Wednesday, May 31, 2006

The Balance Of The Evidence

The nuisance living close to me is revealing an adaptive intelligence beyond anything we might expect from a mere thug; there appears to be no difficulty in his hearing even my slightest mutterings, my quietest tunes, and understanding me or the lyrics; one might suppose an encylopedic knowledge of music.
At certain times, the rubbish has taken to attempting to get into my mind by tapping on the floor at key lyrics; by itself nothing, but in the context of the psychological induction he has been attempting for the past six months, day-in, day-out, all hours; it is supposed to be reinforcing 'messages' keyed into the lyrics of the songs.
Pathetic, I call it.

But the point is this; I am witnessing both science and its application.
To me.
To my mind.
There must be no such thing as an independent mind in Britain, and I don't know why this is so, I only know that we are constantly hounded by these little establishmentarian poodles from the day we are born.

If I get turned down by the Canadians, they'd better watch it.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Cannes-d Commentary

Here we go again.
After last year's bullshit atrocity in which Michael Moore was given the top prize at Cannes, by the cultural Luddites of Europe, now we have a film by Ken Loach(alliteration-Leech/Roach) about 'Oireland'.

Ah yes.
Good old Oireland.

Where the cheeky chappies put up chirpy defiance to the sadistic, murdering, British.

The British are the ones with plummy or carefully regional accents, in carefully recreated perfect uniforms.
The IRA Oirish are the beautiful artists' models in flat caps, siring ethnically perfect babies from suffering-but-happy woives who are full of down-to-Earth wisdom which they never fail to communicate whenever their happy-go-lucky menfolk go off on another jolly jape(such as blowing up children-oops, spoiling the effect)

Are ye fer the cause?
Not fucking likely.
A long-gone relative was a British soldier in 1916.
He didn't think it right to stab the 'hated' British in the back in time of war, so he waited until the end of WWI, then joined the IRA and fought for Irish independence.

Apparently he wasn't welcome after the war of independence, and left for Liverpool.
Not 'Oirish' enough,maybe.

Hell, Collins was there all through, and they killed him.

But the point is this; the modern Provos were formed in 1969 as a Soviet-sponsored Communist combat group, to achieve a Communist satellite in offshore Western Europe.
Ken Loach is a fellow-traveller.

He's just keeping the dreams of the 'Communist Call' alive.

If you must wonder how films like this get made, think on this; America has two, famous organisations based on backward, traditional communities in Catholic islands.
One is Noraid.
The other is the Mafia.
Irish Eyes are smiling like Big Pizza Pies all over New York where artistic credibility is on offer.

The Honour Trap

There are many legends which describe the same phenomenon; Vampirism, the Rover's Return, any story where a person is doomed to return to a particular place, a defining moment, from Lord Jim (Joseph Conrad) to Gail Wynand(Ayn Rand).

It is by means of this trick that our governors seek to maintain their control over us; they hope to render us incapable of escape.
"You can take the man out of England, but you can't take the England out of the man."

In other words, they attempt to inculcate a fake sense of loyalty via traumatic reinforcement, so that we won't go away, or if we do, we will come back.

They seek to 'steal' our souls;the methods?

Violation to remove our feelings.Naturally, they don't feel anything themselves, at least nothing positive, but the trick is in associating our 'loss' with a particular place.
It's a long term investment.Long game, long term; they will keep it up for years, keep on walling us in, keep on applying the tourniquets to our minds, so that if we ever do remove ourselves from their sphere of influence, the event is so traumatic we are supposed to be 'unhinged', like the traumatically conditioned (brainwashed) scientists in The Ipcress File(Len Deighton).
They will apply themselves at any time over periods of decades to keep us from escaping-psychologically at least-from the emotional deficit associated with having adjusted to moral holocaust.
We are supposed to return to these damned and discarded shells, like Marley's Ghost(Charles Dickens) to right the wrong.
The sheer number of people I have seen who are paralysed by the fear of losing so much adjustment in one go is truly tragic.

But we have to be utterly ruthless with ourselves.
And hope we don't crack under theh strain.

Thing is, when the first swine have tried doing it to you, you begin to see through it.You develop a sense of humour, ironic and unpleasant humour, for you feel the bites but laugh at them in your quest to thrive, strive and move forward.

I guess I just find it amusing that after 14 years of peace, somebody has tried it on with me again.

I already know I can beat it.
So why worry eh? Let the little shits think they've got me.

Then leave!

Saturday, May 27, 2006

And Some Conservatives Aren't.

This is picture of the leader of the Conservative Party.
He is appealing for contributions.
He makes absolutely no secret of his ambitions:
"we're looking to raise funds
and have a specific number in mind....."
This is accompanied by a photo of the door of number 10 Downing Street.

Apparently, as conservatives, we 'want a strong society,where our families,our communities and our nation create secure foundations on which people can build their lives'.
(Ein Volk, Ein Reich...and pleeese pleese pleeeese, can I be Ein Fuhrer?)
He continues,
And for the sake of our children and grandchildren, we must work together for a sustainable environment......protecting the future of our planet'.

I've got news for him; the planet will go on whatever we do.If a meteor struck tomorrow with 1000 times the power of every atom bomb on our planet, it would stop life on one continent.

In summary on the back page the really suicidal bit is printed:
'We are a modern, compassionate Conservative Party.....
.....Conservatives are not idealogues.'

