WarFair4: The Day the Market(s) stood still…part one
Rogue-Citizen: Local Into The Abyss… Global-Citizen.
Copyright © 2017 M.Stow
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WarFair4: The Day the Market(s) stood still…
Into The Abyss… Global-Citizen.
- The Banker and The Clerk.
- The Accident & Emergency Department and Hospital Factory.
- The Wrecking-Ball.
- Cannon Fodder.
- Brute Justice
Also by M.Stow
If the man and the woman bear their fair share of work, they have a right to their fair share of all that is produced by all, and that share is enough to secure them well-being. What we proclaim is The Right to WellBeing: Well-Being for All! Pyotr Kropotkin (1842 – 1921) The Conquest of Bread; Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution.
The-train engine moved slowly out from the glass and steel raised slab of the new edge-of-Town main-line high-speed railway-platform, running alongside the banking blank back of high-street shops, and the station carpark, awaiting return.
Into harvested-fields and open-grazed pastures below remaining precipitous pine-forest alongside planted poplar windbreak, solar and shielded, rail and river.
Through the trees, the new days’ sun appeared, speared, blinking-awake burst through the carriage
breaking beyond the blue grey staged and staggered, rolled and ranged. From the east-peaked, settling yelloworange onto the western-hills.
Shadow-flanking purple-green valleys, and upcountry the grid-framed farmed plains, where the day
was already begun. Grey-white steam lifted across a drying-up estuary. In thin rain spluttering over an elevated iron-riveted painted girder-bridge, built-on pillars of a deep-red local stone and brickwork, arched and breached.
With the Suns’-rays the train rattled-on emergent, as through a fog over a beached river, onto the other-
side of a ravenous gaping-gorge. Over-spilling through the outskirts of a more recently built-up ancient seaharbour and river port, and suburban edge-of-Town.
High-Rise Housing-Project, Industrial-Units, Business-Park, and Shopping-Mall.
Home-Furniture. Motor-Car showrooms. Salesrooms, cheap-hotel and motel linked razor-wire fenced,
chained-in. A horse-paddock, gated and padlocked, adjacent to a blue-green to red-waiting train-crossing signal.
Freight-Train, privileged-over passenger passaged prerogative thundering-by…
Passenger Train trundling along for now, beside a chequered yellow and black no entry arterial hot
tarroad weighted heavy and ever busy with ‘bus and coach, cycle and motor cycle. Car engine chassis and trailer, caravan motor-home articulated juggernaut vehicles, goods and stocks container shipments onboard.
Onto and beneath the over-passing concrete-highway into, and out of Town.
All traffic travelling with almost one accord: to-and-from galvanized corrugated iron-steel and zinc tin roved roofing, between brick and-cinderblock doorways, loading and unloading bays beneath open canopy entrance letter and number laser bar-coded, and secured. Offices air-extracting for the most-part to the outside world.
Unseen as windowless between belching cooling-tower, pylon-linking electric-welding workshop
engineering factory-crafted. Machined and handmade goods, food and furniture, packaged, warehoused, and shipped virtually to-and-from: The City Ports and Portals’ co-modifying in-return.
Stockyards stacked-up and in-exchange goods&value-assured awaiting transport: to-and-from Home and Away…
Part One: The Day the Markets stood still…
Published at Smashwords.
‘It is like living in a rabbit hutch’ She often said metaphorically, and He replied with a shrug, nothing
to say in reply. It was; and it would take long enough to pay for. Four rooms. Eight-floors up, eight flights of long turning concrete rubbish chute and stairs, and fire escape, for when the elevators did not function anyway, which was often and took days sometimes to repair.
A balcony open passageway at the front, looking over the street below, now starting to become busy
with traffic. They had lived with his parents for a time, and then after they were married in a small rented flat in The City, before they needed to afford somewhere to live together, and to bring-up their two small children.
Both saved, and with some financial help from a relative (deceased) they had managed to get this
place. When the housing market was ‘buoyant’, and mortgages easy to get. The Home was bought with a loan, a promissory note, deposited and co-lateraled together with the home itself. They were afloat.
Both worked to pay-off the loan, which although it was supposed to reduce each year did not seem ever to keep up with pay and prices.
The loan would anyway be paid-off many times over if they were ever to pay off the debt. If this place was ever to become their own. If they managed to keep paying-off the loan for the ‘Shelter from the Storm’, as they called Home. That they did not actuarily now own, and may not ever, actually own, lose-lose. To sell-back at Market Price, the difference between the paid-back buying-price and selling-price, of which they would have lost completely to The Bank…The Mortgage Company.
Their Home-Mortgage@rent-insurance their pension against dire poverty and homelessness.
No social-recourse. and be homeless, to parents and over-crowding again, or with friends similarly fixed, sofa surfing. Their home, such as it was re-possessed.
A two-bedroom apartment, she thought of: kitchen, lounge, shower-bathroom toilet and tiny balcony onto the world below, between them and the sky above.
Each day, each month, and each successive year into the unthinkable future; two-thirds of two-lifetimes
at least, two-thirds every month of what they were both paid in wages for work.
She did the household accounts, and she knew.
