Auguste Knuckles

If I just work hard and keep my head down life will just pass me by. What's the fucking point of that?

The scene is set in 1970s England, sewage new age racists politicians. BNP, the national front and one of the most talked about politicians at the time Enoch Powel. April 20th 1968 Enoch Powel's speech strongly criticised mass immigration, especially Commonwealth immigration to the United Kingdom and the proposed race relations bill. It became known as the "Rivers of Blood" speech, although Powell always referred to it as "the Birmingham speech". Born and dragged up during this era was living hell.

An explosion of bollocks, paranoia, the slave trade never ended, its shall never end. "Fuck off back to where you came from you fucking monkeys". Jamaican, Indian, Pakistani, Polish, Bangladeshi, Arab cunts. It didn't matter where you came from or how you got here. We are all dirty sand nigger monkeys In the eyes of the "Patriots" who obviously have no clue about their own history.

A generation of sour, unfortunate middle aged ration card donkeys. What they did not foresee is the inevitable movement of people wanting to better themselves. Peoples who had fought alongside them during the great war. People who wanted to sunbathe within the greatness of the empire. England, a one way ticket for so many unfortunate delusional souls.

My family tree, it would be the wind rush generation. After them their offspring. After them a generation of unwanted bags of dog shit. The half breed generation. The boogie woogie disco generation offspring. Taboo Egyptian gymnastics blacks and whites mating like frenzied zombies all frowned upon by the right wing, left wing down the middle around in circles who gives a fuck fascists.

Anarchy on the street's, sexual carnage in the alley ways. Stupidity personified, who gives a fuck mentality. Oblivious change will out breed them all some day soon. They shall shout, they shall protest, lynch, beat down and shout their frustrations towards those wanting to better their pockets and for many those wanting to spread their seed across.

I Auguste knuckles was one of those unwanted bags of dog shit. Although back in those days dogs just shit on the street. Well the streets I would be dragged up upon with so many lifeless individual's who had no place in fascist households. Not black, not white but black enough to be proper black in the eyes of the unfortunate uneducated brainless fucks who call themselves Patriots.

"Are you brave enough to tell the back story?". There are no questions about this story, just facts, love was not on the menu. Lust, desire, adultery, lies, deceit, wanting. Everything taboo was on the cards in a land that was as hypocritical and ironic as a one legged blind man hopping down the road bumping into lamp posts making out they are not blind or without the other leg. Breaking boundaries, a civil rights movement as such. Fashion, music, many cultures, many many things happening. The narrative I to write.

Auguste Knuckles, a young vulnerable soul who has never known love from family, only misery and denial. "What is love, baby dont hurt me". What is love, I have no fucking clue. Everything I was doing were the traits of someone who had infact been sexual abused. During my twenties and thirties I would cause utter love carnage. Unable to feel pain, unable to comprehend affection or love. I was a dog with three dicks.

Emotionally discontented, irrational, oblivious and unaware of trauma or my mental state a fuck bomb questioning ones sexuality was only goi g to lead to more unfiltered madness. I guess I'll finish this in the tree house.