ancestry, who although death row was a punitive legal sanction for the men concerned, every conceivable form of social ostracism was nevertheless directed at them’ and not uncommonly many of the white women involved in such relationship, and who were legally wives whose children by their black husbands had been conceived and delivered in marriage, nevertheless found themselves sectioned to what can best be described as imprisonment in psychiatric hospital for daring to marry a Black man and have children by him.



I’ve personally met several of these unfortunate women within the mental hospitals in which they were often summarily incarcerated and had become institutionalized to, and from whom their children had been arbitrarily and, most ironically in the circumstances bearing in mind it was from perfectly competent, loving and caring, white biological mothers and wives that these mixed race children had been taken from and given to all and sundry but always exclusively to people that were white and total strangers not only to the child involved but also its mother and father for purely financial reasons to look after.



But observing even now in 2013 as I regularly do the perversely cultivated antipathy on the part of some mixed-race individuals in the UK, usually of black lineage, and endemically so among those who’ve made it successfully whether in football, athletics or whatever field of endeavour they’ve embarked on towards members of the black British community generally and Blacks in particular, I must say that their attitude makes me want to puke!



Haven’t these white brainwashed clowns and nitwits never heard of the established principal of the survival of the fittest? If not, then I seriously suggest that they do some urgent research and look it up. For many of their achievement qualities that made them the successes they are, and particularly so among those of Black Caribbean and African-American lineage stems from that same process that by them their derided and ignored black ancestors were forcibly subjected to as a direct result of the barbaric, Transatlantic Slave Trade in Black lives and whose DNA and constructive attributes of survival amply run through every segment of their physiological and psychological makeup, regardless of whether these inane “Coconuts”: evidently brown outside but white on the inside, mixed-raced, wannabe whites acknowledge this fact of life or not!



For all the empirical data to date categorically shows that over 80% of mixed-race children that were born to Black fathers and non-black mothers, particularly in the case of the UK, it’s the fathers, whether they’re present or absent, who’re usually the ones who’re more educationally equipped and creatively gifted, especially if they were born, raised and educated overseas, than their non-white spouses or partners. Qualities which they clearly pass on genetically to, as well as to the overall benefit of their biological, mixed race offspring, whether these progeny accept or ungratefully refuse to acknowledge this.



And my forthright take on this one is, white physician and mixed-race surrogates heal yourself first and foremost before you commence adversely commenting on the perceived ills of black men generally or specifically.

By Stanley Collymore



What is it that you really want from me? For you’ve never

said, and having wracked my brains for all it’s worth to

find out I still don’t know nor dare to claim that I

understand. And why these silly games of yours

that you insist on playing, especially since

I’ve made it abundantly clear to you in

words and gestures that I’m no

longer interested in you and

much less so in what you’re up to?

Yet incredibly you persist in

carrying on as though

nothing has

changed.



So please take my advice and stop all this nonsense

that you’re indulging in before your behaviour

leads to even greater harm than what it has

already caused; and additionally with the

grave possibility of you even unconsciously,

if you persevere with it, of creating for

yourself an altogether untenable

situation from which you’ll

almost certainly experience

considerable difficulty in freely

extricating yourself; if at all. And frankly,

to sum it all up in a simple and rather

straightforward sentence: “You’re

desperately in need of quite

serious psychiatric help!”



© Stanley V. Collymore

24 October 2013.





Footnote:

Why is it that so many British people evidently lack the courage, mental maturity and even the moral fibre to say when it relates to love or deep personal emotions involving themselves what precisely it is that they expect and genuinely want from such involved relationships; or frankly just aren’t prepared to countenance or permit under any circumstances; generating the needless dysfunctional relationships that several of them put up with and unhappily exist in across every stratum and social class of British society with all their innumerable sociological and financial consequences for society generally and the average hard-pressed taxpayer in particular? Get a life folks! Get out of the morass you’re in and independently chart your own course in life.

By Stanley Collymore



I hated you, not because of anything you’d ever done

to me, anyone I know and care about, what you

stood for, have said or possibly planned on

doing; because the truth is you were a

total stranger to me in every way,

not having ever met you or

even conscious of your

actual existence

beforehand.



But all that was of no consequence, principally because I’m

white, you were not, and your life, comprehensively

inferior to mine and others like me by virtue of

our racial superiority over you as white

Caucasians, understandably from

the perspective of like-minded

members of the Master Race

like me, was logically seen as totally

dispensable and, not to put too fine

a point on it, no loss at all to

mankind which I’ve done

a tremendous favour

by wiping it out.



Your death then should be joyously celebrated and

not commiserated with, far less mourned; and

while I know there are those in this country,

the rest of the EU and elsewhere among

the political and legal authorities in

the civilized and white controlled

world who’ll openly mouth the

predictable platitudes expected

of them as to how dreadful

my murdering you has

been, reality though,

I should tell you,

is completely

different.



For privately and even covertly among themselves

they’ll be wholeheartedly celebrating the demise

of what’s essentially a pretty useless creature;

just one of a horde of subordinate and

uncultivated non-Caucasian brutes, not worthy

of the name human being; and while for obvious

reasons they’ll not personally soil their own

hands with such an undertaking, they’ll

nevertheless from behind the scenes

continue to do everything in their

power to instigate and ensure

that explicitly proud and

white warriors like me

unashamedly do.