Modern? Does that mean you have members who listen to orchestral arrangements of Led Zeppelin to keep up with the grand-kids?
Compassionate? You mean you'll do the same vicious things, but look saddy-saddy faced afterwards?

"Conservatives are not idealogues....'

So you are actually boasting that you have no ideals?

Bit naked isn't it?
Why the hell should we send you to number 10 then?

A Way Of Death.....

is not a way of life.
Unless you join the army.

I was struck by the amount of popular sentiment and artistic expression concerning GW Bush and his 'war on terror'.
I put myself in his position in 2001; I might use a nuclear weapon on Kabul(most likely).
I might invade Afghanistan(not likely) .

I would not declare an open-ended 'war' without specific targets, without specific objectives and without a recognisable end.

Yet this is what he did.
The man is not stupid as his criminal critics claim; he is a shrewd and wicked power-seeker.

This war on terror is nothing more than the perpetual war from '1984', the war envisioned by George Orwell to keep a subservient population distracted.

It is five years since the WTC atrocity, and Americans are intimidated; they are intimidated by the readiness of their own security forces to jump to it at the slightest rumour of trouble; they are intimidated by the non-constitutional holding of prisoners (not Prisoners of War) in Guantanamo Bay; they are intimidated and dismayed by the apparent ability of their military to fight two wars in another continent, but not reach domestic mainland cities in need of help(unlike the San Francisco Earthquake) and they are intimidated by the ever-present threat of 'terrorism' being blown out of all proportion at every opportunity.

This goes on and on; the worst thing Mohammed Atta did to the USA was not to kill thousands of innocents in New York; the worst thing he did was give evil men an opportunity to exploit this, in the name, but not the cause, of 'Freedom'.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Conservative Victory Update

Northbound on the A61 South of Leeds.
The yellow sign and the traffic cone warn of the roadworks; they haven't quite finished filling the holes at the sides, where the support legs of two massive gantries used to stand.

Note the clear sky; this is the absence of banks of cameras, and UV sensors and floodlights.

Nice one, Mr.Carter.

This Bestial Life

What have I been experiencing and describing for the past couple of months?

Ever read Ayn Rand's Fountainhead?
What I have been discussing is none other than Steven Mallory's Beast, that aggregate creature let loose in mankind to prey on humans such as me.

If you recall, Mallory identified Toohey as a man who controlled this beast and tried to shoot him.

This was nothing more than a self-sacrificial gesture, something I would never do these days.

My watch-phrase is,"Every evil has a point of delivery."

This means that there is no such thing as a random event in knowingly deliberate social interaction; this means that evil can be resisted at every step.

Indeed, it must be resisted.

One effective way of resisting this is to fight it with methods which are outside the actors field of reference. When some garbage coughs behind your back, it expects you to look around or cringe or do nothing.
They don't expect abusive mimicry.

They also are often unprepared for the scale of their own reaction, which is misery and hatred.

But these individuals(if you care and can be bothered, maybe once a month when the bastards rile you)won't do it casually again to you. They'll avoid you.

The packet of meaning which is attached to these thugs deliberations is staggering in its depth and complexity, and it can only be concluded that many millions of people around the world, and especially in England, are essentially insane at any time they detect me or someone like me.

The irony is that in their rotten cowardice, which they sense, they throw all caution to the wind to express their hatred.
In other words, they attack in order to do evil, but are so cowardly they would never actually defend themselves against the same.

To be exposed to these sociological exchanges in England is a bore, a commonplace, but to be unable to avoid them in any place in the country, where you cannot earn your way out honestly or even dishonestly, and to be pinned down like a specimen on a dissection board in your own home is outrage.

What is amazing is that an alleged newcomer would fasten onto me, an unknown and unmet stranger, who has done nothing except live in innocence for years, suggests some sort of sponsorship; somebody put the beast my way; or else supernatural sensitivity and understanding that could only follow from scientifically researched training.

Either option implies organisation.

It could be unusually bad luck, but why would some newcomer arrive loaded for Lion?
No curtains, but an industrial stereo?
Perhaps it is simply that this unfortunate creature is a serial evictee, a chronic abuser who doesn't work, but instead exists to 'play games', ie cause suffering among innocents?
That seems most likely.

The organisation is a simple consequence of having established a client population; it is socialised philosophy; therin lies the plot.
There may even be a fat bastard pulling strings somewhere in political existencel, but he is only a gamer too.

The real problem is that housing which is not physically seperate is the crucible of holocaust.
Housing which is, may merely be a setting for crimes.

Le Corbusier started the housing system ball rolling in France; but he built sound-proofed, isolated units using quality materials.
His imitators all around the world did not care to take the trouble.

And so we live in bee-hives, without honey, and without busy-bee busy-ness, lorded over and robbed of our happiness, our self-made happiness, by any casual piece of trash that cares to raise a hand or throw a ball or shriek, literally and incoherently, its savagery.

Their minds have collapsed, so they seek to rest on ours like a pus-stained blanket.

But by not responding in co-dependent kind, we rob them of our support.

Sorry 'bout that.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


Some conservatives are still Conservatives!
For ten years, the roads entering Leeds from the South were spanned by gantries carrying all the different forms of vehicle identification technology.
Leeds was the test-bed and proving ground for the technology used by Red Ken to fleece Londoners trying to drive his deliberately sclerotic streets.
Leeds had a Labour council, and it was only a matter of time before they introduced rip-off charging to Leeds.

