Flora. Between rants, a bit of fluff. Here, have a bit of mystical boogie-woogy, courtesy of Ms. Floribunda Spiccata (Blooming Sharp in English), a close relative of the Roman goddess of spring and flowers and all things green and bright and beautiful. Join her in a jig and a jaunt for to exorcise the round-the-clock crap that we get on daily basis from…well, practically everywhere, really. Knees up, folks! Life may be like a chicken coop’s ladder, short and full of shit, but “that’s no reason to pout … smile and sweat it out.”* *Stephen Sondheim. Do I Hear a Waltz

The Pit and the Pendulum. Some time ago I said that I was waiting for the tide to turn. I was lying.
As a matter of fact I’m sick up to the gills with tides, returns and other pendular shenanigans.
A lifetime of left or right, black or white, us or them, good guys or …….. (enter here your designated enemy-du-jour’s name)……., with us or against us, either or moronic Manicheism, has left me with an actual, fierce, physical allergy to these kind of imbecile dynamics which are not dynamic at all. Dialectics that never reach a synthesis, not even a working compromise, let alone an expedient accommodation.
To tell the truth I dream of … I’m not sure what I dream of. Almost anything far, far, far removed from these crappy motions that go nowhere fast except to the bottomless pit of despair and annihilation. But I can tell you one of the things that pisses me right off about these hyper-fragmentary Inquisitions: that they are producing piles and piles and piles of fatuous, narrow, insular little worlds infinitely small and petty and, well, criminally tedious, really.
Yog-Sothoth, come ye amongst us and crunch all this shite in thy mighty maws and let the bugs and the rats and the tardigrades start a new something-or-other. They couldn’t possibly do worse that we have done. (Except for Bach, Goya and Geraldine Chaplin.) Have a sponditious week.

Gaza 2023. Why wait for November 11? Let’s remember right now!
It is said that one of the definitions of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expect a different outcome. According to this definition, with which I thoroughly concur, the state of Israel’s levels of madness must be off the charts. I know the whole world is slowly but surely going to the mad dogs but King Bibi, and his minions, and the prats that keep on voting him in (ad nauseam?) are truly astonishing in their (wilfully?) blind derangement. And if this statement makes me an antisemitic fiend in the crooked eyes of the likes of Suella Braverman and her cohorts, so be it. I know what I am or I’m not. And so do those who know me half well. And so does God…if there be one.

Meditation. Series Old Wine in New Bottles. More revisited stuff. This one has kept one of the original Shoggoths but the background and, especially, the substance have changed almost drastically. Switch off the telly. Turn off Radio 4. Bin the papers. Ditch your “smart” phone. Relax, sit still, take a deep breath, raise your middle finger and … Shooooooooooooom.