© Stanley V. Collymore

23 October 2013.





Commentary:

The gratuitous stabbing to death in the English Midlands City of Birmingham, also the UK’s second major city after London, of Mohammed Saleem, 82, as he walked a few hundred yards from a mosque to his home is a chilling reminder 20 years after Stephen Lawrence’s own murder at the hands of identical white racists of how acute racism, politically and ideologically fanned by those at the very top of British society still is.



For me though, even more disturbing were the comments of the official who officially spoke to the media cameras after the outcome of the case when the murderer, Pavlo Lapshyn, 25 unashamedly pleaded guilty in court to what he’d done having no other choice but to do so confronted as he was with a plethora of evidence that substantiated his crime; nor did he show any remorse whatsoever about his racially motivated criminal actions, which didn’t just include the killing of Mr Mohammed Saleem a mere five days after Pavlo Lapshyn had been allowed into England for the very first time.



This British official having spoken in glowing terms about Lapshyn’s academic prowess and so-called intelligence then in marked contrast uttered, almost as an afterthought, the euphemistic platitude that what this monster, to anyone with an objective and functioning brain in his or her head which clearly this official lacks readily recognized Pavlo Lapshyn as, did was wrong.



“Wrong!” Is this how this fatuous bastard and the white British community generally described the killing of Lee Rigby in Woolwich? No! Then a white man had been killed by non-whites and all the aged-old and reinforced racial stereotypes came out in force and went into overdrive juxtaposed with their attendant venom; and the same would have happened again if instead of being British Asian Mohammed Saleem were white and his killer had been non-Caucasian, with the immigration system being lambasted for letting this killer into England in the first place. Not so with Pavlo Lapshyn however.



Interestingly enough this murderous citizen of Ukraine, which isn’t a member of the EU by the way and which belies all the hypocritical and racist immigration crap of the likes of Theresa May, the British Home Secretary, the Con-Dem British regime of which she’s a prominent member, and the opposition parties in both houses of parliament that tacitly support this racist agenda.



Even though it must be stressed that key members in all these parties don’t have any authentic British lineage, are shacked up with, even those born here, with spouses or partners that weren’t even born in the UK and, of course, have among themselves produced children who they see as inalienably British and moreover with all the privileges and entitlements they perceive that they’re exclusively entitled to.



So we have a sickening situation where a self-confessed racist and white supremacist who is Ukrainian is freely allowed into the UK in a way that a bright, intelligent and law-abiding non-white individual of either gender from the Commonwealth or any part of the Global South, for that matter, that Britain has individually plundered for centuries, and still recurrently does, to enrich itself and mostly its white elites, wouldn’t in a month of Sundays be allowed to.



But this wouldn’t be the first time that a British regime and authorities colluded in this kind of terroristic scenario with Ukrainians. The Clement Attlee, post-war UK regime sycophantically at the behest of the USA that would never have allowed such psychopathic and murderous thugs and furthermore do so in such huge numbers into its own territories, warmly welcomed into the UK after the defeat of Germany thousands of Ukrainian Waffen SS members and death camp operatives and liberally housed them and their families here in Britain.



And most ironically their Slavic progeny are the very ones with UK regime support embodied in the likes of utterly moronic clowns like Eric Pickles who routinely and ludicrously charge around Britain, but mostly England, fomenting racial strife as well as hatred and discord against anyone who doesn’t look like them, while absurdly as well claiming to be the English Defence League. Not English as in terms of nationality, being physically born in England as it were, but English they asininely assert through Anglo-Saxon lineage. A monumental misnomer if ever there was one, and which makes me and Eskimo I suppose. I hope you’re proud of yourselves Theresa May and Co; what a pity that Maggie Thatcher closed so many of our mental hospitals; for the likes of you are prime candidates, in my view, for compulsory sectioning under NHS guidelines.

By Stanley Collymore



Forgive me, but could I be impertinent and ask you a

personal favour? I imagine that your mother must

have warned you when you were a girl growing

up not to talk to men who are strangers to you,

but I swear I wouldn’t have approached

you in this direct manner if I didn’t need to.

My problem is that I’m petrified of flying,

and since there’s no other practical way

of getting to Barbados except than

by flying there you can see

the predicament that

I’m currently in.



Colleagues and even friends of mine have told

me I should take a couple of strong alcoholic

drinks before take-off and that would calm

my nerves, but I’m a teetotaller, have

been all my life, and don’t know

which is worst: the fear of flying or

the after effects of consuming

alcoholic beverages that

I’m obviously not

accustomed to.



So will you be a pal, and as our seats are next

to each other, I wasn’t eavesdropping but

overheard your conversation with

the check-in clerk, let me hold on to you for

reassurance during take-off and until the

aircraft is safely in the air and the pilot

has charted its course successfully,

allowing me the opportunity to

chart mine with you?