Two years ago the Conservatives joined an alliance taking over Leeds; today I travelled the roads South of Leeds for the first time in three months.

Where the apparatus was, there are now holes in the ground, except where the holes have been filled in.
Looks like the Leeds road charging scheme has finally been scrapped.

The Bully Characteristic

Bullies are commonly accused of also being cowards.
It is a commonplace, something which is taken for granted. But is it true?

To paraphrase Billy Beck,"I won't be chained to someone elses psychosis."

They seek to batter you into submission without ever raising a fist. They do so by a system of noises, great and small, made at significant times, so that our outrage is drawn from us like the sting from a wasp;we choke on our own rage, always having only one other (instantaneous) option, the option of going out of our way to attack and physically stop them.

But this is where the cowardice comes in; they have the protection of the law, from our justice, and that is why they are cowards.
They create infinite trouble without danger, they assume, because they are protected by the laws which are supposed to stop us being attacked.

Of course, what they really want is to make us feel rage so much and so often, that in our (necessary) effort not to attack, we reach a stage of complete impotence, the effort to restrain ourselves causing our psychological integrity to wall us in.
It takes an effort of will to restore ourselves, mainly by working, but this should be remembered: if we ever once have attacked, the psychological strength exists to overturn any amount of this filth, and get angry again at a moment's notice.

And if we can do that, they are never safe.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Inducing The 'Care' Solution

When we are going about our everyday business, in completely innocent manner, we are often being observed by others; they regard our behaviour as unacceptable, because they 'just know' that what we do, we do to get at them.

They are so sure of this that they will stop at literally nothing to prove it.

There has to be a day when we finally notice them and make a show of caring about their feelings, and this charade is the satisfaction that they have been seeking all these years.

But they don't really want it.
What they want is the satisfaction of having brought us to this themselves, via their concentration of psychological atrocity against our minds for the years, months and days it took.

But they won't be satisfied by this, for where we have merely made a mistake, they actually want us to bow to them and grant them dominion over our lives.

And once again they will stop at nothing to achieve this.
I don't know how or whether they are organised, or simply a poisonous mass-produced product of the age, but they are fiendish in the application of psychological violence to us, their victims.

What was that? A bump in the night? Random, somebody just living their own life close to us? Or a deliberate 'bump' the argument by forcible intrusion that they have a right to dwell in our dwellings, rooms, private spaces, minds-that we must reduce ourselves to their level of socialised obsession, and await each verminous rat-like noise with nerves jangling; they never argue with words, because their position is unarguable, but they argue with direct intervention, the language and meaning wrought into the fabric of their violations of our minds.

And we are supposed to forget that we don't care, as they trash our laughter, our music, our drama, our creativity, and leave us(they hope) dependent on them for our purpose.

We have to believe in the character of Ellsworth Toohey, not as mastermind, but as chronic background to our lives, so they hope.

But-"We've only got to live to win".

And so the farce continues, with the bastards going unchallenged, undestroyed, protected by the husk of societal protection that passes for modern law, actually becoming high-handed with us as they creep ever closer to authority.

And now the big secret:- the 'working class' areas used to be filled with hard people who were society's first line of nose-breaking defence against this sort of scum- the Hell's Kitchens, the Bermondseys, the Cable Streets etc, and that is the real reason that these areas were flattened and re-developed, not the poverty.
Of course, a lot of the developers thought that this was the reward to the hard men, but in fact it destroyed them.
As it was meant to.
And it continued and continues, with the soft Blue Tories pushing for the end of Industrial scale industry, another lost refuge, and today's soft Pink Labourites continuing the massacre under cover of helping.
Maybe not Thatcher.Maybe not Blair; but the camp followers, latching onto and dragging down any popular movement, bringing it back under control again for god knows what comfort,and ensuring that in the conflict between Right and Wrong, Good and Evil, all falls under the mighty ant-steps of mediocrity.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Something Screwy About This.

I've lived in the same apartment for 14 years and never had any kind of problem with the neighbours.
After I rejected the Pinky Memorandum of December 2005, somebody new moved in upstairs.
They started by slamming doors all the time.This was exactly what triggered my 1992 breakdown.People have long memories eh? And 'The Drugs Don't Work' when it comes to them.
I contacted the Anti-Social Behaviour Unit and they wrote to him.
The door-slamming stopped.
Up to four hours a day was spent merely creaking his doors on their hinges.
He took to rapping or striking on the floor at 'significant' times, a far more sophisticated and targeted form of abuse.
He never seems to go out.He doesn't have a job. He has (occasionally) a large dog in his flat.
Today he acquired(with no visible means of support) an excessively powerful stereo; which he doesn't listen to, but merely turns on and up at unreliable times, such as when he imagines that I have sunk to his level. It plays physically affecting noise, and I don't mean that as a criticism of musical tastes.
I have already begun official proceedings with the landlord, which he doesn't already know about.

These facts are all true and it doesn't take a great leap of the imagination or even any degree of paranoia to link them; it is highly likely that a 'fairly secret army', supposedly skilled at 'cracking' normal people, has made itself known(unwittingly) to me by its persistent actions against me.