The Home. The Loan. Would have been paid for several times over by the time if ever it became theirs
and The Childrens’; and perhaps even their Grandchildrens’, by the time the shared building was uninhabitable, demolished land let again, freehold, not…leasehold extended for bonus payment un-earned…
Re-build in the new style, in a traditional place, or otherwise breaking into farmland and ocean
beyond. But, that is the nature of the human animal, is it not?
To do over, and be done over to again and again she thought: want more and more, for less and less
and in the quiet mind wandering moment of pillared door, a room, a table, a bed let go and a bed sheet left behind ready to be buried with perhaps, as they did in the olden times shrouded as now by thin curtains pulledback.
Each-Day: like a two-step forward, and backwards one-step…
Home and Away.
Worked to pay-off the loan on the house and to pay for and cook food, with bills and extras, clothes,
and nights out, occasionally. Maybe once a month, or not at all.
Then He had been laid-off work at The Bakery.
Three-day-week and three day’s wages.
The Home mortgage was re-negotiated and they continued struggling to pay-off the loan and other
loans, credited and directly debited debt from what they both earned together.
There was never an issue of who would earn more, and be the main breadwinner, they both earned
more or less the same low wages as most the people who worked and they would do the most caring, of each other, and the children: the unpaid responsibilities shared around the home, and in the world of work.
Shopping and holidays and other friends and family out there. All indebted, or in credit day2day.
Week to week, month to next month, years, minute-by-minute.
They were equal, without even having to think about it or confront societies and others’ false
expectations of gender and families. They were equal in debt and credit, and supported each other’s frail and fragile egos with a natural equanimity respectful and loving…
Each contributing their best and differently, in-differently to make the whole, whole.
It’s not all doom and gloom She did often think, and he tried not to think on it. The homely
claustrophobia only had to be relieved by going out. To the cinema, to a bar or restaurant. But that was not very often de-finitely now there were children as well.
Sel-dom, did extras make their mark, clothes bought carefully a piece at a time, replacement rather
The cupboards filled with groceries and emptied by the time the next weeks shopping is needed and the
next weeks earnings already spent.
She was awake, first this morning, and she got up from the bed on which he still lay awake but not yet awake enough to leave its’ nigh-time warmth. She went through to the next room. The bedroom led across the narrow-passage to the living room, which led directly to the tiny gallery kitchen and balcony on one side and door to the front room, on the other.
Except it wasn’t the front-room, exactly only unlike the ‘front-room’ of her childhood playing on the
street and door directly to the rugged ragged matted smell of cooking from the stone wall white-washed country kitchen. Upstairs two bedrooms, one on the gallery landing for the children, and a closet room to flush away with a basin of water from the kitchen sink and toilet into the slurry sump, where you could hear it ‘slurry’ all the way down, filtered to spray on fields all around; and, then back downstairs to replace the water from the kitchen tap or outside well.
Pumped-up from the well, refilling the fired china clay bowl for washing and zinc-metal bucket, ready
for the next use.
Log grabbing toughened steel plasma cutters hydraulic ram chassis panel welded together. Expertly
put together giant wheels axle brake.
Pumping oil to cool the engines’ turbo diesel s carped grapple telescopic arms the claw car crusher
mattress shredder then the skid board tracking carbon fibre e-road automobiles travelling solar panels, settled wind farming blades and wave machines generating heat&power.
At her first childhood home, bedtime children first, then the adults. Rats nested runs, beetles and
cockroaches were kept away by the domesticated cats and dogs that shared the yard and house with horses at the local stables for the carts and filed machinery; to ride, at week-end day-off, and many Holy Days.
Each week, several times into the market town for food supplies, and the children’s treats.
Their whole world a Living Market Place, of Work Trust and Play.
Now, great enclosed parked superstores and supermarkets and factory outlet warehouse. Where goods
are now transported she thought of: to&fro and by foot and horses’ hoofs carried and motor vehicle, train and massive tanker and container-ship electric like cutting through the air or the hydrogen&helium of outer-space a one metre flight through nothingness
> Low-No-cost subscription no-way out.
From the docks and airport, at the city harbour hub humming away, remote yet directing everyday life, everywhere.
Media: Holiday Passengers, and Freight Cargo.
The affordable flight, to get away from it all: a change; a necessary move, once in a while, and not
every year; but, to visit family here and there and elsewhere, or else you’d go stir-crazy.
Do a night-time flit, flip! leave the rent, the mortgage, un-paid.
Only, to otherwise keep on fighting for the bargains: cheap-est within budget, to get through to the next
day and the day after that.
When debts and fines could not be paid, the debt collector.
Bailiffs, The-Auctioneer: selling- off of the personal possessions; sometimes, on the Global Markets;
and then sold-out: the personal; and, public…
The laptop computer on-sleep and awakened, opened, placed on the table, booted-up and She blogged
instantaneously her-thoughts: We all need a roof over our heads…and to: put Food on the Table! without any other word or contextual continuity that did not remain obvious to this early morning.
Everyone, and anyone in the same and similar circumstances getting the same hastily tapped-out
messages excluding, those without tablet, home or food; and those with patently far too-much.