© Stanley V. Collymore

20 October 2013.





Die Erlaeurterung:

Fuer meine Freundin Kerstin Lorenz aus Hessen; zum Gedenken an unsere unvergesslichen Ferien in der Karibik: 30 September bis 28 Oktober 1999, und fuer gebend auf unsere Nacht-Ruckreise nach Deutschland eine unverwechselbare einzigartige Auslegung von was in fliegend den Buchstabe „f“ tatsaeschlich steht fuer. Der Spass! Was sonsts nocht? Ihr Menschen mit einer schmutzigen Fantasie! (Lachen). Danke mein Schaetzchen; Du bist prima! Besonders seit von Anfang an wusstest du, dass ich keine Angst vor fliegend hatte. Herzlichen Glueckwunsch zum vierzehnten Jahrestag! Bis bald.





English Translation:

For my friend Kerstin Lorenz from Hesse in commemoration of our memorable vacation in the Caribbean: 30 September to 28 October 1999, and for giving a distinctively unique interpretation on our night return to Germany of what the “f” in flying actually stands for. Fun! What else you filthy-minded so and soes? Thanks Love; you’re terrific! Especially since you knew from the outset that I have no fear of flying. Happy 14th Anniversary. See you soon!.

By Stanley Collymore



Alright, so I’m in love with you; but to be equally honest I don’t

particularly like you. For what I emotionally and, I must also

stress, involuntarily feel for you and categorize as love I

have no control over and am simply a vulnerable hostage

to it, even though I’ve repeatedly done my level best

to rein in and sought with the utmost earnestness

to permanently put an end to this intolerable

situation that I find myself in, albeit and

regrettably I must concede having been

exceptionally unsuccessful so far

in that specific endeavour.



In marked contrast were I to like you that state of affairs

would of itself be an entirely different ball game, the

rules of which are pretty straightforward and very

unlikely, if ever, to be either influenced or even

skewed by largely irrational and quite often

inexplicable emotions that in the case of love,

customarily as well as infuriatingly, have the habit

of getting in the way of logical decision-making.

As a result the level playing field that would

accordingly result from this discerning

approach to evaluating matters of

the mind through liking someone

encouragingly then becomes

a much more realistic and

sensible way of actually

dealing with affairs

of the heart.



That unfortunately isn’t a credible scenario where

you and I are concerned, and therefore I’d like to

suggest that we both, out of a deserved integrity

to ourselves as individual human beings if not

from any sense of duty or common decency

to all those who’ve not only plausibly fallen

in love but also genuinely like the person to

whom that love is freely entrusted, do the

proper thing and permanently dispense

with this farce of a relationship that

maintains its stranglehold on me,

and which sensibly and with

hindsight, from both our

true perspectives, we

should never have

embarked on

in the first

place!



© Stanley V. Collymore

20 October 2013.





Commentary:



Self-delusion is a recurrent theme that pervasively runs through many dysfunctional relationships allegedly and, more often than not, entered into on the basis of love. Each to their own I say but I’d much prefer to know that I actually like someone and that that liking is genuinely reciprocated, rather than fatuously or even consciously subduing myself and de facto my innermost feelings to the often senseless vagaries of supposed love.



That’s my personal pitch and I’m resolutely sticking with it; you too have the inalienable and democratic right to do the same or else choose to flounder in the morass of unrequited love or embed yourselves in deeply impaired emotional liaisons. It’s your call; and whether that decision is the epitome of sagacity or clearly the outcome of abysmal stupidity, while legitimately opening itself up to approval or criticism it should nevertheless be firmly respected.

By Stanley Collymore



Why didn’t you tell me that practically everyone knows

we’re having an affair and that you’ve been aware of

this for some time and have kept it from me? Do

you know how that makes me feel? Well, I’ll

tell you! I’m absolutely horrified. I am,

after all, a married woman with a family.

Just imagine what this revelation will

do to my reputation? And I do

dread to think what my husband

will do should he ever find

out; that’s providing

of course that he

hasn’t already

done so.



Then there are my children subjected as they no doubt

will be to the cruel taunts of their classmates. How

totally insufferable for them! And as if that’s

not bad enough I’ll now possibly have to

remove them from their private school

and humiliatingly send them to a

state one; and this after I’ve gone to

such lengths to get them into

the expensive private one

they’re currently

attending.



They’ll be utterly devastated if it comes to that,

as this was their main chance in life, even

if it meant their dad and me having to

pay through the nose to do so, for them to get a

decent education, good prospects jobwise as

well as a financially secure future, and not

have to rub shoulders out of necessity

with the growing number of Plebs

this country seems hell-bent on

producing or even worst still

the alarming hordes of

scrounging immigrants

whom we keep

letting into

it.



To say I’m furious with you is an understatement as you

faithfully promised me you’d be discreet; that no one

would ever know about us, just as you willingly

accepted my terms that our affair was simply

going to be a matter of reciprocal and

harmless fun between us with no

strings attached and providing us with the

respective excitement we both craved; in your case

rewarding your insatiable Lotharion propensity

to bed every available female you can and

on my part to use that same titillating

fondness of yours to gratify the carnal

desires you so easily awoke and

sustainably aroused in me and

which my husband doesn’t

and has never been

able to satisfy.