It is also possible, probable even, that Pinky has links to this group.
And it is quite likely that, after failing to make any impact on me with dog-bites, threats and PSYOPS, they will attempt to kill me.
For instance, today I went outside to the shops, knowing full well that my neighbour might be unable to resist getting a look at me.
As it happened, some bloke I've never seen before came up from behind me (he had been following) where I hadn't noticed him(and I usually do).
This 'dry run' is typical of the threat mentality; it makes the threat to create a precedent.I'm not necessarily supposed to notice at all.

Suffice to say, when I came out of the shop, he wasn't on his way back to the complex, because he knew that I would try to follow him.

I hope the realisation was upsetting.

I will document both their actions and their appearances, and if I get photos I will post them up.
I believe I've seen one already-the excessively 'clean' jeans are a dead giveaway, among other facts which I will keep to myself for now,especially as they have probably 'clocked' this site through their man in the midlands.

Down On The Underground

"Ok skipper, crossing the enemy coast now....."
"Yes Ginger, I can see Scarborough already!"
The mighty Halifax roars on into the night, its four Merlin engines humming with a stiff crackle into the earphones of the crew...........

57 years later, Soreheaduk guns his mighty saloon car into the car park of 'The Pub' and orders a pint of Halifax bomber 4.8% ale; delicious, and the old men are smiling as he sips it.

Beer is the last refuge of the Resistance in England; the names of the real ales- Winston's Pride, Nelson's Revenge, Victory Ale, Spitfire and so on- these represent the clandestine expression of national and individual pride by every customer who buys them, a pride which is not possibly confused with the wretched bigotry of the BNP and their cohorts.

The last refuge of the resistance is the country pubs and eateries of the Kingdom, where men of just and noble mind go to relax and experience moments of quiet joy free from the fetters of the state, that great nanny which is even now seeking to become the Greater Nanny in the Sky and spoil all our private little freedoms.

Even though we may be assailed at home by unsavoury creatures intent on eradicating our main privacy, the Pub remains a place where we can quietly enjoy the fruits and encouragements given to us by the revolutionaries of the Breweries.

Do you really think it is an accident the 'authorities', our benevolent repressors, have singled out the Pub as their target for anti-smoke?
They are making more smoke than we ever could, but theirs is designed to obscure, disguise, blind us to their purpose, while our smoke was only designed to make us feel the physical pleasure in the feeling and taste of our own quiet actions; they know what pleasant people we really are, which is why they think that this imposition of Nazi law is not an imposition too far.

To Hell with them all.

To finish, I had a pint of Litton's Dark Star.

I don't recommend this sequence; the Dark is almost cheesy after the Halifax, and it tastes ripe for the first couple of sips.
Far better to drink the Dark Star first, then rejoice in the explosive freshness of the Halifax.

PS- note the lack of typos.I finally bought a new keyboard.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

So Childish They are Stupid.

Or is it so stupid they are childish?
These life-forms exist in all countries; what they do is secretly (but known to the victim?) employ any amount of thuds, bangs, sniffs, coughs and girlish laughter in the hope of pushing normal people like us past any endurance.

They actually delude theselves into thinking that they can actually torture real men and women and get away with it; this is confirmed by the amount of effort they employ without getting brought up short.

Most is ignored. Some is tolerated.
But this is the crux; they are seeking to 'prove' that we aren't 'real' because we don't automatically explode with rage.
Their lousy co-dependent white noise is supposed to reflect on our honour, according to them, and prevent them ever having to recognise a better way.

And if we do explode?
They are safe behind walls, walls of people, walls of mortar and bricks, and they wait for the rage to pass before starting again.
Which means that they don't care to 'prove' anything one way or another; they simply go on satisfying their crappy urges.

I am always amused to see them in the final stage, when they have thrown all caution away, thinking that they are safe; they look like little innocents abroad, but we should beware.

They show no mercy.
Neither should we.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Common Bestiality

Look at the face of the protestor in the picture; I searched the BBC archive after seeing a couple of video clips on TV, and noted common characteristics in the faces, especially the eyes, of the 'Animal Rights' activists.

The quality was the meanly shifting squint that tries to hide the eyes of the 'people' as they looked about, waved their banners and made noises.
They appeared to be striving to stare at the world through a mist of hatred; not the hatred of outrage, but the hatred of the Leveller, that person who sees no goodness in any place at any time, but instead seeks nullity in the comfort of believing that its noise is in some way potent.

The female in the photo looks bitter to the point of insanity; apparently these people are so starved of any reasonable emotional avenue, so shut in by the savage climate of British sociological interaction, that they indulge whatever remnant of feeling they can muster, or pretend to muster, and allow it the freedom of obsession necessary to achieve the status of psychopath.

This sort of person used to be presented as comic, but they have endured, renewed and rebranded to such an extent that they are now accepted as part of the political firmament.

The only thing worth remembering about the, however, is that they formulate adamant viciousness against actual people, in the name of some alleged sympathy towards dumb non-sentients.
So placing such sympathy beyond all humanity and all sympathy.

Me? I wish my landlord would let me keep a cat. They're like a second conscience. That I can ignore safely.
But I don't need a lunatic to make me see it.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Rare Beast

The Reliant Scimitar was a great car; one which my father aspired to.
But this is the car Reliant Scimitar owners aspired to.

