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  What Is To Be Done History is littered with stories of imaginary futures. Bread, land and peace were Lenin’s promises and the Bolsheviks believed them and, like others before and since, believed in themselves, believed they could achieve them. But power intervened, power and conflict external and internal and internal contradictions all in the mix and look where it took them. Such promises, such imagined futures, have a long history and a large geography. They were being similarly re-imagined at that same time by the early Kibbutz movement. Simplicity and co-operation in one harmonious state. They believed they could achieve it, believed they could set an example for the whole world to follow. But power intervened, power and conflict external and internal and internal contradictions all in the mix and look where it has taken them. We thought the monsters were defeated, starved, dead, buried with stakes through their hearts, but they were sleeping and being fattened ready   t...
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  Playthings It’s the need to possess that baffles me, the need to own   objects of no decorative or use value, objects destined to become   encumbrances sooner or later, passive playthings out of their time moved on into a time when even the box, it’s wrapping and ribbons fails to excite creativity. Playthings   destined to become   encumbrances sooner or later. Ever sooner as time moves on. https://latinosenglishedition.blog/2026/02/11/playthings-by-lynn-white/
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  Shepherds Warning A new dawn breaks red   lighting up the sky colouring the clouds cracking   grey   to pink. But shepherds warn still of stormy times even   as the paler tints move in   the dark stays breaks fragments the red. As dawn cracks chaotic it’s unclear which forces   shall prevail when dawn   becomes   day. https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_agesoftheday.html
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  As The River Flows The river flows by but doesn’t carry me with it as I sit solidly on the bank side watching my reflection fragmenting and reforming. It can’t carry away my reflection either, can only move it around, destroy and recreate it with a bit of a breaking backdrop which, on reflection tells me little about   where I am, or who, or why. It leaves me behind. It always will, unless I enter and let it   float me away. https://hotelmasticadoreshouse.wordpress.com/2026/02/10/as-the-river-flows-by-lynn-white/
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  That Was The Year That was the year   when politicians played   on the stage of the New Theatre of the Absurd where empathy   was dead as Roszencrantz and Gildestern and the victims   of Schrodinger’s genocide both lived and died where Palestine was once and now it had no territory though it was a state, where Israel had a territory for Jews of families not born there in this millennium or the last when their lies became truth and truth became lies that no one truly believed and pretence was real and death was life and things could only get better and things only got worse before the curtain came down to end it all. https://masticadorestaiwan.wordpress.com/2026/02/10/that-was-the-year-by-lynn-white/
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  Fish They called me ‘Fish’ which I thought somewhat unoriginal, but they were kind and fed me my favourite foods of prawns and chocolate and I opened my mouth and wiggled my fins to show my appreciation. Sometimes plastic bits had blown into my pond. I’d tested them for food worthiness and spat them straight out, so tasteless and with a tough unpleasant texture. I’d rather eat raspberries, well, perhaps not raspberries, but fish food, yes, I’d rather eat fish food. But I wouldn’t let my human friends know   that this was an option. I was still concerned about Brexit   and wanted to make sure that   their stockpile of chocolate biscuits was adequate to see me through. When they give me a luscious big piece I always give them a big wet kiss in return. They seemed to like it and really it’s no trouble, they are so sweet. There are other issues that cause me concern. The frog they call Croaker told me that numbers of dolphins had washed up dead   with pieces of pl...
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