Those who had an Administration to do that for them.
And her thought continued in the context of the mindful moment and that which we all have to pay
extortionately for over and again even when the food is eaten and the crap washed away there remains a nasty stain, a nasty taste. Original wages sweated over day upon day, and loans ever in negative equity to who?
Extortionate debt-interest credit-profit and volatile prices, losses on last accounts records ever higher BINGO! and pay…ex-terminating…prices collapsed…looking up, and down again now, not in dejection, but circumspection against ever apparent possible failure, with desperate optimism, toward un-realistic perfectionism.
Only mechanized traffic building-up soon into a busy rush-hour congestion.
Cars and buses, bicycles, motorbike and motorized delivery truck from here, only another view. From
two-sides; and every side… the bedrooms along the passage corridor, the sleeping children slept, earlier peekedinto soundless in beautiful dream or dreamless seemingly startling worrying death-checked for breathing.
Crossing from night into daytime TV remotely automatically turned on, confirmation, that
life goes on…
The living-room she entered bore all the chatter and the silence of one who listens.
Still and safe, cosy and secure. The other rooms took over the emotions and needs: sleep and food, love and arguments. The central room, the central chamber, looked on and awaited eventual, almost inevitable, but never certain re-conciliation, and rest. Indulged-in social-(e) vents, noisy chatter and quiet evenings indoors. The furniture was adequate and filled the room. Table, chairs, television, a drawer and shelved cabinet standing against a wall, displaying various special icons; plastic flowers family photographs in frames, a portrait of a film star, or a print of a famous oil painting.
Ornaments, statuettes, figures of worship and of novelty. The furniture, the infrastructure, from the
livelihoods and eventually the roof over our heads…in over our heads heard as if originally spoken.
There were unopened envelopes and cajoling leaflet advertisement:
Kill your debts! Die debts!
she thought of letters and bills for payment, propped up behind a ticking clock. There was a picture postcard from someone-else’s holiday forming a picturesque frontage to hide the stack of demands for reply and payment which lay beyond.
She drew back the curtains and looked out of the window across the balcony, with its unflowering
plants growing in flower-pots. There was a real still rising mistiness outside from the early morning warming; and she gazed over an area where many lived, and it seemed to her, this morning, where they too just only lived
-out their lives: day to day, week to week, minute2minute…
They too thought to-themselves as she looked-out onto the dawn of a gradually opening new day that
the world must have always been this way.
They had stayed together and with two little ones, one of each, girl and boy by the time they’re both about to be in school, they could not risk another to bring up, and the cost of it. They only hoped they would hold on to their jobs and worked hard. Difficult hours, and some days-off. When the rota’s didn’t workout for childcare, family or neighbours, parents now friends of the children’s nursey and school friends who lived conveniently nearby, the social network from the cradle to school to work to death grave.
They had met when things were starting to get a bit tight, to get difficult again. Meaning the situation for most working families, for those looking for work and those in work things had not got any better; any easier, really.
During the so-called Good-Times and both parents were needed in credit and debt, to work to keep the family going.
Voluntary social-networks anti-social became all the more significant, to reciprocal Shared-Care and
Circles of Support.
With child and adult interaction social and meaningful, Shared-Lives.
They had both kept their jobs in more or less ‘essential services’, although not without the job-cuts, never-the-less, ever the less, never the more, when things got difficult all a-round.
When the Bakery Factory where He and Family worked, went on three-days week, and pay to match.
He, had more time to be with the children, and helped the same with her awkward shiftwork at the garment factory, and later She at the hospital, for the Children, then training there, working there. he had done some building work on the odd-days, to fill-in.
She had done some shop-work and garment-making before all the ‘Shop Jobs’ Retail’, were filled, and not-hiring. Not selling either. Queues at the cash-tills. To no-one at the field tills:filed for bankruptcy.
They had moved to his folks in The City then: suburbs really, inner-urban, something-like-that. His mother had worked at The Old Mill and got her a job there; and then Him at The Bakers’ Factory, at the top of the road.
When and where, the area they had moved to with Family and friendly neighbours nearby already there:
People, their people…
They had moved in together; and had kids.
Social response to industrial tech-revolution generational confuse price/cost value to shareholders, themselves, pensions&Insurances lies broken-trust rent/profit free from well-being gross domestic product¬product money…
HOME. Income2spend from the public/private capital banks channelling opportunities liberal physiocrats benevolent zillionaires…
Steady. Family Equity Capital Communally taken as given and worked harder for more, less hard for less, but none less than the Universal Domestic Income.
His father’s family had been transient, transitory migrant millers, wheat and grain, before that, gypsies, owned business.
Machinery, finding digging the wells, water, oil from the oil swamp, brick building and tarmac road, growing taking fruits and nuts from the side of vegetable and allotment gardens.
Moving around farm to farm, funnily enough she thought like Business-People nowadays do… Looking across the roads, below, leading to The City. To: The Airport to visit: Sales-People: to the Re-tail
Shops in the World: in other words: Big Business Commuting by-airplane as They might, if They could afford to.