It appeared in the early seventies and died at the hands of high fuel consumption.
This is a Jensen Interceptor.
The engine,I believe, was an American V8, imported and installed with the very first adaptive all-wheel drive, ten years before Quattro.

It is a British classic.

The Invisible Sun.

Life is well-nigh intolerable here in England.
So what do we do to tolerate the intolerable?

What keeps us going?

Well, I have mates at work; rough types, men and women who have served the cause of hard work and hard life beyond all calls of duty, hard people who do not see any need to pretend.

What the comfy types like to refer to as the 'salt of the Earth'.
Fact is they've been things and done places; you've never laughed until you've spent a night-shift with a hard-case from Glasgow who swaps stories about travelling, especially Israel, and the times a nut case friend of his was going to take on the 'Arab Street'(armed with AK-47s) all alone(armed with a knife).
They had to get out of town for a while after that one.

Or when I found a two-foot Machete in a Banana plantation(somebody had dropped it), and kept it; one Palestinian friend of mine asked to see it.
I gave it to him.
I was unarmed.
I could see his head ticking over with thoughts of killing me.
I smiled and prepared to take him on.
But he changed his mind and handed it back.

Scotty and I read the Early-Edition Financial Times (another company uses our depot)and drink coffee and then you notice something, which takes a little adjustment if you aren't used to it: when men like this swear, it's pure description.
Not like a vicious drunk.
Not vicious at all.Unless we're talking about someone we don't like.
It punctuates the conversation.

And it is amusing, another piece of 'Invisible Sun' from the Real World.

I certainly know that there are better places, and that they are the 'Real World' too; but wherever you are, whoever you are with, if you can carry a little piece of the Real World in your mind, it may strike sparks like Flint from others of the same species.

I went three months in Israel without meeting much reality, then one day I sat down in an old street of Tel Aviv on a bench and lit a cigarette.
An old man, older than Israel, older than the Holocaust, came up slowly. His eyes creased and he gestured for a cigarette. I smiled back at him and gave him a couple. He waved and wandered on towards his pensione.
That time the sparks were in the eyes.

And then we come to that commonplace, the punk.
Not the Punk, the punk.
He or she will try till they bust to project the bonhommie of the real, screaming a visible demand to be regarded, and yet all the while they will try to crush that last piece of self-worth out of our heads.

And this brings us back to my mates. They are rough. They are vulgar.
But they are all capable of remembering themselves when it matters.
And this is where the cuts, bruises and assorted dents, new and old, have come from.

Nobody bothers them when they are sober. More than the trouble's worth.
But then they go out on the town, and any metaphysical man like them who finds himself unable to fight for himself cause he's too drunk, will find his way back to the depot to cadge a lift from the night drivers, or else find himself on the wrong side of a punk fist or a police baton.

And that's why they have mates.

Monday, May 15, 2006

The Great Crusade.

In a news article this morning:
"Cherie Blair is launching a new Breast Cancer campaign in Pakistan."

What a crock.
Pakistan is a country which, though Muslim, has shown a willingness to work with the West against Islamic terrorism.
They are currently trying to hunt down Bin Laden.

Here is the crux of the matter: when a creep thinks he has scored a result with you, he tries to follow it up with a suggestion that you do something his way.

He presumes that the psychological circuit has been closed and that you are now in his power.
This is why Mrs. Blair is attempting to 'influence' the Pakistanis, against their beliefs, whether or not we agree with them.
Starting a campaign for women's health is a way of imposing the issue of women's rights very obliquely, using the 'incontestible' good of health as the sugar-coating on the cyanide pill that seeks to harness the establishment society of Pakistan to Western 'ideals'; these being the 'one world' fantasy of London's Camden-Town Guardian reading idiots, those also-rans in social importance who sincerely believe that anything they do makes a damn bit of difference to the brutal power plays, which are the real happening of the Blair's regime.

It happened before.
In Iran in the 70s.
Looks like Pakistan will go the same way, a disconnected elite being thrown aside by unrepresentedf and fundamentally stupid fundamentalism.
Looks like it.

But only if they are stupid enough to be taken in by this meddling.

And yes.
The very subject of 'Breast Cancer awareness in Pakistan' being taken up by Cherie really is New Imperialism.
Imperialism of values, and they couldn't have calculated anything more inflammatory to the popular sentiments being proscribed by the mullahs.

Look out on Friday.
We can probably expect some anti-Western gestures.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Perverse Inversion.

What do I mean by 'Upside Down' man?
Well, last night as my stereo was playing 'You're the Voice', the brain-slug upstairs banged the floor; it banged the floor just after the song ended, ended on "We aren't going to live in fear, make a noise".It made a noise.
What fear?
The fear of my retribution, the fear of doing wrong.
This monster stood the meaning of the song upside down, breaking into my apartment like a terrorist with a gun, breaking in to destroy the meaning of the song by making it mean its exact opposite.

This is what I mean by an upside-down person.
When the Nazis attempted to prevent the liberation of Europe, they followed a policy of 'forward defence'.
They tried to repel the allies 'on the beaches'.
This Nazi policy lives on in the mollusc's attempt to deflect identification in my very mind, the better to prevent identification in its own.

Its own mind never knows enough peace to reach a conclusion about its nature; it is perpetually struggling to project into another mind, another house, another conscience.
With a wheezing, hissing grin, it agrees oh so readily with any self-critical impulse we may attempt, but never tries itself.
It is lying made concrete, a living lie, an attempt to destroy its own conscience before it can reach judgement day.

