Stupid, Fucking Mohammed Wankers

"Death to the British non-believers!"
"Other, carefully coached messages of hate!"
"There are hundreds of us!"
"Some of us have swords!"
"We don't insult Jesus. We just murder hundreds of thousands of Christians in Darfur."

These were just some of the slogans being shouted here, today in Khartoum.
Of course, Khartoum is no stranger to hot-headedness.
In the 19th Century General Gordon lost his head completely while attempting to protect thousands of innocent people from being murdered by a man who thought he actually was a prophet to rival Mohammed (ptoo).
Today the Sudanese government expressed regret at the decision of a British schoolteacher to allow her children to call Mohammed a Teddy Boy.
They claimed that he would have been unlikely to have carried a razor-blade, as he always went around with a beard.
Of course, the official that claimed this was asked how he knew Mohammed had a beard, as his likeness is forbidden, whereupon he attacked himself and committed ritual suicide by cutting his own head off.
This is Shmuel Jacobs, for SBC, Khartoum.

Ay! Youse Guys!

So. Yesterdays I gets da call from da Big Boss, da Capo de Capo of da organisation in which I have been continuing my studies for da past tree months.
Tony calls me in a says "Congratulations Pietr; you is now passed your tree months probation.
You is now a Made Man."
And he sits me down wit a computer at a double-big desk, an he says, "Keep up da good woik."

An ya knows whats?
Id suits me fine!

Yay Verily I Say Unto You...

This is Emma Clarke, the voice of the Underground.

This Was When I Showed Up.

So there I was in a foreign country, with no job, no money.
I went to the Embassy for help.
They refused.
I created a bit of a scene.
They took some details.
Then refused.
The Scottish porter in the main building kindly gave me a cup of tea. Genuinely.
I got no financial help because I couldn't supply a reference or guarantor back home.
While in the foyer of the main building I saw crates, possibly a quarter ton, of dog-food imported from England.
The British value system?
To hell with that.
Some precious little diplomat can't be sodded to help a taxpayer out of a tough situation, but his dog, his fucking dog, is too good for the foreign food!

As it happened, the local people helped me out.
A business office let me sleep on the flat roof(it was Summer), and a local builder gave me work- but first he gave me money to go and get food.

This country really is upside-down.

Betting Certainty.

It's a betting certainty that the writers of Ugly Betty have read the Fountainhead.
The style cues are there in the plot construction.
Too much to be a coincidence.
And they have learned well.

The Fate Of The World - In England.

The Big Brother Corporation - or BBC - has more channels now than ever before.
On BBC4 TV, there is a nightly news programme called 'The World'.
Tonight a Jewish Israeli was invited on the show to give his opinion about the peace treaty.
He talked, rationally and calmly, with considerable authority, then suddenly Zenab Badawi, the woman who used to be shrill on Channel 4 News, started getting shrill on her new BBC show.
"Can I just intervene there.."
&c, &c, you get the picture.
In other words, she detected that the Israeli was beginning to make a point, an impact, explain his position, and that position was reasonable, so she censored him.
FBC.
Fucking Bastards Corporation.

The Fate Of Humanity In England.

This, from the New York Times.

State Capitalism.

Capitalism as a Political System is the guarantor of Freedom.
Capitalism as a simple word is just a way of describing the accrewal and disposition of sums of capital, where capital is regarded as a store of human effort, to be released at (somebody's) will and sent to achieve a particular task.
Thus, the industrialisation of the Soviet Union might well be regarded as an act of State Capitalism rather than Communism; if the commune decided the application of capital democratically, two things would happen: firstly, communism, and secondly, an even greater disaster.
When the state decided, it was State Capitalism.
What we have today in the West is a messy amalgam, more toxic than any dentists, of the state being elected to do the democratically expressed economic will of the commune, in other words, a mixture of communism and state capitalism, with the few remaining capitalists arranged as puppets on strings to dance to the tunes played by the likes of Brown.
They don't try too hard.
The last time they were allowed the illusion of freedom was in the 80s, and when that happened, BOOM!, but no longer.
Meanwhile, the purer version of state capitalism in Red China is seen as the justification for all the compromises in the West, the excuse and the sponsor.
Thankfully for the likes of Ted Heath, the freedom-loving people of China(not to mention Tibet and the Falung Gong and Christians) got a 'damn good thrashing' at Tiannenmen Square in 89.
The year after, Maggie was gone, as was Ronnie.
All too late to save the Soviet Union of course, a disaster according to Putin, undoubtedly the last straw for those who seek to govern.
So today we enter the time of reckoning; we are faced with the prospect of allowing total control of our lives with the likes of Russia and China defining our freedom in the last deperate echo of the 80s, coming back to us from the impressionable new frontiers, all the while being reeled in by their States.