Now this; and all because you couldn’t keep your

mouth shut! For having ridiculously persuaded

yourself that you’ve falling in love with me

and delusionally convinced yourself as

well that I would reciprocate that

love you’ve taken to selectively letting others know that

we’re having an affair. Well I’ve news for you, that

affair is now over! What’s more I’ll passionately

and persuasively lie to my husband, close friends,

work colleagues and everyone concerned, if

I have to, that you’re a fantasist looking

for the main chance, and with your known

sleazy reputation and lack of breeding

who do you think they’ll believe?

A working class, lascivious

loser like yourself or me

with my key social

connections?



© Stanley V. Collymore

18 October 2013.





Commentary:

This hypothetically stated scenario is in reality, one way or another let’s be perfectly honest about it, replete across the country either in terms where the individual reading about it is personally involved or at the very least knows someone that is. However, judgmental analysis aside by those who’re into that sort of thing, it’s none the less what keeps our society interestingly if at the same time hypocritically sane, or at any rate thereabouts!

By Stanley Collymore



Beautiful isn’t it our meeting each other like this; although even

better still is being afforded the opportunity of my getting to

know you. That really blows my proverbial socks off

I must confess apart from doing loads of other

incredible things to me that you might be

too embarrassed to hear at this particular stage of our

embryonic relationship; and that wouldn’t do

would it? All the same I promise to fully

acquaint you of them at the appropriate time,

which I have a sneaky feeling will be a lot sooner

than either of us would ever have imagined, anticipated

or expected at the start of this auspicious encounter

between us. So here’s to happy days ahead; a

long, deeply fulfilling, highly intensive

and a mutually compatible partnership

between the two of us; and that I

guarantee you, if honesty still

means what it’s supposed

to and I’ve always

attributed to it,

is just for

starters!



© Stanley V. Collymore

17 October 2013.





Commentary:

All of us have remembrances: the vast majority of them thankfully good but some of them unfortunately bad, of specific moments in our individual life that can and often do unwittingly shape who we are and even eventually become. Falling in love or more often than not actually persuading ourselves that we have done so, is by far the most cataclysmic of such occurrences.

By Stanley Collymore



God! Had I known you were so hot I probably wouldn’t have spoken

to you in the first place and most likely as well would have been

too petrified to have you touch me. But having allowed both

of these things to happen, and bearing in mind what

subsequently occurred, I honestly don’t regret

for a single moment that I did. For you

certainly and most commandingly,

I’m happy to say, know exactly

how to make me feel that

extra special and what’s

more completely

irresistible as

a woman.



How did you manage it, would you care to tell? Doing so as

it happens without any prompting from me or queries on

your part as to what my innermost needs were, even to

the extent of deciphering and exploring my most

secretive sexual predilections. And boy did you

satisfy them all, and how; as well you know! As

likewise I’m sure you’re also fully aware that the

quite graphic recollections of your thoroughly

masculine, torrid and coital display, which

you so consummately and dexterously

executed and I for my part have in

the process most pleasurably

discharged in a powerful

tsunami of erotic responses,

still have me agog and

desirous for more

of the same.



Triggering, too, emboldeningly vivid and utterly gripping

remembrances that energetically unleash and sustainably

send incredibly, pleasurable shock waves of eroticism

through crucial areas of my body causing that entire

edifice to go into a violent quiver; uncontrollably

make me go totally weak at the knees; and in

a thrilling and reciprocal empathy with the

thoughts expressively surging through

my head in response to each fervid

reminiscence that lasciviously

assails it makes me want to

have you all the more.



In truth, though, I’m inwardly glad and deeply flattered

that you haven’t disclosed to me just how it was that

you successfully sussed me out and most crucially

discovered so accurately what it was that I

earnestly wanted you to do to me, as that most likely

would predictably have spoilt some of the amazing

fun which I’m unquestionably having by being

with you, although in no way, I hasten to

add and solemnly promise you, ever

likely to dampen the intensive

ardour and huge craving

that I have for you.



How thoughtful of you then, meticulously taking

into full consideration the various circumstances

we’re jointly and intimately cognisant of, to

mindfully stimulate and, prodigiously too,

enhance my insatiable hunger for you,

engendering in me my innermost

gratitude for everything you’re

brilliantly doing, with the

firm pledge never to

intentionally let

you down!



© Stanley V. Collymore

14 October 2013.





Footnote:

This poem was specifically composed and written with Jennifer W. of Newgate, London in mind in special commemoration of your recent birthday on the 11th October 2013, our quite auspicious first encounter with each other on the Blackfriars tube on the 20th March 1987 that culminated in a spontaneous but highly memorable trip to Reading later on that day complemented by 26 years of undiluted friendship and mutual respect for each other. Thanks for the memories and the compliments!

By Stanley Collymore



Lift your voice unapologetically up to the hills; raise a defiant

clamour: triumphant and unambiguously clear, about your

perceived status as a proud female, and simultaneously

and flagrantly let the entire world unequivocally

know that you’re a free woman, unbowed,

unbranded, quite resolute about your selected role as

to who you are and significantly what you want

and are absolutely determined to become;

all conscious decisions of your own

choosing and independently

arrived at by you.



