11,1111 poppies and 11,1111 opinions

Lazy day today, I wasn't in work so just spent the day in bed, tweeting and catching up on some sleep.

I feel much better for it. Lots of strong opinions on Twitter about the wearing of Poppies, what colour they should be, what they represent, and what should happen to people who choose not to wear one.

A lot of hijacking of Remembrance Day and a lot of foisting of ideas seemed to be going on.

It means what it means to you. Wear one or not.

I wear my poppy, I make my girls wear one. I don't care what other people choose to do.

They CAN choose. I think that's the point.

My friend Phil recounted what had happened to him and I thought it pretty much summed up the right reason (for me) that poppy's are worn

(the man on the poppy stall).... broke off talking to me for a moment so that a small girl could give him some money for a poppy. And he smiled at her, and she looked at his medals, and she said 'what are they for?' He smiled at her again, and said 'They are for something I hope you never need to worry about.'

I don't support the recent conflicts and it pains me to see the Army Recruiting Office in Oldham right next to the post office where those kids who feel they have no hope and no future are easy picking to be signed up as cannon fodder

Pondering if wearing a poppy signified a tacit acceptance of the UK's permanent involvement in conflicts now and in the future brought to mind this...

"...the purpose of the unwinnable, perpetual war is to consume human labour and commodities, hence the economy of a super-state cannot support economic equality for every citizen"

The Theory and Practice of Oligarchic Collectivism by Emmanuel Goldstein

1984

George Orwell

..........................................................................

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Anthem for a Doomed Youth
Wilfred Owen

1917

2011

WE ARE STILL AT WAR



Peace x