To: go on Holiday. Abroad. They, to meet Clients Meetings’ here and there and everywhere. Cities all
over, to do deals on a massive Global-Scale, then worth millions, now worth billions and trillions quadrillions of whatever the currency.
Sometimes-dealing, unevenly, unbalanced, in the local and World currencies themselves exponentially
they marked an inverse ever increasing and decreasing rate of ex-change.
They took on a Shop.
Family-Bank loan to rent and stock and share. In the past when the work dried-up, landfill, polluted
wells and rivers and seas and Oceans.
His Gypsy ‘family ‘moved along’ as they were constantly told.
Or, stayed with their stores.
Shares of the crops of the fields, and water, natural and free from the clean water-well waited, looked-
for different and more labour…
She thought of them, then her own family, and His. Out of work, they always found something. Fed themselves from gardens and small farmyards. When the work was finished, they moved on. When the Great-
Corporate moved-in, took over, sold-off Master-Slavery Corporate-style.
Along the roads and waterways, they, her family, had a farm in the countryside for a while, and the
parents, lived there. Hers. Through the Industrial now Techno-Future: The Soul of The City. Only, tumultuous-
Towns and vicious-Villages.
Across the River, across the tram tracks, and railway, by the station. The Heart of the City.
Just beyond The Financial-Quarter.
Settling-in. The-City. Walled and castellated.
Transport and Trade-hub and thronged and His parents self-employed, their own bosses; contractors,
worked-out on the Building Sites of Towering Sky-Scrapers lining The River and lit-up, from the Sun, flags in the wind.
Her-Family. Employed, not their own boss.
Both, as themselves, on some land, renting, from they pay.
He and She eventually, buying:
Home-Owners, now. Investors in their own future, and their children’s children, and their’s owned, in
Like The Home-property itself, capable of being, and being dis-owned. And, not strictly speaking owned anyway.
#But, for the Mortgage Home Owners Corporations and Companies, and now indebted to.
The-Bank(s). Building and Maintenance Trades. Education, Social-Care and Good-Health first…
taxied to meetings and desks. HomeWork Out-and-Out working:
Home-Owners and Private and Publicly Rented-Sector:
Community Housing-Association(s) and:
Gig: Market-Economy: #1%. To: 9%. To: 90% self-Employed advertising tax-paying costs and prices up and down depending on what side of the Power-Play had been Won.
Every second milli-second playing in relation(s) to each other… dead.
Soon the television was blaring as usual in the morning. In the main room that was empty again for the moment, and beyond where she was now dressing hurriedly, and he was brushing his hair frantically.
There was the noise of children getting washed and dressed, with incessant commentary and conversation to each other, and any other, or just to themselves.
To each other a one-way argument. Older to younger incited over some triviality, shouted back in frustration. At that point the only-game-in-town, and to be fought-out until one of them is crying, and the other shouting-the-odds; before calm is brought.
Evens by one or other parent, supervising, managing, supposedly, to each-other, at least while they all got ready for work, school and pre-school nursery. The sound of the kettle screaming on the kitchen cooker; and television advertisements conveying to deaf ears, and blind eyes, but perhaps receptive memory:
‘The Best in the World’; Or:
‘Longer-lasting’ or whatever the dubious selling point perhaps to be unconsciously recalled later that day, at the supermarket.
At present they seemed to be of no avail, both rushed to get the children to school, and themselves out to work. To earn the pay that would pay the prices at the Super-Market later that day:
‘Where is my shirt?’ he called:
‘Where you last put it!’ she retorted as She entered the living room. She found her shoes under a chair and stopped in front of the television. The networked advertisements ended and the programme returned to the main story of the day:
‘Today there is no money to pay share dividends, or to buy shares with…’
She flicked a channel and got:
‘Group and individual share prices have collapsed or become so high that they have become worthless:
confidence has collapsed, debt un-diminished…’
‘Price increases have been blamed. Increases in pay and pensions have been blamed. Increases in
Bank Personal-Investment interest-rates and maximizing profit-levels at any cost, have been blam(ed.)
Each of these has pushed share prices ever upwards. As cost and share prices and shop prices overtake the customers’… ability to pay and the ability to pay, pushes prices-up and/or pay-down…’
‘Not pay-up&prices down then?’
< >Profit margins narrowed > Man-Date. Re-captured only by increases in:
‘Interest rates on banking and other loans, have pushed share prices up even further on costs and price…’ and a view passed across the screen to locked Factory-Gates and closed down Hospital corridor(s0)…
De-fence: Air: Ports and Sea and Land-Borders: closed to traffic or trade. It did not seem too bad, or even unusual: the Television Experts and announcers liked to make a big deal out of anything She thought: it was their jobs after all. The pictures shifting shift(ed.) to City Office-Buildings.