It's later than you think.
We have allowed them to kill the freedom movements that date back to the fifties.
Today we have nothing.
Today we are on our own.

Rip-Off Britain.

When are we going to become the 51st state?
Please?

Behavioural Reinforcement 2

In keeping with the methods used in 1990 and, for all I know, before, they like to threaten me by saying nasty things about my 'women', whomsoever they, in their desperate, floundering seekings, percieve these to be.
So for example, when I put out the standard story for my not having a particular girlfriend (think Dagny Taggart and John Galt at the arrest), they actually go ot the trouble of searching for a likely candidate for my (unlikely) affections, and then claim knowledge of this person(should such person exist, which I sincerely doubt).
They will lurk not for weeks, not for months, not even for years, but for decades in the background, patiently watching us like the filthy creeping scum they are, for signs of affection, for any sign that we have any connection at all.
At the same time, they will pass the message on that we must have a partner, we must connect with someone, we must comply by having a crowbar with which they can threaten us and pry our value system apart.
Me?
I couldn't give a fuck.
Literally.
Maybe I could see a whore if the fancy takes me, but they keep me too poor.
Besides, I can't be bothered.
If I had a woman that cared about me I would be there now, not writing this, and I would be there on the basis that whatever we did we did for the present.
I only have one regret.
That regret is that I can't publish all the bastards names and addresses publicly.
If I could do that I would feel vindicated.
Or, if I could live in a quiet place with a few quiet mistresses, a job and a couple of guns, I would be satisfied.
Obviously, in order to prevent their victims from defending themselves, they are variously disarmed, declared insane or otherwise rendered helpless.

But these are legal instruments.
And I've got news.
I don't care about legalities.
I care about justice.

Clarkson On Form.

Jeremy Clarkson writes in the Times.

The Simpsons

Don't you just love the Simpsons?
On Friday they went to Toronto.
The Dodgers stadium was renamed 'Dodgers Of Foreign Wars'.
So where the fuck were the Americans in 1939?
The Canadians sure as hell were there, but where were the 'Simpsons'?

Not Brilliant.

He looks like Mao Tse Tung.
She looks like Imelda Marcos.
The pair of them aren't smiling; they are merely stifling the howls that would normally issue from the holes in their faces.

God help Australia.

Brilliant!

Isn't Ugly Betty brilliant!
Just saw the episode with Posh and the wedding.
God!

What Gets Me.....

All the Communists are now pillars of the establishment.

And people think it's because we've changed them!

What Went Wrong?

Back in the eighties(yes, I remember the eighties) we, and I mean 'we', were mostly outraged by the clear perpetration of evil by the Soviet Union.
The Soviet Union was the pinnacle of evil in the world, the source of arms, succour and comfort to murderers all around the globe, and the clear source of the ills besetting the world.

We could listen to Radio 1 and hear people mocking Andropov('Dropoff') openly, mainstream, popular music, BBC Radio 1.

The eighties culminated with a world drunk on its own success witnessing the collapse of evil.

And where are we today?
The old chestnut about the failure being 'right' despite its failure has come back and kicked us in the arses, or in the teeth if we look like resisting; the Soviet Union lives on in spirit and is killing the world even now, through the proxies and usable fools like Brown and Bush.
Without the anti-beacon of pure evil, Ronnie's 'Evil Empire', we are reduced to witnessing the flashes of light as the scurrying dwarves run rings around us in the Media-induced fog, and tie us up with the ropes of regulation into just one more variant of the Evil Empire.

And Freedom dies.
It's so sad.

Most Excellent Dude.

Fred's on form

Behavioural Reinforcement.

I was programmed in 1990.
I was programmed to fail, by the method of traumatic induction.
Traumatic induction as practised by my torturers is the replacement of random, non-communicative, non-influential and random occurrences with what they hope will be subliminally inducted communications.
So, for example, every time you go into a certain pub in an area under their influence, there will be a tape(a jukebox requires an observer-operator, and all pubs have a 'secret' preference control-I've seen them) playing a particular song, usually a mournful, threatening song such as 'Road To Hell' by Chris Rea, or a strident nag like 'You're So Vain'.What will be striking is the sheer consistency of the occurrence of the message.
Five visits, five repeats, and even the thickest-skinned will begin to get the message.

Of course, the people in charge of psychologically traumatising me were like a Spetznaz simulation of 'Western Rockers', somewhat unconvincing and crook.

