Month: December 2019

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.

Dearly Departed, Dear Departures

Worm Wisdom. (Ash Memorial Year 7) In the soothing, imperturbable shadow of Yggdrasil, the Ní­í°hí¶ggr 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.