Steeled glass to the very Sky! that only a few were being allowed into; and then to the squares and circus’s around Town and City Centres. All over the globe, all the streets and roads and highways leading there. A TV reporter turned away from the camera, and let the scene, somewhere else: could be anywhere else, speak for itself. In the kitchen radio-reports followed from the stock-markets around the world:
‘Tokyo Nikkei Shanghai Shenzhen Hang Seng Bangkok: Dubai-Delhi: Bombay: Carib. Africa-
Saudi-UAE: Israel and Egyptian Stock Exchanges…’
‘RTS Moscow Deutche Frankfurt Cape Town London… and Canada Stock Exchanges: New York Wall Street and Rio…’
‘Iran-Dubai: Trading-Port for Oil&Money:
Defensive-position(s): Buenos Aires to Lima…’
‘China to Venezuela and Bolivia. Bots-Wana to Brazil:’
‘JSE Securities Nairobi and Nigerian, and Sydney…
Stock-Exchanges…’ as she went to look for tea-bags. He got the cups out and put some bread under the grill to toast. As the cups were emptied and the door was opened to go out…
The Stock-Market Reports, were interrupted by the radio-announcer: ‘We have heard in the last few minutes that The International Conference of Governments and World Banks meeting in Geneva are to make statements, at midday mean-time, on the current state of financial affairs across the globe. The Economic Crisis’ around the world…’ They stopped and looked at each other as they heard the announcement:
‘What will they come up with this time I wonder? She asked aloud to him and to the radio speaker, and as she went to the bathroom door:
‘Come on you two!’ to the children, and to him in the same breath:
‘What time are you finishing today?’
‘On Lates!’ his reply; with a shrug, noticed, as she said:
‘I’ll have to clock off early then, get a re-placement:’ and She thought, another opportunity to sack me, but if school finishes before work what are we supposed to do?
‘I’m taking them in, anyway!’ he called.
‘I know!’, she replied:
‘We will have to go to the SuperMarket tonight.’ added knowingly: a reluctant necessity when it came to it:
‘Or tomorrow anyway.’ as she kissed him on the lips, quickly, tantalizingly, knowingly this weekly and often daily shopping trip is what they did all this for.
Along with the mortgage-rent and love of their family and children smiling he went out of the door, onto the communal hallway:
‘Another financial crisis!’
He called out, with more than a note of sarcasm, which did not need any reply, other than a disinterested:
She went back inside the living room, and went to turn the television off, as the announcement of the impending declaration from government leaders and world banks were being repeated:
‘Won’t make any difference!’ She shouted over the noise of the television: ‘…never does!’
#She left the house soon afterwards.
He took the stairs with the children, two-at-a-time one in a pushchair, the other just learning to walk, and they headed off together for The Corner Shop.
Turning at the top of the road, pushing the baby buggy uphill, the as if unmade pavement now, in disrepair; showing, the lack of maintenance through the good times, as well as the now financial recession, austeredesperate times. Telling The Walker (as He and She said to each other in jest the children laughed at that…) but the Child no-longer holding on to the buggy called-out to:
‘Hold on to the buggy’ answering the constant questions:
‘What is this?’, and: ‘What is that?’ at the same time and having to say:
‘Be careful!’ every second, and:
‘Stop! making me have to say:
‘Be Careful’ every second!’ and they giggling together, at what, he knew not what.
Not even imagining a time when he and she would not be going to work, and the-children to school and nursery, then keeping them in Our-Dotage: going to pick-up the fallen. Walking running-off child, grabbing the perambulator again, and continued walking on at the road:
‘Do Not Walk!’ then:
‘Do Not Run!
The walking child only hearing the last word as usual:
‘Walk!’; and wondering what all the shouting was about, and running:
‘Stop! at the edge!’ hearing all the words this time: thoughtfully:
‘O.K.!’ trying out these new words heard from them and at school.
‘Stop!’ and stopping in the middle of the pedestrian pavement.
To get collided into and rolling on the ground giggling in the middle of the road?! getting up and running off laughing, looking backwards,
at the corner, turning into the next junction:
‘Stop! at the Road! Kerb. Pav(e)ment…’ He catching up, pushing the pushchair ahead, the walker hanging on, over the kerb and into the road. Looking both ways, and then both ways again. Then back again, one last way this time: too quickly…going to Run! the way the traffic was headed, moving slowly, one car stopped, and a polite hand to let them across, to a wave returned.
Watching-out, for all three; and to the oncoming traffic split by traffic lights commanding: Stop, Start, or
Pause…to the other side safety to the other kerb:
‘Walk!’ Children chasing on ahead to The Corner Shop. The ‘little-one’ in the buggy trying to get out to follow, shouting, and pointing with one, then both index-fingers, toward the road:
‘Taxi!’ swiveling around almost falling-out.
‘Taxi-Bus!’ the other returning, giggling:
‘A Taxi!’ correcting POSHish country teacherly voice and then at they passed the Shop pleading verbally and non-verbally tugging and whining for sugary sweets:
‘Helicopter!’ shouted-heat camera-singing and pointing and swiveling around again:
‘The-Corner-Shop!’ the other:
‘Sweets!’ categorically usually not until they came home from school and nursery.
Even then only some days, and if they had been good at school or nursery. But always worth a try…. pointing jumping up-and-down, on the buggy the other falling out, buckles unbuckled, by the older one:
‘As long as you behave yourselves today, and they’re not too-bad for your teeth, and you clean your teeth!’ they knew that.
Giggling both, all the more, at some reference only they knew.