The trauma part comes from the application of physical violence.
In my case random brawling was replaced by a targetted attack. Obviously these life-forms think of themselves as apart from general criminality, so they try to provoke.
Their desperation resulted in an actual challenge after I evaded their traps for three months.
The last time I fought was against their hit man.
I lost the fight but hit the hitter.
And last year in the North Of England they tried again.
The technique is always the same.
They don't necessarily resort to violence but they do try to induce fear and intimidation which they then exploit by rather sophisticated means.
My problem ws that my experiments in resistance training had left me slightly 'heads-up' regarding the locals, so I was noticed.

For sure there are people these creeps leave decidedly alone, people with connections and resources.
Of which I now have some. In theory at least.
But I also have plans for a life, so I am loath to take the risk of committing to sending the bastards a message they can't miss.
I suppose unless I actually cut number 1's throat I'd just be even more heads up.

These people were the prototype for the Village in 'The Prisoner', which like any good fable has a basis in fact.

I think that these funny little people are known all over the world by various other groupings and organisations, and are terrified that I represent another hostile organisation.
Or maybe they are just sadistic bastards for the sake of it.

I think that they are the Meta-Communists I was talking about earlier.
I think that it is quite possible they pre-date Marx.
I think that their 'science' is a living document or may even have been written down.
It's possible that they are tolerated in the West because they appeared to help in the fight against the Soviet variety.

But I know their stink.
The actual goal of their machinations is the mental collapse of their victim; even if only in the sense that the victim withdraws and leaves their path to power and potential dominance clear.
They are quite happy with the potential for the time being. It's like a promise of a breath of air for their fetid insect minds.
I pride myself that I obliged them to commit thought, effort and resources to my victimisation, and gave them cause for worry too.
But in the end experience tells, and mine was the mind that began to trick itself into disaster after freedom was reached; partly because they sowed my path with poisonous lies to prepare the way.
The fact is, they raped a girl I knew. Maybe she staged it. I didn't think so at the time. But they raped her in such a way that I would know. This was supposed to colapse my mind, because the knowledge was subliminal.
But I figured it out and went looking for them.
That was when I fought.
And the purpose of the fight was to make me 'give up'. That was what they wanted me to admit.
That I would 'give up'.
I didn't.

The reason I am non-violent today is that violence is playing their game, unless you do it so as to end the bloody game.

Sweet dreams.
Be seeing you!

Not So Impressive.

Since the US government raided the Sunshine Mint and stole all the Liberty Dollars with no respect for Rights, Law or Justice, I have removed their links.
Thanks to Djomama for this.

Impressive.

The Toronto Sun is a mainstream paper I am proud to include in the blogroll.
It will replace the portly 'Star'.

Fag Ends Of The Aristocracy aka Vermin.

The vermin are all around us, a perpetual acompaniment of snickering impotence, searching for our desires and ambitions, searching for anything to keep us in line.
They delude themselves that they have a god-given mission to prevent us from ever amounting to anything (or anyone).
They inhabit the Twilight Zone of social interaction, seeking to pass unnoticed and unchallenged through our perception and into our minds.
They pride themselves that they are subtle.
I'm not so subtle.
I've put up links to the major Western Security Services.
This is because these people are not the same people at all. They earn the Secret people a lot of bad press, but in fact they are shit scared of them.
I'm just trying to give a little back.
A little Hell, that is.

Spare A Thought For The Guys Back There.

One of my mates back at the 'Post was a Zimbabwean, a big, grinning villain with a dear family.
He was kicked out for soliciting in the company car on Water Lane, but that's not the point.
This is.

Forgive My Ignorance

There was a film in England in the 80s called 'Letter To Brezhnev'.
It was about a romance, Northern of course, between some Grimsby slappers and a crewman on a Russian trawler.
Of course, a Grimsby trawler was lost in the 70s, with a strong local suspicion that the Russians murdered the crew, but never let it be said that British luvvies ever paid attention to the sensibilities of anybody but their Communist masters; so they made a film in which the girls wrote a letter to the big boss man so that they could go on sinking the pink with their lardy Soviet thicko in dear old blighty.

The funniest part of this was that at the time, Maggie, Ronnie and most of the Western populace were busy gleefully putting the skids under Communism, so the sentimentality of appealing to mass murderers for clemency was especially touching.
Bless.
NB.- This shite has an entry in Wikipedia. Apparently it was set in Liverpool after all. The propaganda about 'Thatchers Britain' is placed as subtley as a Coca-Cola can in a bad Spielberg movie.

Abortion.

