Owl & Pussycat. The dashing fowl and the dancing kitty are at it again. A wee bit bored with their Bong-Tree paradise they’ve gone off, once more into the breach & all that. This time they have decided to do without the money –but not the honey. The pea-green boat having retired, they are using a singularity-propelled Skipping Vortex kindly lent them by the Sun and generated by his pal the Merry Cloud of Mischief. They are also taking a brace of Guide Worms because a) they are great company (and they sing beautifully), b) they have all sort of disreputable contacts in the Badlands and c) they are expert double-entry bookkeepers. We wish them all a safe journey and endless grooviness.
Puppies of Tindalos. Here’s just a little something to keep the juice flowing, now it seems to be back. See the acute Cagnolito of Tindalos and her mate, the Wholly Furious Fish, expressing their considered opinion on the subject of Brexshit, Theresa May, the Tories, that bunch of big girl’s blouses that call themselves the Labour Party, you name it.
Also, a side, snide nod to the 100th anniversary of the Amritsar Massacre. Since nobody seems to have the basic decency to apologize for it, we’ll do it, although it’s really no skin of our long-suffering snouts. And while we’re at it, also for the Black Hole of Calcutta and the Bengal Famine, and the Chagossians, and for all those weapons Britain is selling to the bleeding Saudis so they can obliterate Yemen. There. Have a maaaarvelous week.
Or that’s what we hope, anyway. It’s taken a sadly predictable event to shake me out of it and I’m only sorry that it was such a(nother) revolting display of unctuous cocksuckery that shook things up. Still, life is as life does and this days you grab, with both feeble hands, whatever chances of intellectual survival it throws at you.
For the quoted Incandescence…take your pick. The Brexshit panto or the arrest of Julian Assange are two good candidates, but, of course, there are plenty others. For as long as we have dribbling evil morons for our rules, we’ll never want for objects of fiery loathing.
And here be a couple of (a)cute quotes.
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hand on hips,
While dribble gushes from his lips.
The difficulty lies, not in the new ideas, but in escaping from the old ones, which ramify, for those brought up as most of us have been, into every corner of our minds.
John Maynard Keynes
Which is what Marx said, in 1852, in the opening paragraphs of the 18th Brummaire… , much more graphically and with a strong poetic flavour. But I also like Keynes’ version because it has a creepy hint of infection, of underhand corruption, unsuspected and undetected. Mooooo Ha Ha Ha…
Have a nice weekend.