Two sorts exist; the noisy sort and the quiet sort.
The noisy sort fills its brain with sound so as never to think.
The other reaches a precarious balance with the stilled voice of conscience, silenced by will.

For either, an external victim is blessed relief, a means of staving off final collapse.

Me?I think it's social services for this one. It needs treatment.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Oh, Boy!

This was one of my girlfriends' favourite cars.
She hoped to own one eventually.

PS: It made a fantastic noise, a bit like an aero-engine firing up.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Leave 'Em Wanting More

It's Summer already.
Spring was six weeks late.
Summer is a month early; reports of a 'yellow powder' falling all over Yorkshire were true.
It was thick pollen, blown in from the Continent.

The first picture is of another Reliant Scimitar, not the little drop-top from the attempted 1980s revival, but the real deal, the fibre-glass bodied rip-roaring Ford three litre.
And if anybody questions the potency of the Ford, its descendent, with twin turbos, is being used in the latest Noble to produce over 400 BHP.

The taunt in the second picture?
I could see, but you can't, it was a blood-red E-type drop top.
V-12 naturally.
The Jaguar V-12 was said by the Mercedes engineers to be the finest engine in the world.

They stopped using it in the nineties after the XK-8 was introduced; last car to have it was the Daimler Double-Six, a sort of XJ-saloon with extra fittings.

The Self-Validating Proposition

"All people who don't want to be controlled are criminals."

How does that work,then?
Well, the bastards who do the grinding(in a downwards direction) do it by ways which are supposed to be so subtle and apparently innocent, that any rejection looks ridiculous.
To carry this rejection further, into the physical realm, is supposed to make us victims actually criminal in the eyes of the law, leading to our utter destruction at the hands of 'society'.

The grinders therefore and thereafter feel validated, they feel that they are indeed what they are not, namely , respectable members of a civilised society.

Note the use of the word 'civilised'.
This denotes nothing but connotes the image of Jack Hawkins wearing a toga in a film about Imperial Rome.
Ah, yes. Civilised. And he gets so passionate about the fate of the slaves! But we all (are supposed to)know that this cod-civilisation is itself at the mercy of the 'way of the world' that the bastards claim to understand so well.
And so they also consider us their proteges while destroying our lives; we are under their 'protection', from the unknowable forces that they conjure into their imaginations (and,occasionally, our realities) at the drop of a foot.

We are supposed to be so defeated that we become enthusiastic apologists for our own values and existence.
This is achieved by attacking us in 'unanswerable' ways; ways that deprive us without being anything to which we can reply.
They can keep up a co-dependent exchange indefinitely, since that validates them, but if we try to fight 'fire with fire' we still betray ourselves and they still win.

Like suicide-bombers of the soul, they even arrogate to theselves the presumption of our response, twisting our efforts to go on being normal into their property, a response we don't feel or make to the evil that they attempt.

Well, here is news for them.
We won't apologise for our values. And we will grow claws every bit as effective as theirs, moreso, since we are not playing a game of any sort, but are fighting for our free lives.

These means can be(in Britain) anything up to a good thumping, or as simple as a complaint to the landlord.
Oh, and once we recognise that everything they do is a lie(except for the malice), then we don't have to bother with their crazy ideas of our honour; we can trump it up a little.
They might even feel aggrieved!

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

State Inflated

How is it that the State, the repository of uselessness, ever became capable of being considered that vital, primal source of competence , the guarantor of all truths?In other words, what made it so popular?
Once upon a time, the state was confined to various caretaking functions, cleaning up after the real people of the real world, doing a few of the less important jobs that only a public surrogate could do.Protecting rights, ie property and physical safety, became the duty of this state, but not the prime entitlement.
The fact is, that the states which still exist must have done that job exceptionally well, ever to convince the general populace that they were capable of anything else.And a confidence trick of that size and scale could not have succeeded unless there was a general impression that the state was competent and trustworthy.
It was the success of the people who had licked the minimal government into shape which, honestly or not, led to the popular clamour for it to take over huge swathes of real life.
Today, people ask why there is no 'respect' in the young, or why most people seem to be crooked to some degree or other, there being a general disregard for authority.
This disregard is the bastard offshoot of the rejection of tyranny in the 70s and 80s, when it really was a force to be seen. Today people are dimly aware that it is backfiring, yet are still unsure of whether they can ever commit to the dictates of those who seek to stamp it out again.
What we are up against is inflation, nothing more or less; where once a handful of classicly educated adinistrators held the fate of nations in their remit, now we have thousands, millions of 'administrators', trying to adjust every wrongly identified 'problem' by grasping at people's balls, stomachs and liberty in order to achieve a status quo which is forever receding from them.
The harder they grasp at us, the more we break, and the more we break the more problems are identified.
In 1900, 2000 civil servants governed an India of 500 million people; today in England there are literally millions of civil servants for a tenth of the population.You cannot expand a 'gold standard' of universal quality that far without total destruction of the qualities that made the reputation in the first place.
Kids don't respect schoolteachers because they are instruments of repression and of woeful quality; more and more quality controls in them are demanded by a government desperate to shore up the dream, and even as paper money drops in value while becoming harder and harder to forge, the regulated legions of the stupid achieve less and less.
The socialist dream is self-destroying, and it is now destroying itself.
We must be careful not to let it take us with it

Sunday, May 07, 2006

A Prophet Is Never Accepted In His Own Land

I don't know who said that originally, but it sounds English.
Who can name an English prophet who was accepted? Without being a fraud, that is?
Or even the fraudulent ones?
The only English prophets I can think of hail from the nineteenth or eighteenth centuries; nobody from the 20th or 21st who has not first been recognised somewhere else; and then eagerly appropriated by the ignorant who want to pretend that they were human all along.
Even Winston Churchill was rejected in England, while being accepted, permanently, in the USA and by the Nobel Committee.