Looking at the persistence of debate in the USA on abortion, I thought about a few possibilities.
Suppose abortion was banned on the basis that unless medically necessary, the termination of a human life was murder; I thought, suppose the penalty for abortion was - wait for it - nine months in prison.
Then I thought, since abortion is banned, let pregnant people plead hardship.
Give them the opportunity to be supported by the state for nine months, on the basis that they want nothing to do with the baby, and will never have anything to do with the baby, and that their jobs are held legally open for them when they return, like war veterans.
Would rationalise a difficult situation.
The kids would be put up for adoption.
Works for Catholics.

Meta-Communism.

The new front in the plot for Communist World Domination opened up years ago.
Adapting to the new overt reality of collapsed Soviets, they did their trademark thing of infiltration and subversion.
Today, the World Communist Party still exists, but it is domiciled nowhere in particular, with a relay of rotating leadership, each of whom takes a crack in turn at whatever tough-nut target it is that they want to crack.
They have all the gear, all the time in the world and enough resources too make their presence inferable by the observant.
At school my teacher always said I was very observant.
So here they are.
They have men on the ground.
They have men in high places.
They don't necessarily have men with guns - but they know where they can get them at short notice.
They have men with fists(as always- the only change is the command structure).

The open 'Communist Parties' are for the benefit of useful idiots.The real deal is as tight as MI5 but more numerous.
They are subtle, personable even.
They spread their easy brand of hell throughout the world, raising the uneasy hackles of British socialist and capitalist alike.
They are in most organisations, like a spider's web of command and control, able to attack the just on the slightest pretext, able to crush with neat application the independent rallies of the few, crush them when they don't even know how or why.
Well I've seen them and they've seen me.


I hope I'm not the only thinker who understands this.

Artistic Installation.

There are many facets to the movements which seek to oppress us.
They, like Stalin's and Dzerzhinsky's 'Trust', try to acquire the appearance of a dialogue, while all the while remaining in control.
They will seek to represent, or appear to represent, people and organisations that they presume will have influence over us.
They seek to subvert and to rule, to thwart our every ambition, impulse and spark of decency using whatever means they can.
In the day of the telephone it was the exchange.
In the day of radio, it was(overtly) the BBC. 'Radio Radio' indeed.
They fashion themselves to our presumed illusions, and use our own values (which they regard as 'weaknesses') against us when they can.
In the age of the Web, they are in possession of tools which don't register, don't leave us the means to trace and don't respect our self-drawn decency boundaries.
Like the agent in 'Twin Peaks', they write their reports based on the degree of delusion they have inflicted on themselves by attempting to follow the Swallow-dives of our beleaguered minds, and the trauma serves to justify their never-ending persecutions.

In their madness, they propbably imagine that they have sufficient justification for doing what they do; after all, in a world of delusion just one more low route through the chaos to connect with some innocent somewhere will almost certainly go unnoticed.
Think what is at stake.
Why, 'world domination' again! Yes! The ability to terrorise us in our own kitchen is key to securing the imperial boundary of their shrunken perception.
The more they range over the world, the less they see. The further they go, the nearer they are.
They don't like that mad Russian gear, Kaspersky, of course, but I wouldn't depend on it protecting you.
Ultimately there is only one defence.
They fill the vacuum, but only if you leave one.
You must become a control freak.
In the sense that even your wildest and free time is spent making your own noise for your own expression.
You've got to squeeze them out of your space, squeeze them till their pips squeek.
In the time of criminal frights, they are the one doing most of the crime, and they are the ones who must be ignored.
They must be banished to the futility of irrelevence.
When the time comes, they will find that all their years of preparation for the 'end' leaves them buried in a bunker while the Human Race sprints from the start-line.

Give My Love To Yoda.

For the last three Sundays, ITV '1' has been showing Star Wars.
One each week, no bullshit.
And I don't mean the crappy modern stuff.
I mean the real, original, Cold War-winning real thing, Star Wars-A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and The Return Of The Jedi.

For once I will let words fail me and just say Fucking Awesome!

Come In.

We've been expecting you, mister Sony.
I think you'll find that your puny 'Copy Protection' is useless against my superior Linux technology.

I Love Work.

Work is a wonderful invention.
At work we have the entire world of good and evil, a world so very often denied to us in our 'own' time.
At work, we are assailed by the 'shrieking and fearful'.
These unfortunate creatures surround us with their perma-spittle of wretched sounds, trying and trying and trying oh-so-hard to put us off, or even provoke us into looking bad.
But we transcend, through the power of work.

