Friday, 25 December 2009

Christmas Fare

Let Mr. Gore and Co.,
As they're eating crow,
wash it down with snow
where the doggies go!

Sunday, 20 December 2009

Internet Idioms of idiocy or, Nightmare on Alms Street

I had criticized a certain internet personality's usage whereupon she hauled me up before the HRC, who invited me to respond to the charges of "offensive, hurtful, unhelpful" language and stirring up reason among the majority. I declared my guilt outright, throwing myself upon the mercy of the Kangaroo court, whereupon the frump presiding over the proceedings demanded to know what I was inferring, whereupon I told her that I was inferring that she did not know the meaning of infer. She then loudly commanded that I refrain from flaunting the conventions of standard inoffensiveness. I stood amazed that anyone, even a kangaroo, could so unashamedly flout the laws of semantics. Laughing all the way to the bank after being awarded my entire life savings, the complainant told me, now crying in the same banal idiom all the way to the poorhouse, that she hoped I felt properly decimated, to which I asked would she be so tolerant as to leave me one tenth to survive on, to stave off starvation. "I could care less," she laughed. Then you do care, I exclaimed. She frowned in incomprehension and replied that I was begging the question of how a beggar could ever question her. She taunted me that hunger was an addiction that I should seek help in overcoming. After I called her a heartless niggard she underwent a panic attack and I was immediately rearrested by the HRC and declared a dangerous offender against diversity. Convicted of the grievous offense of insulting a mom, I protested that her status as a mother was immaterial to the case. "I'll have no profanity uttered in my kangaroo court," shouted the indignant frump. My lawyer said he couldn't help me owing to my present condition of being fiscally challenged, and when I called him a shyster he turned state's evidence against me for acts of anti-semitism, anti-Zionism and anti-semanticism. I knew I was doomed and began to pray, but was stopped by the Mounties who advised me that any further acts of a political, sectarian or indecent nature on crown property would be answered with a summary tasering. In prison I had to fight off the amorous advances of a toothless eighty-year old inmate for which I was promptly brought up before the warden for homophobia, ageism, lookism and gingiphobia (an irrational fear and aversion toward gums). After a course in sensitivity I was certified as a reformed sociopath and all-round trouble maker and released. I volunteered for the armed forces with ambitions of becoming a troop, but was refused on wellness grounds of non-plurality and a glandular disorder which was termed persistent aggressive testosterone syndrome or patsy. It appears they believed I might actually fight someone. In war. Despairing of a cure, I headed for Lions Gate with the intention of self-destruction but experienced a suicide gone wrong when I landed in the pool of a passing luxury liner. I knew my ship had at last come in when my lawyer the shyster showed up waving a suit of tort against the liner, the bridge, the port authority and every known inhabitant of the planet for criminal negligence, (i.e., saving my wretched life), discrimination (I'm a redhead) and phoboaquaphobia (I can't swim!) My pain at being still alive was excruciating but I smiled through my tears, confident in the knowledge that I'd soon be crying all the way to the bank. With those tears still in my eyes I suddenly awoke. It had all been a dream. Sigh.

Forum Roundup

At a site praising a local journalist of the former Seattle Post Intelligencer, presently on online life support:

"Connelly's capacious memory for political events and statements..." alas evidently failed him in this instance, since allusions to the "Climategate" affair of just last month were as scarce as polar bears in Rio throughout his attack on Palin. Why shouldn't Palin reconsider, or "flip flop," on AGW, when the entire scientific establishment is now looking askance at the CRU scandal? And as for the column having "a little bit of everything, humor" etc, I found it especially humorous that it did not have any comments or forum or even an email feedback option. If a reversion to the old media model of journalist as God is Connely's way of "nailing" anything, it is more probably's coffin.