It is the fashion of this country to stamp on every talent so that it never becomes serious, which is to say, a 'threat';science is tolerated as long as it is useless science.
Every other sort is appropriated and eaten by the needy of the mind, to keep their gardens green and their roasts in the Sunday oven.
And the producers are forgotten.

How different from the Armstrongs and Stevensons and Brunels.
We don't want to see their like again do we?
What's that?
What about the modern icons?
Trevor Bayliss?Dyson?Richard Branson?
These saints of modern day 'industry' have usually invented trivially and meanly, with the exception of the (rejected) hero Dyson, who invented something which all the dozy bums of the status quo have tried to imitate, undercut, or generally appropriate in a fit of shame-faced yet shameless admission(yeah, of course it works, we thought of cyclonic vacuum ages ago).

They all want a piece of him.

Last year he moved his factory overseas.
Trevor Bayliss is trotted out weekly as an 'authority'.
He invented the clockwork radio.
Revolutionary.Now we can programme people who don't even have power!Hero!

Branson?Well done on making all that money. But I fear that he is now somewhat cozy with the powers that be, the powers that never helped before and won't help now.

The chameleon of the status quo innovates frequently; it changes the names of its new best friends every generation or so, keeping them under control and forgettable.

Ever wonder what happened to Sinclair?
Do you even know who he was?

I'll tell you: just another temporary ally, used then thrown aside by the society he revolutionised.

Friday, May 05, 2006


So; I actually use the internet to go looking for work.
I find a VB6 (VB=Visual Basic) job advertised, and apply for it.
A couple of hours later I receive an e-mail from some bozo saying "my client requires recent commercial experience".

As an experiment I reply saying,"VB6 hasn't changed since 2000 as far as I'm aware."

Now, if the bloke meant what he said I wouldn't hear any more.

But if he replied to my reply, this would be confirmation that he was a fraud, a mediocrity trying to play power games with people who are looking for work.

He replied.

In minutes.

But don't ask me what he said, as I deleted it straight away.

All this junk mail.Tut tut.

Industrial Politics and Railroading.

My candidate got less votes today.
For the Party Of Government, the Conservative Party.
This (usually) Labour stronghold voted in the most part for the Liberals.
The Liberals have been bombarding us with propaganda all year, nearly every month.
The Labour Party(which lost), has put out a couple of leaflets.

Both kept silent about the BNP, which came a close third.
With an increased vote.

The fact is that the voting public is being ramrodded through the sheep-dip pens, in a long stream of sheep-like character; and that is the way they like it.
They don't want to think for themselves.
They don't want to be left the hell alone.

They want to be told.
They want to be led.They are the hungry masses waiting to be fed, and they don't care how or who.

The Liberals and Labour would rather play parlour games with the Nazis and keep attacking us Tories, because we are the only ones who have shown a propensity to break ranks and kill the beast.

They would see the country turn into 1933 Germany, if only they could be promised a role at the end.

The Liberals won the seat.
The Tory vote was reduced.
The BNP gained double the votes they lost.

To hell with this.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

A Rare Catch.

The car in this somewhat cramped and cropped picture is a Hillman, either a Mynx or a Hunter.

Hillman was a fine old British carmaker that survived until the 70's.
It was part of the Rootes Group, a conglomeration that was a big mover and shaker in the sixties.
The Hunter car was replaced by an updated Hunter in the late 60's, with a somewhat squarer, more contemporary design.
It was a successful export, indeed so successful that when the Shah of Iran wanted to start a domestic motor industry he started out by creating an assembly plant for Hillman Hunters, crated and sent over as components from the British factory.

This continued till at least 1979; the Rootes Group was destroyed by strikes; they designed and prototyped the 'Alpine' car in the 70's, a very advanced design with the first use of plastic moulded bumpers, but the project was taken away from Britain due to the strikes, and given to Chrysler Europe as their 'Euro-car'.
Other models followed, but by the mid-80's Chrysler had had enough and sold all the UK assets to Peugeot.
Peugeot finally closes Rootes' Ryton factory near Coventry next year, when it ceases UK production of the Peugeot 206.

And that will be that for Hillman.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Land Of The Just

Much as everybody hates and despises this life-form, I did point out that defining so-called crimes(capital offences no less) after the act amounted to judicial murder.

Seems the Federal Jury agreed.
The bastard got life without parole.

God bless America!

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

A Chip Off The Old Bloc

Back in the 90's I was newly returned from a stint abroad, and penniless as usual.
So, for the sake of a little ironic, masochistic amusement, I stayed in a West London traveller's hostel.
Sure enough, I was exposed to that mentally stultifying brew of 'friendliness', solicitousness and bombastic induction into the world of 'Drum' tobacco and extra-fat cigarettes, harvested from the willing local 'businessmen' that are so easy to find when you are in that quasi-twilit world.