To the words, the noises, and the tone of voice, the bedtime:
‘Clean your teeth!’ pause:
‘Properly!!’ The older-one repeated, and they went into more fits of giggles into the Newsagent-comegrocers and confectionary shop and sometime tobacco cigarette and alcohol licensed off-licence.
Where He, and She, and They stopped each morning, for bread, or a newspaper.
On the way to Nursery and School, when it was His turn, always the possibility of both mythical and real: sweets, as well.
As they crashed through the door the older one getting deliberately, or so it seemed in the way of the baby-buggy, asserting rights over the other smaller and weaker and re-leased both leaning up at the shop counter not unusually, but always predictably in the morning rush with so many other things to think about the only thought, unable to think about anything-else:
‘Children! Shopping tonight?’
‘Teeth rotting Sweeties?’
The buggy almost tipped over in the raucous, the older one falling over the younger, strapped in, strained at the straps, snapping painfully back.
Letting out an ear-piercing yell. The Older-One: still giggling, until the younger lashed-out as only younger siblings know how too and the older one let out a Yell! then a Scream! apparently exaggerated explication of pain from both now and claims of unfairness idiot stooooooopPID! etc.
‘Come-on you’re the Older One, you should know better! Do you have to have to fight and argue over everything! No sweets!’ and then he knew, as soon as He said that that he was A Beaten Man.
A yet louder exclamation set up. While the younger looking on in glee, quieted and puzzled, twisted turned looking upwards to The Father; for some resolution to the questioning plea and fell out of the buggy, unbuckled:
‘Me a’ well?’
Looking up from the floor, the older standing and going to stamp on the younger, smiling sweetly now, the other sprawled on the floor as if felled:
He called-out from the front of the shop, in reference to the older child, and to
The Shopkeeper who was stacking shelves from remaining stock. He, holding-up the regular National
Newspaper, the Shopkeeper called:
‘Blind-Assassin(s):’ looking at the newspaper on the counter-pane:
‘Botched Act-of-Terror! State-sponsored!’
‘Dumb. The Markets…’
‘I know. Heard. You may as well keep that…’ to the loose change being handed over the counter:
‘…it will be like one of those Free-Ones!’ hearing, and not listened-to until later, scanning the headline:
WORLD MARKETS IN TURMOIL! the money left on the shop-counter chuckling when the remark realised:
‘No, I got it!’ minding: The Children who were not fighting but pretending to steal, sweets, not knowing any better yet, knowing better; laughing, and looking obvious.
The Shopkeeper bagged and handed over most of what it was they-wanted, pointed at with shrill voices
‘There you are, for later…your Dads’ change!’ the customary sweet as-a gift now in-change sometimes anyway for a small note passed across the counter.
From the father and then the Shopkeeper to them and then him:
‘Daddy keep sweets…for later.’
The Children looking pleased, and anxious-also, that they too might have to ‘keep it for later’ with only the then conditional:
‘And only if you are Good today!’
The emotional and ethical merged into puzzlement. Sweets given to the Father patiently waiting to get off to nursery, school, and work. Again consternation, put-on, by the older child, to the younger. Pouting, dropped lower-lip.
Acting-out, pretending, face pulling. Puzzled at and copied by the younger. Both suddenly laughing at this, and between themselves at something they did not really know what it was to be Good or: All-Day or how, or what it was, to attain this.
4. The Banker and The Clerk.
The investment merchant-Banker sat-back, and glanced across at the administrative accounts’-Clerk, sat in the opposite seat, a fixed-table between travelling on this same-train same-time, same-carriage.
For the-Clerk the same-seat, if that or any other was to be had amongst the everyday commuters seated and a few standings, today, usually crammed-in each weekday, early-morning into The City.
For the-Banker, this day too-early for the usual-reservation. With, or today without, waiter-served breakfast, or a free-morning newspaper. Only those freely given-away and piled-up in the station forecourt to be taken-away. That had to be paid-for anyway by publicising the latest model and version, and most reasonablypriced. Like copies of The Big Issue sold-on by Homeless-people in Metropolis’ around the world: no such thing as a free-lunch the-Banker reasoned.
First-Class: The Financial-Newspaper paid-for anyway by The Railway Company: Public-Private Infra-
Structure: ticket-seated and breakfasted comfortably with:
The-Financial Newspaper at massively discounted market-rate or cost-price freely as-advertising encouraging in-someway paid-for, and for: returns…on-credit.
The Newspaper could be easily afforded, anyway. Today’s loss-leader, tomorrow’s winner paid-for upfront from the station kiosk, day upon day.
The Newspapers Times In-Corporate-Investment: at-least knowingly borrowed-on:perma-Credit: Merit: StaffCost(s): paid-off and on continuing steady-sales to be recouped; shorted:
Shorting bets on wall st etc stocks doesn’t matter whate currency against currency cost-price selling change:
35:00 change :43 etc. supply-demand delivery
daily, and long-term investment…achieved…pay-back:
Today, The Newspaper not given-away with the extortionately and exclusively permissive over-priced pass paid-for this day into the City’ Stock-Exchanges and Financial-Markets. Staff-costs (some) and paper and inks (none) included free magazine as affecting the World, obviously.