In effect and distinctly so, in what’s generally and undeniably

a society of mindless conformists, let it be equally known

that you are a most untypical lady in character with

aspirational goals that are all hers, and not those

speciously or calculatedly devised or even

patronizingly consented to and grudgingly approved

of by some psychologically immature or baneful

misogynistic male, however persuasive or

well-meaning that misogyny might be,

desperately needing to prove to himself his

dubious masculinity or else his non-existent virility;

or worse still who’s aided and abetted by the

supportive artifice of an acquiescent,

female sycophant profoundly influenced into meekly

accepting her purported designated role in society

as a second class citizen, and who emphatically

considers herself to be man’s private property

because, you guessed it, the Bible tells her

so, the status quo endorses that view, and

therefore she firmly believes it to be

true, that she’s man’s spare rib.



Well sorry to disabuse you about any of this folks but I’ve never,

don’t, nor will I ever buy that twaddle. And if like me you’re

totally gender confident, conscientious, inwardly as well

as outwardly positive about and committedly forward

thinking in relation to yourself and, attendant with

that, assiduously aspire to comprehensively ditch

the negatives and concentrate instead on the

constructive aspects of your daily life as

you productively forge a redemptive

pathway with regard to being a

singular female and worthy

human being, you too,

I’m categorically

sure, won’t

either!



© Stanley V. Collymore

11 October 2013.



Commentary:

Nature either created or at least was highly instrumental in the evolution of mankind, and while retrospectively there are those who regard its judgment as deeply flawed there are also others who’re even more censorious in their overall assessment and think that the whole experiment involving human beings should never have occurred in the first place.



Whatever! The reality is we’re here: man and woman; two separate and biologically different genders for perfectly obvious reasons, else none of us would exist, fashioned in a way as to be mutually compatible for the benefit and untrammelled progress of both.



That there are however serious problems with mankind adhering to this specific roadmap and not achieving these laudable objectives isn’t the fault I believe of Nature or looking at it from a religious perspective God if you like, but rather mankind’s own marked inability to actually grow up, to stop behaving universally like a spoilt brat and as an alternative show the kind of respect both sexes evidently deserve and unquestionably are entitled to have from each other.

By Stanley Collymore



What kind of a world are we living in when so many of

you either simply stand idly by and watch or, worse

still, unthinkingly or even willingly participate as

part of a system where rank stupidity

masquerading as intelligence,

rapacious greed compounded by a total indifference

to the real needs and aspirations of the genuinely

unfortunate: those deliberately left behind or

else completely ignored because they’re

considered to be of the wrong colour

or social class, is regarded as

okay and even fulsomely

celebrated as though these callous activities

are major constructive achievements to

be positively aspired to, unashamedly

paraded as successes and, what’s

more, justly commemorated?



A world where the filthy rich, no matter how illegally

or immorally that wealth is acquired, literally call

the shots and with absolute impunity and

unchallenged immunity liberally

accorded to them by all concerned but most

particularly by those who’re legally and

constitutionally charged with safeguarding and ensuring

the fundamental rights not just of the privileged few but

all of us, notwithstanding that though, nevertheless

still feel they can act, and invariably do as they

jolly well please; never mind the adverse

consequences that their selfish and

premeditated actions might have

and, as all reliable indicators

suggest, generally and

insufferably inflict

on all others.



A world, too, where the possession of money and even

the wanton abuse of it is considered to be cool, where

morality is what you can cynically and arrogantly

get away with, and if caught out can summarily

resort to employing and efficiently utilizing

the services of a fawning and obliging

media so as to give a Hollywood, Oscar

performance forbidden, fake mea culpa professionally

served up on air and at prime time too to a markedly

brainwashed and intentionally poorly informed,

captive TV audience unquestioning of all

things that require even a modicum of

brainpower, yet both willing and

quite prepared to believe

everything that is

told to it.



Is this then the definitive world of contemporary humanity that

you really want to congratulate yourselves on having created,

where after many millennia of mettlesome evolution, that

unfortunately led to you, this is the very best that your

collective efforts can come up with, while at the

same time you conceitedly delude yourselves

that it’s all a fitting legacy to pass on to

succeeding generations, privileged no

doubt to be so honoured you flatter

yourselves, to appreciatively

emulate and naturally

enthusiastically

build upon?



Well I thoroughly disagree! And even if I were to find myself

in a minority of one over this matter it still wouldn’t make

any difference at all to how I really feel. For how can a

nation where the standards of literacy, numeracy and

coherent communication are abysmally poor; where

these crucial skills have quite literally bypassed a

quarter of those within our population who’re

under the age of 50, yet live in a country

that prides itself on exceptionalism

in many fields of endeavour are

quite embarrassingly on an

intellectual parity with

the least bright of

our 10 year

olds?



Leading to a situation where it’s now generally

although embarrassingly recognized if not

welcomingly accepted by a majority

of Britons that older people and more

especially grandparents can spell and add

up infinitely better than their children

and grandchildren can; and, quite

ominously as well, there are no

discernable signs on the

basis of empirical research

that’s been carried out

of this alarming trend

being forcefully

reined in and

reversed at

anytime

soon.



So do us all a great big favour folks and stop deceiving

yourselves that you have a legacy worthy to pass on

to anyone and for which future generations will

obligingly thank you for. You don’t! For you’ve

neither the perspicacity nor the intellectual

acumen required to embark, as things

stand, on such a fundamental and

obviously life-changing enterprise much

less the ability to pull it off successfully.

