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Transitions.

Why is it easier for Bruce Jenner to change his gender than it is for Cassius Clay to change his name?

David Chappelle

Scribe’s Note. Till a few days ago I had no idea who Bruce Jenner or Brother Chappelle were. So I looked them up. Young Caitlyn did not arise my interest. Young David on the other hand I can take or leave, like most comedians these days, but I’ll say that for him: he makes sone outstandingly spiffing points on some of the most vexed subjects currently making the rounds of what passes for thought these End Days. A bit like J.K. Rowling, whose books I find unreadable and whom I blame for those bloodyawful Harry Potter films, but she did tell it like it is, no holds barred, and took her flack and DID NOT recant or even apologize. Well done, folks! Resist, bite and annoy the mealy-mouthed self-righteous bigots of any kind or description. Have a splendid week.

Yearly Farces

Poppycock 2021. Here’s an idea: since we seem determined to neither learn nor change, we might as well have a Remembrance Day (aka Shame, Shame, Poppy-Shame Day) for the future generations of both canon fodder and, most especially, “collateral” damage -i.e. all the countless innocent civilians who will neither vote for nor take part in whatever new carnage our darling leaders will be organizing shortly. This is it. Have a nice life, if you can get it.

PS. The quotes are from Julio Anguita’s now famous outburst and from a very old Celtas Cortos album.

Prophets & Poets

Snap. (This is for W.B. “Pretty Boy” Yates -who else?). The focus is getting smaller and narrower and meaner with each passing day. Perspective is lost and subsequently obliterated. The centre cannot hold because it has disappeared down into its own myopic microscopic asshole; therefore things fall apart and fall into a black hole of various vulgar solipsisms. The true substance of Anarchy is but the thin, starved ghost of a vanished memory and what is loosed upon the world is the shrill cackle of hysteric dribblings and superstitious ravings and the spasmodic gusts of whingeing wounded entitlement. A Great Reset is much needed, verily, yeah! But not the great reset “They” have in their poxy, tired and geriatric minds. Snap, snap! Snip, snip! We need to get out of our self-inflicted prisons, break our self-imposed chains, renounce our voluntarily assimilated impotence, stop trying to explain the world and come out into the streets to welcome the R-Evolution, before the slouching beast gets us all. There. Have a fab weekend.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst   
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   
The darkness drops again; but now I know   
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

What Is To Be Done?

Floating Tittle-tattle. We all live, knowingly or otherwise, entangled in a maze, a cat’s cradle of lies, virtual realities, fake news, vapid fairy tales and mutually contradicting, periodically shifting party lines. It might come as a surprise to some to know that not all -not even all that many by a long long chalk- of these bogus premises blow in from the so-called Axis of Evil but actually suppurate from the self-styled Free World, which is the true progenitor, developer and main spreader of that most insidiously sophisticated and useful of tools of manipulation and control of the masses, contemporary Propaganda. Which recently has reached truly hysterical levels of efficiency. One day The Orthodoxy (and its indentured minions) says one thing; the next day it says the opposite; and the day after that it shifts once more, perhaps with an ever so slight variation, so that the flock will think it really different and even new. Thus the Governance by Idiots, or Idiocracy, perpetuates itself, assisted by a herd ever anxious to be led and told what to do (anything-for-a-quiet-life! free of the precarious labours of independent thought). Only the Floaters (& Co.) know what’s what but they are very small, very few and their voices very faint amidst the shrill din and clash of all the tales told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I like the Floaters. They take me with them in their frequent sorties and they tell me things. Have a splendiferous week.

Cyclical Stuff

Open Ends. A very merry Solstice to you all, in spite of the possibilities of having a really jolly one being rather slim. Stay stubborn. Stay sane. Dance for as long as you have legs to dance with.

Acknowledgment of Senior Moment. 22/09/21 This goes well beyond a mere “senior moment” and accelerates very hard from plain embarrassment to utter bewilderment. The worse is that I remained unaware of this fuck up for the whole of three days. Exhaustively checking my temporal sub-routines -which have bee somewhat maladjusted, lately- and doggedly backtracking the course of circs that led to it. (I suspect the clocks going back next week has played a not insignificant role in this gaffe) Nearly there although I won’t bore you with the results. All that remains is to say, like the Mi-Go would, is ‘Mozt zinzere apologiez, folkz. Ignore the zilly capzion and have a zpoinditiouz weekend”. Do. And be lenient with gross absent-mindedness.

Domestic Witch Hunting

Idle Chitchat. The disintegration of the social fabric via condemnation of dissent continues apace. You can hardly open your mouth to express the mildest of objections to the official party line without getting the spontaneous irregular armies of the self-appointed reps of law, order and orthodoxy jump on you like the wrath of God. You get insulted, publically humiliated, demonized, ostracized and if at all possible battered to a pulp. So if what you want is a quiet life at all & any cost, just keep shtum, nod politely to any dribble that the sheep gibber at you and, if things get too unbearable, get yourself some ear plugs. It takes guts to be a goat… Have a maaaaarvelous week.

Sweet Vanity

Evolution 8. Some more silly shenanigans for the weekend. Have a lovely one.

PS. And now you can see why Orcas sometimes curl their dorsal fin in such a funny manner. In memoriam of a remote ancestral whim.

Coplas y Coplillas

Alegrías. If this is for anyone is for Conchita Piquer, who sang a song -about a lad with green eyes- so risqué, for that time and place, that it was either banned outright or had the lyrics changed to a respectable (if not less soppy) version. I love Conchita. And lads with green eyes, if they are of the nice variety. And small monsters, that goes without saying. Have a fab week.

Small Life

Evolution7 Here, just for a giggle. Behold and marvel at the frivolity, the love of frippery burbling through the veins even of exceedingly early life-as-we-know-it. No wonder we evolved into the puffed up bunch we now are. (Said she, endlessly brooding about her choice of earnings for the day.) Have a splendid weekend, look out for intermittent singularities spewing knockoff Chanels and have an apposite po’ di mu’.

Tindalos Strikes Again!

Birds of Tindalos. As predicted, the Tindalos Stuff keeps on emerging spontaneously, unbidden and unruly, as it’s the Tindalos wont. Meet the Birdies of that angle-loving, curve-shunning most bizarre of dimensions/lands/habitats/locations/whatnots. Here we can see a mother bird introducing her young chick to the so-called human race, and commenting on its peculiarities in general and a few specific idiosyncrasies. Because she’s in a lazy mood she can’t bothered with any finely tuned ad hominem attacks, although she has more than a few special bête noires of her own. You’re quite welcome to name your own objects of contempt and save her the trouble. Have a sponditious life.