The Annual-Executive rail-ticket paid-for, whether used or-not.
This day the first train out and apparently all carriages only Standard-class available.
A single First-class carriage was filled-up quickly by anyone who had a ticket and conceivably some who did-not: there were no-tickets being checked or paid-for apparently the barriers left-open and inviting all-
For the-Banker, for another-time that morning, something mildly, now-seconded, and markedly unusual. The earlier, when the radio alarm-clock had switched-on routinely with the early-morning fishing, farming, road, and rail conditions.
Airline and shipping delays, arrivals, and departures, and speculative forecasts: weather-reports, from around the world, local, and global, political-economic and media-news: with the previous-nights’ closing market-prices from around The World…there had been developments overnight, that needed attending-to.
From the emptying platform, the-Banker and the-Clerk boarded the train together more or less equal. The-Clerk with a Free advertising-Newspaper and headphones, plugged-in to a mobile Media-Centre. TheBanker with a bought-copy of The Financial-Newspaper from the trains’ limited half-empty double-decker, food and drinks re-freshments’ trolley.
Having taken the first seat-available in the nearest Standard-Class compartment coupled with a foulstench reeking drain-leaking latrine literally retching between the brown and grey-green patterned seats along the narrow aisle way, the-Banker waving the newspaper ahead as if to clear-the-air.
Un-wavering when shunted across by the next-passenger inline, to the only vacant window-seat glanced across-to and sedentarily leaned-forward across the table between them and asked of the-Clerk, already sat down-opposite:
‘So, what do you make of it all then…?’ in the customary easy clear voice of one-born with the interrogative confidence of swift appraisal.
As in-stantly as-if mysteriously-accusatory…as if with some felt need for validation-test; violentvalediction, justification, testimony, guilt?
Even before any evidential fact, or fiction?
With a self and other-deceiving finality, justifying, with instant-conviction…but of who? By whom? Despite the original opening-question, it seemed as if with no real right-of-reply. The initial conversationalquestion asked as if intended not to be replied-to or any other-mindedly mitigating circumstances or anyanswer-at all, particularly, or generally, listened-to.
Or so the younger-Clerk surprised to be spoken-to then considered: perhaps like a nurture-nature kind
of thing? Possibly a-Plebeian enquiry? Selected-standard flagged with no-probation the-Clerk decided: more likely a command, to make something of IT, and to-be-taken-notice-of.
Notice-given of anyway disregarding of the possibly-paranoid maniacal rhetorical-answer awaited, or
not, by either, or Both, regardless of the-Other: The subtler -Inquisitor? The Quicker to-the- Draw? BanditQueen?
The original-recipient by-assumption looking-up from a streaming mobile smart-phone camera and videogames-console: USB-4slot-machine…game: WarFair4.com downloading…
PER (personal electronic reader)/de-pocketed-information-recorded singularly removing the ear-phone microphone-socketed-lead off-line searching for the source of the mildly-irritating openly questive-words’ spoken re-corded electron positron negative neutral proton-core still as directly-to, or so it seemed to the-Clerk, in almost immediate reply:
‘Don’t know what to make of what?’ then:
‘Senseless.’ as to The-Banker as to The Newspaper headline shaken-out, the whole carriage could now view. The-Banker sat-back purposefully, purportedly, and provocatively, to-unfold The Financial-Newspaper with the headline outermost, upper-most: WORLD MARKETS IN TURMOIL! and seen again that photograph taking up the whole of the rest of the grey-top printed front-page remaindered, pictured in the minds’ eye…
Now, turned inside-out and with a staring squeezed blink of the eyes, fumbled as if in a freak storm, a blown umbrella, quickly folded-away.
To the-Clerk: hung-out to dry: having seen earlier the front-page photograph, and one-liner top headed: WORLD MARKETS IN TURMOIL! re-conceived on-line connected…down-loaded and updating second to second milli-second, minute-to-minute mobile-version uploading freely…with- advertising:optional: Freeview choice fee-skipping…
The-Clerk looking-down and into the same recently concealed picture, and slowly re-storing from browsing-history, as accurately acutely-historically as-depicted. As veritably verifiably un-faked updated untampered-with: mobile cell-phone-photographed syndicated and World-Wide-Web: networked-scene: as at the end of the previous day: the-City: stocks and bonds’ markets as then as now: seen news-printed and pictured from the evening before: a litter-strewn like old ticker-tape across The Merchant Bank Trading-Room floor.
Forsaken, and an unforgiving-blankly waiting-screen strap-line banded:
Markets Closed. Markets Closed. Markets Closed…the single-slogan as about to go up or down was not possible to tell diagonally.
From one corner of the screen to the other perhaps tangentially-to slip-backwards flickering erratically across continuously stuttering…across perhaps, another:
Markets Closed. Only-slightly blurred from the-top aloft above, or below, the perfect: the-normal midway (i)deally positioned not at the-extreme outer-fielded or even ever truly evenly-centred: but as inside-out and now, as stilled.