Those of us who ruefully are your

contemporaries already know

that well enough and it’s

a safe bet too that our discerning

descendants, much more astute

than you patronizingly deign

to give them credit for,

will likewise reach

the same logical

conclusion.



© Stanley V. Collymore

9 October 2013.



Commentary:

This poem was prompted by the alarming, spiralling out of control, and mindless sycophancy urged, fostered and minutely manipulated for and at the behest of a small coterie of privileged and affluent control freaks with a discernible penchant for venal and criminal pursuits and who actually run our country, of what are fundamentally worthless, yet compulsively arrogant with it fatuous jobsworths who on an almost daily basis and with quite sickening regularity I unhappily come across during my travels throughout this questionably green and pleasant land that we call England.



And it’s written in grateful appreciation for amply providing me with more crucial raw material than I could ever have previously imagined or hoped for to: Ann Smith, Reading Central Library, Berkshire; Lesley Sim, Head of West Sussex Library Services; Dave Loveman, of West Sussex County Council; Tim Stanton and several colleagues of his at Crawley Library, and many others too numerous to cite here but whose invaluable contribution has made this poem possible. Thank you all.

By Stanley Collymore



I didn’t realize how much you thought I meant

to you or even that you actually cared at all,

for you always seemed to be totally

wrapped up in yourself and,

to be perfectly frank

with you, wholly indifferent about

me and specifically whatever

it was that was going

on in my life at

the time.



So do forgive me if I’m curious to know what abruptly

brought on this change of heart on your part, and

as you’re currently suggesting and apparently

expect me to believe as well has now, to

put it mildly, dramatically from my

previous insignificant status in

your life to what’s obviously

from your perspective and most

puzzlingly and ostensibly flattering

from mine I think, catapulted

me into the most favoured

position that you’ve

deliberately set aside

in your private

emotions?



I’m well aware of the exhortation not to look a gift

horse in the mouth but I’m also fully cognisant,

as I’m equally sure that you are too, of the

legendary story about the Trojan Horse,

the adverse consequences that stemmed from it,

and the chillingly pertinent lessons belatedly

learnt because of it concomitant with the

judicious advice to be exceedingly

wary of the proverbial Greeks

bearing unexpected and

more specifically

unsolicited

gifts.



The latter admonition I both concur and totally empathize with;

it is also one that I wholeheartedly support. So bearing all

that in mind I regret to say that I must reject your

amorous overtures towards me, since the prospect of

marital entrapment and the real likelihood of unwittingly fathering

one or even more children that I didn’t sire isn’t a pursuit that

any thinking member of the male gender, among whose

numbers I count myself as one of them, would, in

such questionable circumstances as the ones

you’re proposing and whatever the

inducements were, want to be

sensibly undertaking.



© Stanley V. Collymore

7 October 2013.





Commentary:

Did you know that the Prime Minister and Home Secretary both have a legal and constitutional right to be present whenever the lawful wife of an incumbent British male monarch or that of a direct heir to the British throne gives birth?



It’s a legal precedent the reason for which stems from the days when it was commonplace for canny or scheming but usually secretly barren or even fertile wives unable to provide a healthy male heir to assume the customary expected accession to the throne and in a society which was uncompromisingly and comprehensively misogynistic understandably fearful as well for their survival in not being able to dutifully accomplish this considerably demanding expectation of them desperately swapped their female infants at birth or those allegedly born from what were essentially phantom pregnancies for a healthy male one born at the same time to a trustworthy underling in their service, enabling many of these royal wives through this calculated deceit to literally still keep their heads on.



Notwithstanding their legal rights and national obligations however it would unquestionably be highly embarrassing for both sides if in 2013 or at any time in the foreseeable future a British PM or Home Secretary were to turn up at whatever maternity unit a prospective British queen, especially if she was de facto a blood royal herself, and insist on performing their lawful and constitutional duties.



And anyway, such sleight of hand infidelity is so replete among our supposed upper classes to which not only the Prime Minister, Home Secretary, practically all of their cabinet colleagues and numerous others too in the higher echelons of the other principal political parties actually belong that it wouldn’t be in the broad-spectrum of their general self-interest to really demand this kind of personal and intrusive scrutiny of royal affairs, in a manner of speaking. For as a dear friend and charmingly untypical, blue-blooded member of the aristocracy confided in me, “With our obsessive and unsavoury penchant for intermarrying with our own kind the entire lot of us would have perceptibly gone gaga a long time ago if some of our women didn’t sensibly and fruitfully play away sometimes.”



And she’s absolutely right! But in case you think that it’s only our supposed betters that, to use a widespread footballing metaphor, prefer away games to home ones you’ll be mightily wrong. Official statistics indisputably verify that in excess of 36% of British women regularly cuckold their husbands or live-in partners cunningly getting them to unwittingly father kids they didn’t sire and whose abysmal ignorance of this fact stays constant not only with the men concerned but also the children involved. However, if it’s any consolation, British women aren’t alone in this subterfuge and comparable figures do exist for EU countries, the USA, Canada and those countries which the global white Caucasian clan likes to arrogantly describes as the developed world.