At a Washington Independent story faulting the FBI's supposedly discriminatory stance toward Muslims:

"...the case stoked apprehensions that the government sees Arab-Americans and Muslims as a people apart." Cf. the BIble, Gen 12:16: " ...thou shalt call his name Ishmael... And he will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him..." The inescapable fact remains that the Western democracies, with their presumption of legal sovereignty over sectarian interests, were never designed with the sons of Ishmael in mind. As for "developing with consistency" the "crucial relationship" with Muslims, is not this institutional deference the very stance that fostered the Fort Hood disaster?

At a Macleans article on the recent VSO- VANOC controversy:

"The visible part of the job is something a ten-year-old could do..." Right! And when the kid is finished "doing" Mahler's 9th she can take over for Colby Cash at the word processor. Certainly anyone can beat time to pop songs, but just try letting an orchestra attempt to perform any standard work of "classical" proportions without the firm hand of a trained conductor on deck and watch what happens: bloody chaos. Mr. Cash should confine his aesthetic apercus to the football and hockey venues he hails from where a little chaos always offers a welcome bit of divertimenti.
[This little comment generated a number of REPIES from the usual canuck brigade and from Cosh himself, more entertaining, let me add, than the original column. Interestingly, there is one sport with an affinity to the art of orchestral conducting, an affinity once evoked by none other than the late Herbert van Karajan. It is the sport of horse-jumping, a sport as dangerous and demanding for both man and mount as it is exciting and graceful to the spectator. Steeplechase and conducting, each in its own way, bring out the crucial difference between merely riding something that's been tamed into acquiescence, and actually guiding a thoroughbred with a will of its own over the most formidable terrain, be it terrestrial or artistic. Neither is an undertaking for ten year-olds.]

At a NYT predictably effusive review of Clint Eastwood's Invictus:
Dirty Harry Mole
"The defining theme of his career" has actually been Eastwood's ongoing charade as some kind of "conservative," making violent movies that draw in the mass red state audiences but invariably larding each cliched effort with all the standard liberal platitudes. Show me a politically correct theme this guy hasn't pushed down our throats in film after moralizing film. How else does a "tough guy" get Hollywood's effete elite eating out of his hand every two to three years? Artist he never will be, but when has that ever held up an Academy Award nomination? He's the left's ultimate cultural mole.

Saturday, 28 November 2009

Garbage in, Garbage Outed

Emails and their B-trails. We always knew the "science" of the warmists was garbage and now we know that the scientists themselves are ripe for the landfill, too. (That would be the same East Anglia landfill where the CRU confessedly "lost" all its pre-1980 warming data.) Last week's expose, via Russian hackers, of the secret lives of climatologists should in any rational universe finally put paid to the hoax of a man-made global disaster that has allowed a bunch of two-bit grad students and faceless academics to draft a ride off the ice flows into fame, fortune and fiat. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain," about sums up the response to the world by the wizards of ozone. All that the British university which houses these tramps could do was fulminate against the "criminal breach" of the hackers. The breach of trust on the part of the school itself goes unmentioned. You see, goes the argument, in research of this scope, there are the scientists, on the one hand, and then the "lay community," on the other. Scientists have their own way of doing things and the lay community should just lie back, accept it, and get "laid" by them. That's called the scientific method.
This time, though, it was the white-coats who got caught with their pants down pissing into the wind. That's called pee-er review.
Meanwhile in Copenhagen the pols carry on as if nothing had occurred, tucking in with their usual gusto on the local cuisine and the cooked data. That's called the law of inertia.

.... Instead of a treaty between nations, how about the Denmark deadwood drawing up a treaty between the scientists and us?
Funding will continue only under the proviso that they observe internationally accepted boundaries between fact and fiction. Science by fiat will be outlawed and all incursions into the political domain will be regarded as acts of axiological aggression against educated people worldwide. Data must no longer be held hostage to theory. Brainwashing of journalists will be interdicted and all POW's (prisoners of Warming) in the mainstream media will be be allowed to undergo dedoctrination. Critics will be treated in accordance with traditional canons of healthy skepticism. All CRU members must be tried as warm criminals and upon conviction serve a minumum two semesters sentence of Remedial Science 101 atop the nearest polar ice cap.

