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News from a Die-In for the dying / 4 December 2015

Blast! Just when I committed to life Parliament decides to take a vote on air strikes.

Blast! Just when I’m gettting on with living I’ve got to go off to a die in.

Blast! Parliament  Square. December 2nd. A pathetic tranche of resistors move to a penned-off part of the road, at no one’s inconvenience, to lie down, act dead and yet somehow find the breath to chant ‘Don’t Bomb Syria’.

I’ve got my legs bent and pointing towards Bean who’s fully prostrate on the tarmac and I’m leaning on one arm thinking to myself. Not Dead Yet. I’m Not Dead Yet. And I’m thinking about Charlie Falconer and how he seems such a rotund and avuncular fellow who I could spend some time enjoying life with until I realise his size equates with his appetite for assisting the dying. T’was only Sunday on the tele he raised his inclination to push the trigger. I should have known then I could never dance the maypole with Charlie. Neither in December nor in May.

I’m still propped up playing the Not Dead Yet at a Die In in Westminster when I start to thinking on the living and those who like me prefer life and how we’ve never really had it. Merton’s Adult Social Services budget has been cut by more than 50% over 5 years and that’s before you consider inflation.

50% of monies put aside for independence, inclusion, integration, inopportunately inavailable in times of austerity and someone says one bomb wastes £50,000 just in the firing, never mind in the damage and the dying. £50,000 that’s half of what I dream of winning on a scratch card. I scratch cards. Bombs scratch lives. A white line on a chalk board. Another body on a road. Another corpse at the Die-In full of dying.

And yet i’m Not Dead Yet and i’m not sighing. Not started singing. Barely paused to consider chanting. I’m Not Dead Yet.

I listen to my lungs exhaling, my heart racing and pulse throbbing but I cannot call this living. This isn’t what I want to do. Lie on a cold road inside a barrier fence separating me from the house of Charlie.

Charles has lost some weight. Charles might think its such a waste that Charles has to wait before he can taste the blood that clings to his hands again. Charles is hungry. Charles is at the party. Charles and cheese and pineapple, bodies on a stick, bodies in the road. This is news from a Die-In for the dying.