Yet in Britain, and particularly in England, the ancestry tracing business actively encouraged by those profiting hugely from it is ironically in overdrive. Some MPs I know, and not all of them of the libertarian persuasion either, would like for the state to compulsorily microchip all of us and particularly babies from the moment of their birth the better and easier to monitor us all and control what we’re individually as well as collectively doing. Which begs the obvious question, why with such a mindset don’t they also advocate the blanket and compulsory DNA testing of everyone so that significant numbers of their own citizens, subjects still in the case of Britain, can effectively and correctly know who exactly they are, are genuinely descended from and for good measure are truly biologically related to.



But they wouldn’t do that would they? Nor am I advocating that they should, merely playing Devil’s Advocate here. For to embark on such an enterprise would clearly open up a Pandora’s Box whose consequences would I’m sure be most catastrophic psychologically and in terms of reputation for those who like to think that their lineage is as pristine as the driven snow, and we simply couldn’t have that could we? For once opened the lid on that particular ancestry history box would be impossible to replace.



Finally for those of you who’re either fuming at what I’ve said or wondering where I fare in all of this let me categorically state that I know exactly who I am, have always done and have the requisite DNA tests and certificates to validate not only who my significant forbearers were but also and quite importantly for me who my parents, siblings and other relevant family members are. This wasn’t done because I ever doubted for a moment those that I’m biologically related to but is itself the ongoing historical register of a family steeped in survival that even though it was brutally and savagely as a direct consequence of the Transatlantic Slave Trade deprived of everything it previously had, with the advent of emancipation and through common and honest solidarity with each other industriously rediscovered it all to become what it is today.

By Stanley Collymore



Hardly a month goes by without my hearing some horror

story or other of abusive neglect towards and even the

callous and barbaric murder of young children, some

just toddlers or babes in arms, at the hands of their

own mothers or others, generally blood relatives

and their partners, who are entrusted to look

after them, and ought to have instinctively

done so as any civilized and caring

person would. But reality, I’m

afraid, is quite often very

different from what’s

logically expected.



However, even more disturbing than these insane killings

is the ritual passing the buck by so-called professional

practitioners, civic and social agencies, misnomer

terms to say the last in my view, burdensomely

financed by already hard-pressed now suitably

outraged at what’s going on taxpayers in

what to these cynical retards and useless

parasitical jobsworths are evidently

and expediently nothing more than

lucrative sinecure positions that

ironically in their case they are

neither competently suited

for nor should they have

been appointed to

these jobs in

the first

place.



Yet their principal responsibility and the crucial element of

their job description is that of unreservedly protecting

children; a legal and moral task they’ve miserably

and consistently failed to do while routinely

and with consummate impunity getting away

with their criminal negligence and brazen

irresponsibility amidst the pervasive

and pernicious backdrop of their

unconvincing, meaningless and oft stated

platitudes each time another needless

tragedy occurs that lessons must be

learnt and measures will be put

in place to ensure nothing

like it ever happens

again. Until the

next time!



© Stanley V. Collymore

5 October 2013.





Footnote:

It’s my honest belief and fervent contention that not only the sadistic murderers of innocent, highly vulnerable and utterly defenceless children should do significant jail time, regardless of whether these killers are men or women, but also those that run and oversee the essentially barbaric and wholly unaccountable system, which cavalierly allows this dastardly travesty to happen in a supposedly civilized country, should do too.



Concomitant with this there must, as a matter of urgency, be meaningful and well-thought out reforms put in situ to replace the manifestly existing shambolic system that’s not only a hazard to all children but also a blight on our society, with those appointed to jobs looking after children up to the task and the organizations or agencies they work for fit for purpose. And in this equation politicians and government departments with specific responsibility for the welfare of children shouldn’t be let off the hook of culpable liability either, particularly when something goes horribly wrong.

By Stanley Collymore



Uncontrollable passions surge through my veins for you

as I intentionally throw all semblances of discretion

and rationality out of the proverbial window. For

never before has anyone impacted quite so

instantaneously and emphatically on my life

like this creating in the process a vigorously

swirling and seemingly unchecked whirlpool

of unbridled emotions that have me in a

complete tizzy where everything else

but you is now inconsequentially

implacably and forcefully

shut out of my mind.



How could this be? But more importantly why is

it happening to me of all people, someone who

is unapologetically staid, considered to be

and in actually is imperturbably level-

headed, not given to flights of

fantasy and what’s more is

discerning to a fault?



But your alluring impudence has changed all that and

like a young foal skittishly in oestrus for the very

first time and irresistibly drawn to the assertive

stallion that has triggered her condition in the

first place I too find myself completely under

your dominant spell. So what will happen

to me now I wonder? As I really don’t

know for sure and your guess is as

good if probably not better than

my own. But one thing is for

certain; the previous me is

no more and to be quite

honest with you I don’t

in the least regret

her passing.



© Stanley V. Collymore

4 October 2013.





Footnote:

It’s a fact of life whose timing while predictable and well-received by some is none the less fearfully and unwelcomingly tolerated at best by others. However, the inevitability of this significantly transformative occurrence in the lives of so many is one that’s not in doubt; and while it may be delusionally deferred by those who’re either unwilling or unprepared to assume the mantle of responsible adulthood, it can thankfully never be eradicated.

