A poem for the monarchy revisited on the Coronation of King Charles III: Eating Placenta — Lines on the Royal Birth

Anna's new website Poetry page: ANNA CHEN

A poem fit for a king. Eating Placenta — Lines on the Royal Birth

Anna Chen reads Eating Placenta: Lines on the Royal Birth

Call me a coronation chicken but I'm sorely tempted to duck out of the Big Event this Saturday. I'm only one of a vast swathe of increasingly disenfranchised, pauperised Brits who can't bear to see wealth and privilege based on accidents of birth lionised as if we weren't all sliding ever deeper into the abyss.

Great Britain was once the biggest empire the world has ever seen, owning 26 percent of the planet only a century ago. Today, we're down to the AUKUS* countries which happen to have been given a last-gasp unifying project by the former colonies across the Atlantic: Opium Wars II with World War III waiting in the wings.

Like Nero partying while his city burned, the establishment cavorts in the frothing delusion that this is fine, secure in the belief that it's only a matter of military might before the white nations are restored to their rightful place as last men and women standing in the rubble of our beautiful blue planet. Meanwhile, they seriously expect us to pledge allegiance to some fairly inadequate human beings.

Look up, dinosaurs, that's an asteroid headed your way, not a revived empire.

The monarchy should have ended with Liz 2 instead of dragging us forward to mediaeval times. They had a good, long innings but that was it.

I'm not a poet laureate so I don't have to write anything for the occasion but, to mark the Coronation of King Charles III, here's one I made earlier, written in 2013. It's how I imagine the real celebrations going on behind the scenes once the hoi polloi are put to sleep.

* AUKUS: Australia, United Kingdom, US with Canada and New Zealand completing the pentacle states.

Eating Placenta is from Anna Chen's second collection of poetry, Chi Chi's Glorious Swansong, published by Aaaargh! Press.

Anna's website: ANNA CHEN

Walpurgis Eve Royal Wedding: commoner to be sacrificed

Kate Middleton's Friday night nuptuals

I KNEW it! One look at the date of the royal wedding between William and Kate makes it as clear as a Swarovski crystal gunsight what the occult aristocracy shoring up the monarchy have in store for commoner Kate Middleton. As any fule kno, 29th April is Walpurgis Eve, going into the witches' sabbath itself on the 30th, when deals made with satanic forces are at their most potent.

I've already predicted that the first-born will be sacrificed to ensure the continuation of the monarchy, but Stewart Lee has uncovered a Wicker Man scenario that makes much more sense than the Rosemary's Baby nightmare I foresaw. The first-born is a decoy. Duck, Kate. It's your lowly blood they want to fill up on like the contents of an overturned petrol tanker at an M11 truck stop.

The lash-up between the royal family and Beelzebub is already resulting in weaker minds among us being seduced by the romance of royalty, and renowned republicans are folding like origami. Only the other day I found myself in a room full of Orwell Prize progressive where a full two-thirds of the audience now found the royals more attractive than Marilyn Monroe and James Dean put together, and whose leader asked what was so great about elections and republics anyway? The Intellectual giant of the Fabian Society, Sunder Katwala, proudly swore allegiance to the Her Dark Majesty Liz The Queen of Everything and promised that, despite having once been a fearsome republican, he was all better now.

And what of poor Wills? Never mind: his second marriage will be happier and longer-lived. After all, he has his Dad to guide him through this one.

BTW, my birthday falls on 30th April. Heh!

Truly, there are terrible primal arcana of earth which had better be left unknown and unevoked; dread secrets which have nothing to do with man, and which man may learn only in exchange for peace and sanity; cryptic truths which make the knower evermore an alien among his kind, and cause him to walk alone on earth.
-From "The Diary of Alonzo Typer" Howard Phillips Lovecraft

Carnival of Republicanism here

UPDATE: 13:50 Thursday 28th. Squats raided before the royal wedding. Democracy upheld. Rah!

Princess Di - she dead!

Ten years on ...

Yes, she wanted to be queen and rule over us. Yes, she wanted her "boys" to continue the monarchy. Yes, she had dreadful taste in music. And men.

But having been used as a brood mare, Diana refused to play the game and sod off and die. Her subsequent upstagings of the dull royals were a source of amusement as she fought back with wit and style. And only someone with a heart of stone wouldn't give a person points for resisting their oppression which, as her experience showed us, exists even at the top of society.

She did seem to genuinely care about people in pain, although my hopes of her shaving her head, getting pierced, developing her concerns about injustice into a discovery of Marx and taking a humanities course at some Redbrick uni as the ultimate in revenge, were always going to remain an unrealised fantasy.

I was watching the late movie on the BBC when the news of the Paris tunnel crash first broke - Reds, directed by Warren Beatty, about American journalist John Reed's time with the old Bolsheviks who, in weird synchronicity, killed off their monarchy. Ironic, huh? Life imitates art. Kind of. Should do.

Princess Di - she dead!

Ten years on ...

Yes, she wanted to be queen and rule over us. Yes, she wanted her "boys" to continue the monarchy. Yes, she had dreadful taste in music. And men.

But having been used as a brood mare, Diana refused to play the game and sod off and die. Her subsequent upstagings of the dull royals were a source of amusement as she fought back with wit and style. And only someone with a heart of stone wouldn't give a person points for resisting their oppression which, as her experience showed us, exists even at the top of society.

She did seem to genuinely care about people in pain, although my hopes of her shaving her head, getting pierced, developing her concerns about injustice into a discovery of Marx and taking a humanities course at some Redbrick uni as the ultimate in revenge, were always going to remain an unrealised fantasy.

I was watching the late movie on the BBC when the news of the Paris tunnel crash first broke - Reds, directed by Warren Beatty, about American journalist John Reed's time with the old Bolsheviks who, in weird synchronicity, killed off their monarchy. Ironic, huh? Life imitates art. Kind of. Should do.