Saturday, June 29, 2013


(Dialling tone)
Hiya. Hiya. Are ya good? Are ya? Grand, grand. C’mere, a bit of straight talkin’, let’s get into the simple speak here like. Listen, there’s more taxes and bill increases and mortgage restructuring and cutbacks on the way like. You’ll be needing to set aside moolah for that so get the fuckin head down and focus on that and don’t be worrying about conversations we had from like five fuckin years ago. Jesus man, the horse has bolted like, suck it up. It was the same like with Allied and Bank ‘passing’ those fuckin stress tests. It’s what’s done like. No point you moaning. It was the fuckin same when we said we forgot the fuckin passwords to the laptops. Do you even remember that? You probably don’t. It was like fuckin two or three years ago. Youse all lost it then, remember? On the Joe Duffy saying we should be waterboarded until we gave up the fuckin passwords like but youse soon forgot. You moved on. You probably moved on to complaining about public sector pay or something at the time like. We were probably IBRCing it by that stage with you paying our wages. Yeah. Fuckin seriously like. But you had your eye on the dummy runner. You always do. We employ people to make sure you do and it fuckin works like.

You think the problem is us like but the problem is fuckin you. You want to be led? You want to be led like? You really do. Well we’ll fuckin lead you. We’ll lead you up the garden path. We’ll lead you and like fuckin shear you and fleece you and fuckin cut your bellies open and reef out your fuckin chops like. You talk big but you do shit like. You haven’t got the chops and the fuckin ruck inspectors in Central haven’t the chops either. They do what they’re told like, like you like so, ya know, the outrage, it’s like, so fuckin what? Just zip it and pay what you owe or pull your own strokes and get the fuckin money in and don’t be fuckin begrudging because you got played. It’s our job to play youse. What do you think it’s fuckin about? It’s in the terms and conditions. (Laughter) Listen, we couldn’t give a fuck what youse think to be honest. Go buy some book by Shane Ross or a Newstalk head and read the fuckin outrage out of yourself and go back to fuckin sleep. Jesus fuckin Hell like. It's not like you'll even give a shite like come the end of the summer.
That's it. That's all we have to say to you. You wanted honesty and that's it in simple speak like. 

So, you got that? Have you got that like?




See ya.

(Hangs up)

Thursday, June 27, 2013


We’ll hack your phone and listen to your calls. We’ll hack your computer and read all your emails. We’ll hack your fridge and defrost your dinner. We’ll hack your house and lock you in it. We’ll hack your account and take all your cash like we hacked Michael Hastings' car and made the fucker crash. 

We’ll hack your insulin pump so it no longer starts. We’ll hack your pacemaker and stop your heart. We’ll hack your mortgage and change the rate of interest. We’ll hack what we like and say it’s in your interests. We'll hack your culture and turn it into hot air like we hacked your brain so you don’t even care.

Sunday, June 23, 2013


I got a Happy Meal. It was very cheap and I thought it might make me feel happy like they are in America. The Happy Meal came in a little Happy Meal box. I carried the little Happy Meal box over to a little seat and I opened the little Happy Meal box. I bent over the little Happy Meal box. I kind of hunched over it. I kind of enveloped the little Happy Meal box like a black fog might envelop a lost child. I looked down inside the little Happy Meal box. There was another little box inside the little Happy Meal box and there were chips, ...sorry, ...I mean fries in it so I took this other little box out of the larger little Happy Meal box and I ate some of the fries. There was also a little burger wrapped in a paper shroud in the little Happy Meal box and a drink in a cardboard drum with a circular plastic lid that I stabbed a straw through. A big red straw. I put the big red straw in my mouth and sucked the drink out of the drum. It gurgled. Then I unwrapped the burger and took some bites out of it.

I remembered this documentary I saw about how they eat abroad. Abroad, in strange places. There were all these Asians gathered around a lazy susan, having to negotiate the people on the other side as they attempted to turn whatever portion they wanted next toward themselves. They were meowing at each other in their weird tongue and sounded like randy tomcats. I thought it was crazy. It was all noisy and busy. They were just spinning dinner around trying to get the best bits for themselves. There were old people and kids and regular adult sized adults. All spinning and meowing and grabbing and carrying on. They wouldn't get my dinner. I'll tell you that. I said as much. I said as much out loud right there in McDonald's. 'They wouldn't get my dinner', I shouted out all of a sudden and to no one in particular. I got a funny look from a couple of teenagers. I looked back at them. 'They wouldn't get my dinner', I repeated and the teenagers looked away. I resumed eating, bent over my my little Happy Meal, hunched over it, enveloping it like the black fog I mentioned earlier might envelope the lost child I mentioned earlier.

