Voynich4. And here’s the last of the series…for the time being. There’s another small half dozen in the vaults but they can wait. Stay spiffing.
Still Voynich
Voynich5. More of that Voynichy stuff. Please note how Bubbles has dyed her bulk pink to accommodate the harmonies. She’s such an adaptable, obliging creature, she is.
The Tenderness of the Fishis
Gone Voynich. 2
Gone Voynich 2. And here’s the second.
Gone Voynich. 1
Repetitions & Reiterations
Mixed Blessings. aka Por mucho pan nunca mal año. This 2023 is likely to be so crappy that this greetings double-bubble amounts to a sort of sympathetic, or rather, propitiatory magic. Keep it sweet, laud it even before it gets going (Like Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize…). Say what a wonderful, big year it’s going to be, how full of joy and prosperity for all, how peaceful and war-free…and so on; see if it sinks. Or in the words of the immortal Forges, “Si cuela , cuela…” Party on, dudes!
Y Uno De Propina.
Happy (?) Days…
As it says on the tin. Have the best possible one. Dissent. Annoy. Irritate. Indict. Denounce. Be loud. Refuse. Etc. You know the drill by now. And have a sponditious 2023 in spite of It All and to spite Henry Kissinger, as ever. Love and shortbread (Scottish ilk).
Political Tapas
Up Up Up!. Here’s a little something, a sort of political tapas to keep us entertained until the new year, which won’t be so new after all, more like a dreary continuation, the Chapter 3,273 of the same old shit we’ve been getting from our beloved leaders and attached retinue of leeches, social psychologists, tame scientists, Guardian analysts and so on.
Up the R-Evolution! Give ‘em hell! Kick Them where it hurts. Kill all the Dead Myths!
The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living.
Karl Marx. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. Karl Marx 1852
Winter Warmers
Amazing Grace. Have a sponditious Solstice, do. I agree, there are hardly any reasons to be cheerful. It’s perishing cold and utterly miserable out there, what with the political Pestilence, and the Russki-Hysteria and the BBC anti-strikes propaganda and all… But it’s the thought that counts, dontyouknow. Stay warm, stubborn and, if at all possible, awkward. Love and Blobs. PS. And don’t forget to thank the Sun for its kind indifference to our welfare and, therefore, returning to us just because that’s what the Sun does. (Me, in it’s place, I would have given up and gone nova a long while ago. Roughly at the time the Nobel mafia gave the Peace Prize to Henry Kissinger…)