Saturday, 17 October 2020

The New Normal

























Nor public Flame, nor private, dares to shine;
Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine!
Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos! is restored;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And Universal Darkness buries All.

Alexander Pope, The Dunciad, 1743

Monday, 13 July 2020

Any Fule No

With a recession on the offing, people tend to batten down the hatches: save money, pay down debt. They don't tend to go spending money like drunken sailors.

People have been told incessantly for four months that going anywhere near Public Transport is Certain Death.

Businesses have, in the lockdown, discovered how much overhead in the way of rent, utilities, insurance etc they could save by not running huge Offices.

Government (having created a major recession whose full impact is yet to be felt, issued endless Public Transport death warnings and imposed a massive lockdown): Rrright, now everybody get on your bus, back to the office and start spending like drunken sailors! Spending like us in fact!

Not going to happen.

Wednesday, 1 July 2020

Slate Star Codex: Wokist-Leninism Claims A Scalp

The only victim of the Wokista George Floyd Feeding Frenzy worth mourning, the Slate Star Codex has closed on the threat of the author being doxxed by the New York Times.

Boundlessly intelligent and thoughtful writing obviously has to be destroyed! Oceania can only properly flourish on the sort of diarrhoeic slurry extruded by the NYT, algae and weed on a cesspool being the Wokist-Leninist vision of a living culture.

The "journalist" responsible is one Cade Metz, whose pen will never leak anything you would want to find on your arsewipe, but, well done there, Cade, sure you're proud of yourself.

Monday, 15 June 2020

Reflections on the Revolution in Everywhere

A comforting thought, that all the mental derangement and spasmodic activity












all the Liberations yet to be imposed














all the
Celebrations
yet to be
Celebrated







are but the death throes of the Ancien Régime: while the true Revolution is slouching into being, unseen and unforseen by any of the frenzied actors of the moment.

Blogista: well, it cheers me up anyway.

First thing to go come the true Revolution will be the pot-luck haphazardry of layout and formatting on this here Blogger thing: one tries one's best, but...

Sunday, 14 June 2020

There's a Hole in the Memory Hole

Much fuss and bother today about Churchill's picture being erased from a Google search for "UK Prime Ministers".

Just a technical glitch, Google assure us. Now Winnie is back again, PM 1951-55...

Bit of a gap there, 1940-45, but peaceful times, uneventful years, what does it matter who was PM?
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'
'How many fingers, Winston?'
'Five! Five! Five!'
'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?'
'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!'

Wednesday, 3 June 2020

Back To Nature


My heart is sad and I'm in sorrow
For the only one I love
When shall I see him - oh no never
'Til I meet him in Heaven above

Oh bury me under the weeping willow
Yes under the weeping willow tree
So he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

The Carter Family, Bristol Tennessee, 1927

The naiveté of "until an angel softly whispered"... masterful trowelwork!

The terrible thing about cabin fever is sitting for hours listening to this, then the varmint in the post below, then this then the varmint then this then the var
                                                              the varmint at the same time