I finished up the Happy Meal and looked at what was left of it. The little Happy Meal box was emptied and stained with ketchup and mustard and some other less identifiable substances I squeezed from sachets. The little Happy Meal box was torn and crinkled and it was creased. It was somewhat despoiled. It was a tad ravaged. I had done a right job on it. I had given it a right seeing to. I regarded its remains. I hovered over the defeated little Happy Meal box as a predator drone might hover over the scattered body parts of smouldering insurgents or the scattered body parts of what might well be smouldering insurgents or the scattered body parts of what might just be smouldering people, including children, from the same town as possible insurgents.

The little Happy Meal box was on a little plastic tray. Being a civic sort, I stood and carried the tray to a bin. I tilted the tray at the mouth of the bin and the corpse of the little Happy Meal cheerfully slid off the tray and plummeted down into the dark chasm beneath it - where forgotten things go. I watched as it went. I belched. I was satiated. I was satisfied. I was satisfied in a way. I was kind of satisfied. I was being thoroughly Occidental in any case. Probably happy, like they are in America.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


(pictured – you forgot the ties guys)

Just say things in a sure voice. That's all people want. A sure voice. If people hear things in a sure voice they'll feel assured. It's all about sureness. It doesn't matter what you actually say. That stuff doesn't matter at all. People will probably know that you're lying but they won't mind as long as you sound sure. If you sound sure people will pretend to believe you even if they don't believe you. It's a kind of agreement. You are relieving people of responsibility while you do the terrible things that must be done so as they can remain in a relatively comfortable state of complacency - and not feel bad about it. You get to make the decisions because you sound sure and they get to say they believe you. If anything goes wrong then they can blame you and complain about how sure you sounded and they can say that's why they trusted you. Even though they didn't really trust you. They just pretend they trusted you because not trusting you is too much hassle. So, just pretend you're trustworthy by sounding sure. Say any old shit about why you can't eliminate poverty despite your best efforts or why people's electronic communications must be monitored at all times or why some place should be bombed to fuck. Just state the reasons, no matter how untrue, in a sure voice. Don't state the real reasons though. You don't want to be telling the truth when you're sounding sure. Everyone will think you've gone crazy, even though, deep down in a part of themselves they rarely visit, they'll know that you're telling it like it is. So, when you're sounding sure be sure to be lying. That's the trick of it. The scam that we're all a part of. It's a protocol. A mutual cognitive dissonance. A kind of play acting at civilisation, values, and compassion in a world that frequently requires the opposite of those things. Empathy and morality are dull aches that are best assuaged by a sure voice. So, if you're prepared to be the one with the sure voice you can do whatever you like. Knock yourself out. Let people starve. Kill whoever you think needs to die. Just be sure about it ...or, I mean to say, just be sure to sound sure about it.
Oh, and there's one more thing I forgot to mention, put a tie on for fuck's sake.

