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Get Up! Stand Up!

Monster Musings. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living.
Karl Marx
There never has been a greater need to swim against the current, to dissent from the norm, to resist and build barricades against this crushing, seemingly all-powerful tide of Crapitalist rubbish that’s engulfing the world at this moment in time. We must really, truly and categorically wake up from this muddle of a collective nightmare of dead traditions, outdated values and rancid doctrines. Else we (not the planet; the planet will be all right in any case) are surely fucked and then is good luck to the rats, the bugs and the tardigrades.
‘ere, ‘ave un po’ di mu’, to encourage your resolve.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BP-aYdhHwro
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-srLjMRjoVI
Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living. And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and things, creating something that did not exist before, precisely in such epochs of revolutionary crisis they anxiously conjure up the spirits of the past to their service, borrowing from them names, battle slogans, and costumes in order to present this new scene in world history in time-honoured disguise and borrowed language.
The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte

Goodbyeeeeee 2019

Push Back 2020 Hello 2020. Personally I haven’t the smallest, faintest shred of an anaemic hope that it’ll be better than 2919, let alone a happy one. Still. We must Becket it, mustn’t we?
Have the best possible 2020 you can get, folks. Stay stubborn.

More or Less Happy Returns

Solstice2019. aka Cthulhu Says…The Story so Far. Having perversely failed once more to vote Cthulhu (or, better still, the ineffable Shub-Niggurath), we’ve ended up whisking to power something that makes Azathoth look like a love child of Gandhi and a CERN particle physicist.
And he’s gon’ be there for the next 5 years. If we’re lucky. If we’re not he’ll go on forever, even unto and beyond the demise of his earthly carcass, for he’ll be kept “alive” by a series of outlandish HerbertWestian procedures and some very effective hexes devised by don Dominic.
And soon the Last Darkness will engulf all, and all seas will empty themselves into the cosmic Maelstrom and the Red Death will hold sway and… But I digress.
Have the happiest, grooviest, most impervious Solstice you can manage.
 
“They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening.” –  George Orwell
 
And what would a festive season be without un po’ di mu’? You’re welcome.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccefqYQWtdA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2DscvVye94
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUEUF6Qh8ys&list=PL2UPO357IYkh2fmm44gA5BG2JLQVr6ybl

Dearly Departed, Dear Departures

Worm Wisdom. (Ash Memorial Year 7) In the soothing, imperturbable shadow of Yggdrasil, the Níðhöggr and a couple of mates of his debate the endorsing of a possibly desirable early date for Ragnarok.
This might well be the last public memorial I’ll upload -for a variety of mostly good reasons. But here goes anyways. I know Ash would have liked this doodle.
Ash, me old china, we miss you more than ever but perhaps it was a good thing you went when you did. At least you’ve been spared this latest, the most Hideous Horror Show of all the recent whorish politics of this wretched country. More power to your particles, toots!

Blackest of Fridays

Basic Grammar for ClipArt Monsters. Friday 13th, eh? It’s got to be the un-funniest joke ever since Tony Blair took us to Iraq. I give that ersatz moratorium on fracking 6 months.

Santi Marginali

Farfallin2. Meet the promised peripheral Italian saint: Santa Farfallina di Sestri Levante. She hops and hovers atop the mountains of Liguria preaching permanent dissent, infinite patience, stubborn endurance and selective schadenfreude. “Hear ye, hear ye!” she cries. “Do not tolerate the intolerable! Take comfort in the modest fact that you are not Dominic Cummings. Live your lives as if the R-Evolution was possible. Resist and bite.” And so on. So far she hasn’t converted many people, but the Floaters and the mountain Trotters absolutely love her. She subsists on offerings from the local Shoggoths and the odd contribution from the Shub-Niggurath, who has a secret hidey-hole under the Lanterna in Genoa. The santina herself has a pintsized pied-a-terre in Piazza Campetto, where she throws occasional small parties for a selected crown of mad poets, avant-garde dancers and notorious cat chroniclers. Her feast day is a movable feast, naturally.  NB. This is mostly for don Attilio “El Caffarenito”, who will get all the in-jokes.

