Picnic. As I never tire of saying, good news are few and far between. So when there is some, we get inordinately excited and happy and we feel like having a picnic. This week’s good news is that after nearly three years of faffing about, that infamous epitome of dribbling evil, that paradigm of rancid misogynistic “masculinity” wot calls itself La Manada are finally in prison. Also, the offence has been upgraded from “sexual assault” to what it really was, a rape of the most vicious, revolting and unthinking kind. The sentence, too, has been upped from a measly 9 years to a merely insufficient 15 years. Call themselves The Pack? Animals don’t do to their females what these … things did to that poor girl. May they rot in jail and may they get served by some Neanderthalish fellow inmate as they did to her. Certain things are not to be forgiven. In fact, to forgive them is almost akin to condoning them. And that goes for you too, Mr. Bolton, Mr. Bannon, Mr. Johnson. Plague take you all!
Moon Maiden. I appreciate that there aren’t all that many reasons for having a good Solstice. It’s coldish and miserable and it’ll probably rain later, when you’d like to have that seasonal Bonfire of the Inanities you’ve been planning for months. And any time now we’ll have a dangerous clown in 10 Downing St. And although the Strumpet is not stupid enough to want to start WWIII, some of the people behind his wretched back are cold-blooded psychopaths wot would like nothing better than a jolly old spring cleaning. Still. A Solstice is a Solstice, even this one which ushers in the declining of the light. Listen to the Moon Maiden, who makes the tides dance and the flowers grow. Resist. Bite. Stay as groovy as you can, for it annoys Mike Pompino and Barmy Bolton. And Henry Kissinger, of course.
Have some music, too:
Tom Lehre’s We’ll All Go Together When We Go
Tom Lehre’s So Long MoM
Martha Argerich. Chopin Four Nocturnes.
Brigitte Engerer Chopin – Nocturne Op. 9, No. 1 in B-flat minor
Tardigrades Tittle-Tattle. I’ve been meaning to do something on these delightful ultimate survivors for a long time. Hitch scratched: here they are. As you can see this lot are philosophically inclined. At least the orangey one is. The green one is more the let’s-get-on-with-it type, bless it.
Another Golem. Yes, have another Golem. They’s good for you. This one and his small companion, who feels he’s becoming more insubstantial by the minute, seem to have lost their bearings, poor things, as we all do from time to time. But they have not lost heart, I think. We hope it’s only a temporary state and we wish them a safe & speedy return to the clear path. Rosa watches over them.
Totally unrelated, I dedicate this to the passing of Dr. John, the Night Tripper. Chika chika forever to you too, mate! Have a safe …trip.
Scary Lass. Here a little something for the visiting Strumpet.
And, as a bonus oddball, a little something else for the well-meaning-but-naïve (?) folk that still believe that The Times is a serious paper.
Have a grand week, in spite of the ongoing whorish shenanigans.