Thursday, 26 November 2009

As Ye Sow: Cold Turkey In America

Americans make a virtue out of their irrationalism. Celebrating Thanksgiving barely four weeks before Christmas is typical ahistorical, exceptionalist Yankee behaviour. The original feast of the Pilgrims likely took place around the time when Canadians celebrate their "day of thanks," in mid October. It was after all a harvest, not a snowfall, that they were giving thanks for. And although they like to think they invented the holiday, in fact the rite of paying homage to the Gods after the harvest goes back into the mists of time, cultures and religions. Of course, being Puritans as well as Pilgrims, the first settlers doubtlessly ignored the pagan and "papist" precedents. Being at that time the closest thing going to what we now call "born-againers," these adherents of the "inner light" doctrine were giving thanks to the true God, i.e., the one that lived in their own brains and vanity, as distinct from Ceres, Demeter, and the idols of Catholicism, who presumably all lived in the underworld, i.e., the earth.
One upshot of their dissociation of Thanksgiving from the ancient customs was Americans losing sight of the reciprocal nature of the whole god-earth-man relationship. Again this relates in some way to that evangelical notion of exceptional salvation. Just as the born-againer imagines his being "saved" is independent of his own efforts and conduct, so the Americans generally believe that the earth will continue to offer them its bounty regardless of how they treat it or the rest of its inhabitants. The Church, however, has always borne witness to the truth that Jesus' entire message is summed up in the ancient precept, as ye sow, so shall ye reap, be it soul or soil..
Well, the harvest is in and it's now time for America to reap the whirlwind.

Saturday, 14 November 2009

Rendezvous with History

As a young man, I traveled extensively through the Middle East, including Iran, and lived in Israel for two years. Israel is a beacon of light in an area - the Middle East - that is pitch black everywhere else. Israel is a Western democracy, while Syria, Saudi Arabia, Iran and Egypt are medieval dictatorships. The so-called 'Middle East conflict' is not about land at all. It is a conflict about ideologies; a battle between Islam and freedom. It is not about some land in Gaza or in Judea and Samaria. It is about Jihad. To Islam the whole of Israel is occupied territory. Islam forces Israel to fight and Israel is not just fighting for itself. Israel is fighting for all of us, for the entire West. Israel is fighting the jihad that is meant for all of us. So we should all defend Israel. We all are Israel.

No one speaks with more authority on the Islamic question than the speaker of the above words, Geert Wilders. Passionate, principled and brave, this former insurance agent and probable future Dutch prime minister strides like a colossus above the tame and timorous ranks of today's politicos. Every place he visits, every day he lives, brings antagonism from Muslims, betrayal from his own countrymen and calumny from the media. He has traveled the world to speak out against the encroachment of radical fundamentalism on Western mores. As he tells it, the advance of Islam necessitates the abridgment of freedom. And he identifies the simple and undeniable source behind all the terror, mayhem and backwardness of Islam, namely the Koran itself. His film, Fitna, which enjoys an on again-off again status on many web sites, including YouTube, lays down the ineluctable challenge for Muslims aspiring to become part of the modern world: renounce the Prophet's own exhortations to compulsion and violence -against Kaffirs, Jews, women and children- or be opposed by freedom loving people worldwide.

For his supporters and admirers, however, he throws down a different kind of challenge: recognize Israel as our ally and vanguard in the growing struggle against Islamic dhimmitude, or provide the adversary with a victory he doesn't deserve. Israel, the land that never should have been, becomes a test for the future of our own.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

From Flanders Fields

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields. - John McCrae, In Flanders Fields

News item: 60% of Canadians don't know what Battle of Somme was.


From Flanders fields the restless ghosts

Attempt to man our vacant posts,

Since we with them have broken faith,

And made each soul a warring wraith.


On borders breached, like phantom wards

They'd fain hold back the indifferent hordes,

Whose Babel-like contentious flood

Saps the ground of nationhood.