Sharp Monsters

ClipArt Monsters’ Dirge. Here’s a small token of my contempt for that ghastliest of all our ex-prime ministers, Tony “Liar-Liar-Pants-On-Fire” Blair, who keeps on resurfacing, like a particularly malicious revenant.
Also, a special, tailor-made ad hominem attack and a curse upon his obnoxious head: May the Harpies foul your table and rot the very food in your mendacious mouth. And may the Undying Worm eat your eyeballs from the inside. And may the Night Mare send her brood to plague your unpleasant dreams -and the dreams of the MSM indentured pundits that still maintain that you were a “pretty regular guy”- to the ends of the viable universe and beyond. There
Coming soon: Peripheral Italian saints.
PS. There are many good reasons for my obsession with this kind of GM (Graphically Modified) clipart creatures wot come free with some apps. One is that some are too cute not to do things to and with -we seem to be made for each other. Another is that I feel very sorry for them. Why, most of them will end up decorating someone’s god-awful selfie, or the snaps of him getting pissed and puking in Magaluf, or, Bumba forfend!, the pics of her latest breast implants. Frankly, the poor wee things are better off working for me, dontyouthinkso?

Carry On Revolting

Persist.
Joke: A guy walks into a bar, left foot forward, and offers to buy everybody a drink. He gets shot. A rosary-clenching, Bible-wielding lunatic walks into the same bar and says that from now on everybody’s gonna have to pay for the very air they breathe. He gets feted sky high and proclaimed Saviour of Mankind. Meanwhile, back outside, the planet is going to pot. The end.

https://www.globalresearch.ca/bolivia-color-revolution-new-surge-latin-american-independence/5695175

I ask for the Nth time -and for the Nth time I expect no rational answer: why is it that this kind of pre-fab, CIA-backed ghastly self-appointed “Good Guys” can just walk in, clenching rosaries and wielding bibles, behave like Yahoos and proclaim themselves Saviours of the Nation and nobody says boo? A socialist-leaning government sweeps into power, carried by a tide of popular pissedofness with the Usual Crapitalist Suspects, and the first mistake he makes the world and his CIA-brainwashed missus screams “Fraud! Fraud!”

Hypocrisy, cruelty, idiocy, bad faith, moral cowardice, intellectual laziness, greed and wilful ignorance remain as endless as ever.

Oy, are we fucked…

Plotting’s Good For You

ClipArt Master Plan. The one drawback I can see of not being religious at all is that you can’t believe in an afterlife and therefore a heaven or a hell, or even in a post corporeal reckoning of some description, not even reincarnation as a tapeworm. Which is a shame when it comes to fantasizing about the many possible unpleasant hereafter fates of Ms Patel, our gruesome current Home Secretary. I mean she makes Michael Howard look like a boy scout, she does.  Oh well, there you have it. We keep on allowing clowns and psychos into 10 Downing St. and that’s what happens. I daresay than come December 12th we will even vote them in. Again. This time with a proper “mandate” (whatever that is when it’s at home…)
And this is for the travellers she so hates. Today it’s them. Tomorrow…it could be you.
Let’s hear it with Ojos de Brujo:
La mochila que llevamos
Va cargaita de piedras
Del abismo ya nos viene
Esta mala condición
Sólo nos queda la rumba
Y una buena bulería
Un bailecito por tangos
Y el cante del Camarón

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRVwG-X1S_g

Persistent Poppycock

Poppycock 2019. I’ve had a spiffing idea: this year you do the Memorial Rant. I’m tired of banging on about a subject on which practically everything has already been said and fat good it does, too. Not that I haven’t got anything to say that I haven’t said before but I simply can’t be arsed. There. The small monster’s text is from Leonard Cohen Story of Isaac.