Friday, June 14, 2013


I'm going to make a summer blockbuster that captures the true essence of science fiction. We all know that science fiction is fundamentally about futuristic gadgets and punching people in the face and my blockbuster will have loads of those things. It'll have all your favourite heroes in it too, punching people in the face. It'll start with America being attacked and explosions with people on fire, being crushed and running and screaming and it will be exciting and awful all at once. Then it will cut to Captain Kirk punching a baddy in the face, over and over, in the face, punching him. Don't get me wrong, Captain Kirk won't want to punch the baddy in the face but these will be difficult times and difficult decisions will have to be made so Captain Kirk will punch the baddy in the face, over and over, and he'll enjoy doing it and the audience will enjoy watching it and they will chant 'punch him in the face, punch him in the face' and Captain Kirk will punch the baddy in the face, over and over, because this is analogous to the world we live in today and sometimes, for the greater good, baddies must be punched in the face, over and over, and we must suffer the misfortune of enjoying it. Then Spock will come along and make a suggestion to Captain Kirk. Spock will suggest that they put a photon grenade (a futuristic gadget – this is science fiction after all) down the baddy's pants and blow up the baddy's cock and the audience will gasp because that's really gritty and analogous. Then Uhura will come along and caress Spock and nurture him because he's a man and men must make difficult decisions in difficult times and she's his woman and she's wearing a kind of skintight thing to help with the nurturing and then she punches the baddy in the face too because she is emancipated and a 'bad ass' chick and awwwweeeeeesome. Then Superman comes along and wants to help America as well so he'll pick up the baddy and punch him in the face like Jesus wouldn't but he's still a metaphor for Jesus because Jesus had powers and loved America and probably would've punched baddies in the face in difficult times and was only wrong once – when he lost it with the money changers but we won't mention that and anyway heroes should be a bit flawed and dark and moody. Then Scotty will strip a load of Arabs, I mean Klingons, and place them in a degrading human pyramid and blow them up and shake his head and ask 'why'. Then the Enterprise will head out on a voyage of discovery but don't worry, we'll keep that off-screen and in the next story we'll see them return to America where it is being being beautifully attacked/destroyed in a genocidal/architectural sadomasochistic orgy that can only be stopped by repeated punches to the face for those that cause it. And kids will watch and kids will learn that the Universe is full of perhaps some wonder and maybe a bit of discovery but mainly threat, threat that justifies copious head punching, and everyone will think it is awwwweeeeeesome and everyone will eat massive boxes of popcorn and everyone will shout out the words: 'Fuck You Bradley Manning!' going forward because these are difficult times and we've no option but to make movies about people being punched in the face in 3D. There Is No Alternative!

Tuesday, June 11, 2013


The painting above is called The Treaty of Penn with the Indians. Click to enlarge and have a proper look at it. It's wonderful. It depicts the coming together of early Anglo settlers with indigenous types in North America. The painting was done by the artist Benjamin West, who claimed he was taught how to paint with pigments by natives. Ben's is a wonderful origin story. It's like the origin story of a comic superhero. Ben was an American art superhero in a way. I love his surname too. You can't get much better than West can you? It's tremendously Occidental. Ben West, The Man Who Painted America. Sounds like a comic doesn't it? So much history does really. It's all just an exciting story.

The painting is almost like the cover of a comic too. The United States #2 - $1. Have you noticed the way the focus is on the linen or whatever it is that the genuflecting trader is offering the injuns? It's central to the composition. The light falls upon the offering. This is the first act of trade, the thing that civilised and defined North America. The way the roll of material is portrayed puts me in mind of the infant Christ in Ruebens' Adoration of the Shepherds. Have a gander at the detail below and see if you agree.
Christ means 'saviour'. The first superhero, Christ, saved us all just as trade saved North America. That's the story of Ben's comic cover, I mean the painting. The linen is trade in its infancy just like Christ is an infant in the Adoration. It's a good story. We like our stories don't we?

People are still telling this story today, evangelising about it, going from door to door, or at least from plush resort to plush resort, in various parts of the world. Have you heard the story? It's like the story involving the twelve apostles but it's a newer story involving the G8. It's a good story. A satisfying myth. It could be the story in the comic with Ben's painting on the cover featuring the baby Jesus like linen. The only difference between the baby Jesus and the linen being that the baby Jesus wasn't purposefully riddled with a genocidal dose of fuckin smallpox. LOL!