In other words, so long as there aren't too many murders, the police never go near.
And if they did they would have to know what they were doing.
Ever see a drug dose disguised as a sweet wrapper?

Earl's Court is big business, bartertown for crims, cruds and governments alike.

Anyway, in walks this Australian one day, a personable young fella, not immediately identifiable as belonging to one of the strange cults that bolsters these sociologically excluded vagrants against the world, and we get to talking.

Friendly, damned if we don't go walking round to the Australian beer shop barefoot.

The conversation turned to movies, and I mentioned 'Evil Roy Brown'; in a sudden burst of enthusiasm my young pal's eyes lit up:
"That was the film my group studied......."
Then he realised he shouldn't have said that and shut up.

If you know the film, it's about an attempt to rehabilitate a wild individual called Roy Brown, who gains roaringly laughter-filled amusement from kicking crutches away and so on.

Suffice to say, this fella was a 'product' of Australia, not like other Australians, and someone they might have been proud of.
But he had been trained.
By whom? I don't know.
For what? I can't say.

Except that the whole idea of having a secret group tied in with my previous experience in 1984 when in a similar situation I found myself face to face with a Norwegian who claimed to have gone to a 'very Socialist school'.
Never mind terrorist training camps.

And so today we live in the post-Soviet world, and all these people are growing towards Middle Age, orphaned and thrown out into it.

What could they possibly do?
What they were trained to do.
They are the Soviet-age equivalent of the B-52 crew in 'Doctor Strangelove';beyond recall, sufficiently 'of' their free countries not to be controllable, but trained to 'fly beneath our radar' and deliver their cargo of ideology.

And they are still doing it now.

Ever wonder who you were talking to on the web?
I have one name.
How many people use that name? In my case only me.
But you can practically guarantee that somewhere there are 'cells', in traditional NKVD fashion(but oh, so soft-edged), of three or four, sharing duty at the front and doing their best to pass the batons in the baton-charge assault on other people's mental integrity.
Only they are so close to our culture that they would probably call it 'rotating shield harmonics' after Star Trek.

Here's another thought; what happened to these schools? Did they close?Change?Go even further underground?
Who knew?
And why didn't they tell us?

The Intelligence Of Stupidity.

How is it that some people are so stupid that it is a talent?
They fluster and they bluster, building walls of bullshit that are the Gordian Knots obstructing the flow of Progress, all the while seeing to have no particular motivation of deliberation in their apparently methodless method.

Yet the result is achieved, and they benefit.

An existantial demonstration of the committee mentality at work can be found when three cars arrive simultaneously at a three-way mini-roundabout.
Each is supposed to give way to the one on the right, and nobody oves, like three rabbits caught in each other's headlights.
Eventually, due to some remnant of initiative still functioning in one of them, the deadlock is broken and the road-engineer's 'logic' is cancelled as the road system reboots.

This is the committee mentality, but it is not that (approximate) shark that cruises socially through ordinary people's lives, biting them without being felt or seen, so as to bestow mysterious prosperity on people that we know to be too stupid to function.

It is only when we object, that something definable shoots out of the shadows, barely registering with our eyes, but suddenly confronting us with awful fate if we persist.
This can come from any direction, in unfathomed ways, always to our disadvantage.

This punishment-by-slime is deliberate, and designed to discourage us from objecting to our bitten limbs.And our bitten wallets.
If we don't drop it, they do all in their power to reach the stage where we can be labelled 'mad' for being sensitive enough to recognise the criminality in their crimes of stupidity.
And then we realise that they are not stupid; they are so talented in their psychological dishonesty, that existential stupidity is the inevitable result.

A society where stupidity is rewarded is not far from the scrap-heap, and real work flees those shores to places where a job of work is nothing to be ashamed of and people don't get robbed.

Monday, May 01, 2006


A 'think tank' in England has come up with the suggestion that voting be made compulsory.
Oh, but they are very reasonable!
Only going to the Polling Stations would be compulsory; we would be free to spoil our papers or even have a box saying 'none of the above'.

So that's all right then.
All we have to do is take part in a farce whereby we are forced to 'show' support for the State.
Appearances being everything, Britain would 'appear' to be a country of high voter turnout, just like Bush and Blair overthrew the democratically elected regime of Iraq.

It's this:we are fined for refusing to show support for the people who steal our money.
That's the same as confiscating our homes if we refuse to assist burglars.

The method is classic creepery; Harriet Harman, Geoffrey Hoon and Neil Kinnock make apparently unconnected 'calls' for compulsory voting, then suddenly it is a news item with this 'think tank' making a particular call.

Do they really think we will stand for this?
I won't.

Rare Competitor and Brother of Porsche.

This is a Volkswagen Karman Ghia, based, as the first Porsche cars were, on the mechanicals of the Beetle.
Spotted near Kirkstall Abbey in Yorkshire, this 'S' plate example is difficult to date, as the registration dates it at 1977; my understanding was that production finished long before 1977.

Ghia is an Italian design house that was virtually brought 'in-house' by Ford Europe in the seventies, and is still used to designate special equipment versions(such as the Focus 'Ghia'); sadly they no longer design.