haters gonna hate – even the shit i be proud of, yeah?


January 2015

aztec calendar – mick farren

And it came to pass that I got my goddamn mojo back and there was great jubilation and wild rejoicing – on the inside of my head if nowhere else. Last Monday, I finally had the stamina to sit down and nuke ‘Ladies and gentleman’. It took me two full days, but that’s it finished now. And, I actually managed to post something in here, which hasn’t been physically – or mentally – possible since December.

Then, I read through the next novel that’ll be coming out. It needs work, sure (and lots of it!) but I was amazed how many great wee bits there were in it. I’m looking forward to living and breathing the damn thing – maybe in March – and having it out in August. That’s the plan, anyhoo.

I feel like I’m coming out of a long, enforced low-budget suspended animation. Why is it, that it takes bouts of sickness to remind me that my health is so important? Having spent a couple of months, flat on my back, unable to function, every day feels like an Aladdin’s cave of possibilities.

And it’s not just me – I saw on twitter last night that Greece has voted in an anti-austerity party – by a landslide. David Cameron’s unimpressed – tweeting about how austerity’s actually a damn good thing – which it probably is when you’re married to some sort of millionaire.

I feel great – and it feels like the whole world’s waking up with me!

It’s only about three months until our own general election. I’m hoping the Greek result is a shot in the arm for, not just the anti-austerity movement globally, but whatever section of the UK’s populace are wondering whether being piss-poor and blaming immigrants will somehow stop bankers throwing their cocaine-fueled orgies at our expense.

And of course, I was cheered to hear I’d outlived the ugliest bastard in the history of British home secretaries, Leon Brittan. Interviewed last summer over a 1967 date rape and furiously trying to cover up his part in the ‘loss’ of MP Geoffrey Dickens’ 1983 dossier on the British establishment’s abuse elite.

It’s got to be a bit rough, waiting to die, knowing that if the disease doesn’t get a move on, justice will finally catch up with you. But then, this guy was home secretary under Thatcher right through the miners’ strike.

From my perspective, it feels like we’ve been living through Sade’s ‘One hundred-and-twenty days of Sodom’ since 2010. A world where the wealthy, powerful and/or prominent have had a get-out-of-jail-free card, a tacit understanding that the lives of children in care weigh less than an MP or light entertainer emptying their bag.

So I’m feeling hopeful. Hopeful that we’ve got the bottle to gnaw through these straps and take back what’s rightfully ours. And the world’s looking like a much better place already.

Soon come.


ripper territory – whitehouse

I haven’t posted in here for a couple of weeks. In truth, I’ve still not fully got over November’s viral attack. I’m trying to rest, eat well and generally keep myself clean and warm. All to no avail. I’m felled by each and every bug, disease and germ that I come to the attention of. The bastards have got it in for me. This is payback for all those years of rude health and the sort of immune system that kicks down doors and shoots people in the face.
Or so it would be if I believed in Judaeo-Christian binary logic.
Still, all this ill-health and miserable inward-looking has given me time to think. About utopias, amongst other things. Every utopia throughout human history has turned into an orgy of mass murder. From the terror following the French revolution to the tali-tubbies in Afghanistan and not forgetting Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia, whenever there’s a utopia (or even the idea of one) there will always be a few humans who aren’t good enough. And have to be purged.
Utopias then, tend to start off with promises and lead swiftly to a good old-fashioned killing frenzy. Since seizing power in 2010, Cameron’s junta have promised milk and honey at some vague bit of future that isn’t here yet, while Iain Duncan Smith, the Chingford ripper, has orchestrated the deaths of ten thousand souls who weren’t good enough for Cameron’s perfect world, free of the poor, the disabled and the otherwise unusual.
Last year the UN investigated the UK’s ‘welfare reforms’ of those deemed unfit for purpose. I think we have to face it. This country is no different to 1930s Germany or 1990s’ Afghanistan. Ideologically driven, anti-personnel culling of untermensch and unbelievers.
I’m probably not going to end this on a high note, with suggestions of how we can come together to improve our world as the country’s already in the throes of a maniac’s vision of happy-ever-after.

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