Thursday, June 6, 2013


U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder was right to point out that the constitution of the United States of America doesn't guarantee citizens 'judicial' process. No, it guarantees them 'due' process. Now, are you going to claim that Ibragim Todashev didn't get what he was 'due'? Were you there? He was going to attack those FBI guys with a knife or maybe a leg of a chair or a table or was it that he had snakes and threw them at them? It's hard to tell. I'd say it was all a blur with cutlery and furniture and wildlife flying all over the place. One thing is for certain, there was a man, he had a mechanical arm, it may have been Aaron Swartz or Bradley Manning or Julian Assange. He unscrewed his hand and snakes came out and they each had a knife in their mouth and were coiled around table legs or maybe chair legs. A bitter siege ensued. Bullets were flying everywhere. The full ensemble of the Frankfurt Orchestra (circa 1937) appeared and started performing an extraordinary rendition of O Fortuna. It was very disorientating. Hank had a toothache. Cody put his pants on back to front. The dog got shot. Earl loved that dog. The Council of American-Islamic Relations showed up. They formed a human pyramid. I could've sworn somebody cut the cheese. There were broads there. Seriously hot broads. Skip said they were the hottest broads he'd ever seen. Marky got with Sharon and Sharon got Cherese. She was sharing Sharon's outlook on the topic of disease. Mikey had a facial scar and Bobby was a racist. They were all in love with dyin'. They were doing it in Texas. Tommy played piano like a kid out in the rain. Then he lost his leg in Dallas. He was dancing with a train. They were all in love with dyin'. They were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche, coming down the mountain.

So, as I'm sure you can appreciate, difficult decisions had to be made. We had no choice but to get a bit extra-judicial. Support our troops and forget the habeas - just give us the corpse.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013


Setting: The summit of a remote Tibetan mountain.

Oh, wise one, tell me everything I need to know.


Why not?

Because then you will not learn it.

Why won’t I learn it from you telling me?

Because you must learn from experience.

Why is experience so important? Why can’t we just cut to the chase and you tell me what I need to know?

Because the things you need to know can’t be told. The things you need to know can only be learned by experience.

But I need to know the things I need to know to help me experience things properly.

The ability to experience things properly will come after you have experienced what you need to experience to come to know how to experience things properly.

(Mumbles) …jesus wept.


…nothing. Listen, I think I’ve experienced quite enough. Really. It’s not helping. How about you share the joy here and just tell me what I need to know?

If I told you then you would not learn. You would just remember what I told you for a while and then probably forget.

I promise I won’t forget.

Can you keep that promise?



OK, maybe not.

I thought not.

Right, I want my money back.

You didn’t pay me anything.

Yeah, …well …I think you’re being a bit of a fuckin dick to be honest. Here I am, after coming all this way, climbing mountains and being chased by yetis and all that, and all you do is give me that old flannel. Yeah, fuck you pal and fuck the smug little Yoda set up you have going on here. I’m off home.

The sooner you leave the better oh curious one for you have a loooooonnnnng road to travel.

Monday, June 3, 2013


I watched the soccer match this weekend. Did you watch the soccer match this weekend? You didn't? It was very good. It was a very good game. Well, it was OK. It was OK in parts. I yelled a lot anyway. I watched it in the pub and I got stuff out of my system by yelling things like 'oh come on ref' and 'offside' and other things I heard other people yelling. I was imbued with a tremendous sense of belonging. Belonging to what I wasn't sure but I felt that I belonged and that is the most important thing. I hadn't felt such belonging since my days with the Branch Davidians or as a member of the Socialist Worker's Party. There really was a tremendous sense of belonging to be had at the match last weekend. 
Anyway, it was a great/OK game. Here are the highlights:
A man kicked a ball to another man who then kicked it to a man he didn't mean to kick it to. The ball was then moved around by the man who had accidentally received possession of the ball. He moved the ball around lots of other men who seemed quite keen to kick it but couldn't because the man who accidentally received possession of the ball moved it too quickly. This went on for a bit until the man who accidentally received possession of the ball failed to put it in a net that he was going toward because yet another man took the ball from him. You could tell from the way this latest guy dressed that he didn’t want to put the ball in the net nearest him so he kicked it to another man who was wearing clothes similar to his own. No one picked up the ball for the most part and one man got an elbow in the teeth. The whole thing went on for about an hour and a half (excluding a little break in the middle when all the men walked off to get sandwiches or something). 

I later heard that two of the men playing are racists and one beat up his girlfriend. They are good with the ball though and that's what counts. All the men playing are said to be very wealthy. The new strip is in the shops on Tuesday. The score was nil all. After the match a fella kept talking to me about it as we were using the urinals. He was crying because of a 'failed qualification' or something. I got uncomfortable and couldn't piss. We smashed up stuff on the way home and got on the news but they didn't go on about it too much because we weren't being political or anything weird.

Can't wait for next weekend.