As then, as now: as if no-longer exciting or existent now, as if no-longer exc(i)(t)(ed.) as of now, and then, no-longer anymore. Un-changing exchange…in-flexibility flexibility(y)ies…
Ever more exchanged until stopped perfectly still in its tracks, nowhere at all.
Except: now, there: only as stop-framed time-up: bleeped…
Cinematographically stilled, to be recorded, and repeated any movement as any-moment only impendent… In the-cloud…independently that bold bland statement on-hold flickering nonetheless-memorific ally fuzzily held in-abeyance:
Markets Closed. shimmering-pixelated grid-table mapping diagrammatic…a flickering…
A coming-together. As a vertiginous horizontally remote-geometrically sited as a new dawn held rising, over the Worlds’-Edge. The-Cityscape-skyline…diverting…
>Banking-details…scans scams threateningly un-throated un-declared-bribery and corruption and fraud on-consultancy and management-only commission-contracts hostaged hi-jacking debt-ransoming-deals projected unfounded confidence evidence?
Optimism, pessimistically keeping quiet: the-private/public purse: tax-dodging as if this would be enough to boost-real confidence on-fixed and unfixed violin-fiddling burning-figures re-vealed: > Weaknesses:… Strengths and:… sub-titling screen-fantasy theme: distinctive emblematiccorporate-creations: dis-owning any real-identity or real-personality patched-together buffer-zone: video-text typeset: cast-role freely-played-ambiguously between Good-and-Evil.
‘O.K.?’ and not too-bad.
‘One –price and another and downright-incorrectly dis-honestly and non-rightly irresponsibly:
stealing: sealing The-Deal: Generic-key: Designer-rip-off: online:
Dialogued. Options: with-structure and series arcade-style deviation from the normal… too complex-to-
#control, if at all cutting-edge cut:
>To: the Cit(y)ies: How We Live: Where and between each-other: with people we look like who we think looks like ourselves, we ghettoize whether in the City or Countryside families living close or close to close to until they, we feel less, or more, than 20-25% until we feel uncomfortable threatened or angry. Then, we move, or we move, anyway, somewhere with a higher perceived proportion, as ourselves. Through the wall(s): the closest neighbour family and friendship(s) solar-sailing and re-turning daily
Community-Street: weekly, monthly, and for years on-end for Many Millennia on the Globe.
Between the Sun and Moon: Lunar drawing-onto
Land and into the Skies. Dinosaurus Birds and:
‘Technological and Fiscal ex-pan(s)(i)on…’
‘Stamping-Feet? Perhaps, bringing the-City down?’ The-Country? Whole-Continent(s): like amoeba bacteria cytoplasm lichen on the surface…
Into the air and space-breathing-Glaciers below:
‘Not this time.’
‘Invaded! Co-Lateral!! Being brought-down! Regime-change…’
‘Financial-Pricing Systematic Monetarist: The-World!’ ethno-linguistically gender and cultural-ability driven:
‘Merit-(o) Crass. Us! Plut(0)cracies!!!’
‘Of: The Proletariat?’
‘Free-Trade Monopolyies? Eat Social-Democracyies…’
‘Communist: Individual Wealth Gap (I W G):’ nonetheless…
‘Democracy…Capitalist: Wealth-Gap. Don’t you get it?’
‘I Get IT. Dictatorship over a Minority. Monopolyies. All Minorities one-way or another…’
‘First past the post.’
‘There to stay. Familial. Monarchial-Presidential:’
‘Ballot or Bullet@?’
‘Any family alive?’
Dictatorship for the Proletariat.
Of the Soviet Military Bureaucrat Bloc.
China. 5G U.S. Eyes in the Sky.
‘Good-tactics? Buy-in? Global? Know of Any?’
‘Tactics? Civilization? Rule of Law?’
‘A good idea…but…’
‘By? Who? Why? Grotesque Over:(I)nvestment: GOB: (i)n:’
‘Commercial and Re-sidential: sold-as: Leisure-Property: Port-Folio (LPPF):…’
‘Strategically-falsely promoted tactics…’
‘Land. And destroying…
‘Forest-Funding’ by incomprehensible debt-instrument…
‘Governance. Disabling Misogynist-Paternalistic Sovereign Presidential. Familial Big-Business!’
‘Areas of Expertise (AoE) Core in-Corporation(s):’
‘GAS-OIL! Funding-Investment. Growth!’
‘Banks’ false fake-growth.’
‘Or not at all? Now?’
‘Corporate-Greed. Fraud. Corruption…’
‘Sexploitation with violence-in-defence…’
‘Beware Monopolies’ spent on Family Charity Big-Projects…’
‘Perhaps the-Price of Civilisation?’
‘Bringing in the good(s).’
Bought-Off. Hostage to Fortune(s)…
Same as it’s ever been…
Bringing in the-Harvest… ‘Or-not…’
Also by M.Stow:
WarFair4: The Day the Market(s) finally collapsed…part two
Walter Mepham (A First World War true family and personal story)
EarthCentre:The End of the Universe (An Anthropic Odyssey)
Pan Tan-Gou Arctol & other short novels, stories and poetry…All copyright@M.Stow.2020 all rights reserved