By Stanley Collymore



Do you love me? Sorry to put you on the spot but I’d really

like to know, for although you recurrently pay me loads

of compliments and periodically tell me how very

much you like being with me you’ve never once

in the time we’ve been regularly seeing each

other, over a year now I must remind you,

ever told me that you actually love me.



So am I just your lover and nothing more? I need to

know for my personal feelings for you are

unquestionably those of someone who

is profoundly in love with you, and

if you find it hard or are simply

unwilling to reciprocate them then I’d much prefer to hear

it from you not someone else, so I can civilly and with

my dignity still intact extricate myself not only

from a relationship that from a personal

perspective is patently unsuitable

for me but also one that quite

evidently where the two of

us are concerned is

obviously going

nowhere.



And rather than needlessly have it tiresomely drawn out in

the doldrums of despair, acrimony and possibly hatred,

as it inevitably will do if the current circumstances

that exist between us continue to prevail, I’d

like to end our relationship now, so that

we can both have the opportunity to knowingly embark on

a new start with different partners who’re individually

capable and, most importantly, quite willing to

mutually, unstintingly and courageously

dispense to each other the kind of

love and commitment that most

certainly, in my case, I’m

earnestly looking for.



© Stanley V. Collymore

3 October 2013.





Footnote:

Curious isn’t it that while some people are quite enthusiastically and selfishly prepared to liberally indulge themselves in what’s undeniably the most intimately physical interaction there is between two human beings, no real concern on their part for the personal feelings of those whom they’re enjoying themselves with; no semblance of disclosure of their true feelings relative to that relationship much less a sense of loyalty or commitment to the individual involved is ever contemplated, revealed let alone acted upon.



Nevertheless, despite that intransigent conceit compounded by a blatant and ostentatious display of consummate immaturity by those acting in this shameful manner, interestingly enough without fail it seems they get away with their bad behaviour, and sickeningly so in the majority of cases, it must be stressed, to the obsequious approval of those who are the ones being intentionally used.

By Stanley Collymore



Is it really possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never

met that in actuality you’ve never even seen other than

trading selective photographs with them on Facebook

and whose sole means of communication between

the two of you consists of online chats actively

pushing personal narratives that even if they’re

not totally narcissistic in nature nevertheless

rely heavily on the hyperbolic promotion

of one’s self in practically every respect

while paying scant regard, if any at all,

to what is actually the stark truth about

yourself, that lets face facts and to be perfectly

frank about it is invariably a horse of a different colour

that bears no resemblance whatsoever to the one

that is both intentionally and dishonestly being

publicly paraded? Having fun for whatever

reason while honestly and mutually

acknowledging that specific

situation to be principally the case is one thing;

pretending and, even worse, deluding one’s

self that the shenanigans associated

with even the most enjoyable of such

pastimes is love says a lot about

those involved and seriously

raises more questions than

it provides answers



© Stanley V. Collymore

2 October 2013.





Footnote:

It’s a sad indictment of our society generally that for an increasing number of people the only social interaction that they can have with others is through the world of virtual unreality that they reassuringly cheerfully ensconce themselves in and where reality plays no part whatsoever.

By Stanley Collymore



You call yourselves journalists but that’s not how

I see you as and therefore don’t agree with you

in the least since the term glorified and

overpaid stenographers more readily come to

mind and is most apt description, I feel, of the vast

majority of you who work for these western,

mega-corporate outlets or their likeminded

doctrinal and amalgamated state-owned

brothers-in-arms’ organisations like

the BBC – sycophantic purveyors

of wilful misinformation as well

as a cataclysmic array of

half-truths liberally interspersed with downright lies

and malicious fabrications which are assiduously,

perniciously and persistently reworked to

convey a narrative that suits the dictated

agendas of those who imperiously

yank your chains of compliant

subservience attendant with

their comprehensive and

unrelenting control of

your avaricious

purse strings.



Get a life for God’s sake! Try and remember, if your minds

aren’t addled or permanently contaminated by ravenous

greed or irreversibly tarnished by collective stupidity,

what the Fourth Estate is actually all about, then go

out and get as far away as possible from the

cosy comfort of your office armchairs

and courageously do the job you’re

supposed to and that discerning

members of the public expect

you to. Not unconscionably languish in the stinking

sewer of ostentatious dissemblance compounded

by the cynical betrayal of those whom you

routinely con while painstakingly

pretending to be what you

patently aren’t. For I am also a journalist

and it absolutely disgusts me how you

behave, and all the more reason

therefore for me and other real

journalists like myself who

feel like I do to candidly

speak out and act to

put and end to

this insane

farce.



© Stanley V. Collymore

1 October 2013.





Footnote:

To honestly and intrepidly inform the public it purports to serve is surely one of the cardinal remits of the Fourth Estate. So why then are so many journalists unconscionably, venally and blatantly disregarding these core elements of their profession? Is this to do with incompetence, greed, laziness or even rank stupidity on their part or more aptly, as I believe, that these media charlatans aren’t really journalists at all but simply glorified and rather overpaid stenographers and therefore they and what they regurgitate should be treated with absolute caution.