We also make friends.
There is nothing funnier than sitting down to lunch with a bunch of jolly, good-natured working people, and catching site of one of your freakish, shit-faced would-be tormentors staring goggle-eyed and shrieking with horror at the site of so much well earned enjoyment.
These life forms seek to alienate, isolate and torture. They never seem to do any actual work, only hold pointless and fruitless chin-wagging sessions where they attempt to reach a convincing tonality; you can tell they are actually listening to themselves in their depravity to try and judge whether anybody can see through them.

I mean, all this fucking crap when they are being paid, it's robbery.

Me?
I scored bigtime this afternoon. I got a big old programme up to code and working after a week of bloody-minded debugging.
Listening all the while to ACDC on my headphones and powering through the bullshit like a nuclear sub.

If only I could do the same at home.
But then, we have 'neighbours', don't we?

Why can't all these dreadful people just FOAD?

You Lying Creeps.

From the Toronto Star - we are all dying of ship pollution.
What's the matter mate?
Too far from you?
Not under your miserable thumb?
You just can't stand the thought of somebody enjoying a peaceful adventurous life on the ocean?
These bastards have to get their fucking mitts on everybody.

Pass The Champagne and Stamp On A Face

Shortly before I left Yorkshire I worked a .NET('dot-net') contract.
The boss was a socialist.
She used to sit in her office trying to impersonate a statue of Lenin, closing the door whenever she drew in a victim to whom she could give free reign to her viciousness, so that the rest of her victim employees could only guess at what hell was being unleashed.

She tried to make me believe I wasn't a programmer, I was a van driver.
She was a nasty piece of work.

Today at my new job, where everything has been hunky dory, the resident socialist wasn't content to listen to my interesting story about how I'd worked for Burton's Tailors.
He said, "So you were an order picker then?", as if all hard work was a badge of shame.

And I realised several things about socialists.
1) They are snobs.
2)They exist for the impression they can make on others.
3) They run a mile when there is real work to be done.

Oh, and while they talk up the 'working class' something awful, they hate working people with a passion that leaks out like an explosion of darkness, a black ray that seeks to kill and still everything it touches.

Useful idiots excepted.

As If That Wasn't Enough...

The price of an ounce of Fine Gold is currently $822 dollars, or in excess of £400.
That means my sole surviving KrugerRand is now worth double what I paid for it.
The last one I sold went on the air fare to Toronto last year.
This one is a keeper.

And Today?

I had a good day.

Notes From The IPCRESS Chamber.

You might think that the film the 'IPCRESS File' was a fanciful piece of romanticised espionage fiction.
As I sit here on Guy Fawkes Night, listening to enough explosions and reports for a bad night in Beirut, punctuated by the wailing of the emergency vehicles, I am reflecting on my apparent state of callousness.

Indeed, I have been brought to the stage whereby so many of my 'Redlines' have been crossed that I cannot proceed to do anything of value without breaking my stillness, the stillness of the grave, the grave in which I have been buried alive.

And when you do this, you yourself cross your own redlines, so that your continuing presence is the presence of the ghost in the machine, the machine of your own day-to-day life.
I am an unwelcome guest in my own existence, with nothing but fitful irritation to mark my interaction with those who have been used in my sacrifice.

The IPCRESS File used sounds and flashing lights to illustrate something very real, something which appears, like troubles, in multitudes and attacks us every now and again with a persistence which can- indeed must- be directed.

By such means are we British put into our places.
By destroying our ability to care, they render us accepting and cooperative.
Then they sit back and wait for 'common sense' to take its course.
After all, why endure a great passion when there are so many pretty, pretty girls in the streets?
Why value your family, when after all, there are so many families and people who need you?

I was supposed to be a rich man.
I spoke out against the expropriation of a colleague.
I was sacked.
I continued to speak out.
I was threatened with legal action.
My savings were trashed.
I continued to speak out.
My family was threatened.
I continued to speak out.
People in Canada threatend people I barely knew in America.

These are facts.
You can infer a great 'conspiracy' if you like, but no one man would justify such an investment of effort.
But when it is already an industry, such a small matter to use the delicate touch on just one more, eh?

There is something foul and malevolent at loose in the fabric of England.
Many think they are fighting it when they in fact are extending it, covering it in straw men behind which it is safe.
It isn't necessarily the government, far from it, this is mostly governed by constitution and law, but where it can spread its claws it does.
It is a black, black organisation which to me is nameless.
But it exists.
The Hellfire Club was probably the nearest it ever had to a public face.
It is real.
It is around us.
It is not all that large.
But it is everywhere.

And the way to defeat it is to simply walk away.