Not far another sprite's brigade,

Before the State stands unafraid,

To brave the dead hand of power

That makes the living run and cower.


More apparitions raise the seige on

Businessmen whose lies are legion,

Feigning reverence while they announce,

Poinsettias and poppies at huge discounts!


Then pressmen loyal to the merchants,

Affect a truce with death's insurgents,

Assuming a most solemn stance,

Beneath the white flag "tolerance."


At schools the spectres march aghast

Against the shame that shrouds our past,

Where Somme, Dieppe and Passchendaele

Are spoken, if at all, but to assail.


Ethereal ranks then flank the Bench,

Where lawless traitors do entrench

To silence those who stand alone,

Whose valor vies with veterans' own.


At last those shadow soldiers charge,

Though foes are many and dangers large,

As if again to pay the price

And take the field of Sacrifice.


But then the direst threat of all

Mass their forces - in the mall!

A people whose eternal prayer

Is more to shop and less to care.


Theirs is the struggle of the sentry:

To keep awake 'gainst evil's entry;

Worse than torpor poppies reap,

When whole nations fall asleep.


And so these revenants of war

Must hover round us evermore,

Til of betrayer and betrayed

We ask, Who is real and who the shade?

by GJ Tryon

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

Tampax Britannica

Just what exactly is the "future king of Canada" doing in this country - other than confirming his own ineptitude? This is the king of boobs who spent the previous decade criticizing the architecture of England while a thousand mosques went up virtually under his nose. His country is a mess. It stands as a monitory example of what happens when political elites conspire against the instincts of the race, when merchants, who as Thomas Jefferson wrote, "have no country," are allowed to sell out the one they happen to live in, and when theory and concepts are allowed to stranglulate the "blood values," i.e., the implicit truths of a people. Britain, along with Europe, as Gaddafi astutely pointed out, is probably finished, and the only good to come from this will be the end of the greedy and indolent Windsors who have "ruled" over it - and us- for the last century.
It didn't have to be this way. Had Charles possessed any innate caliber for kingship he would have chosen a cause of more moment than the preservation of old churches. How about preserving the faith that originally built them? How about preserving the stock that originally worshipped in them? How about preserving the culture that once expressed itself through them, O defender of the faith? The nation would have rallied behind a true son of the realm who could have donned the mantle of nationhood even if his mother kept the public relations crown. Instead, the "guy with the ears" never had an ear to the ground, never understood what Englishman wanted from a leader, and never revealed any more capacity for blood values than the tampax he once envisaged himself becoming in the pants of his mistress.

Thirty years ago another famous Mid-Eastener, who also new his Muslims, made his own prediction which I've incorporated into the following verse:
Fool, Britannia,
Britannia fool of the migrant waves;
"Britain is he-he-he-he-he-he-headed for the caves!"
The Shah, alas, proved to be a much better prophet than monarch.

Friday, 2 October 2009

America the Undead

...because of the bold and coordinated action that we took... financial markets have come back to life... - President Obama

America's decline is both absolute and relative. Measured against its own historical apex and against the rest of the world, the country is diminishing irremediably. The feverish mania to see "recovery" in every uptick of the market masks an underlying despair. The Americans are not making anything that they weren't making a year ago, when the bubble collapsed, unless it's another, new and improved, bubble. In fact they are making even less: less cars, less houses, and even less movies offering the perennial escape from all the "lessons" they must learn to live with. As long as Americans regard Wall Street as their productive centre of gravity rather than as its balancing governor, they're doomed.
Speaking of movies and doom, it seems to me that these phantom Recoveries that keep turning up with such fanfare and elation are rather like those sightings of characters recently deceased in a vampire movie. Of course it always turns out that what was sighted was actually a vampire, not the recently departed at all. The hideous simulacrum must then be grimly dispatched with a stake through the heart if the dear victim is ever to find eternal repose. It then befalls the heros to seek out and destroy the original ghoul who is seducing and transforming the innocents. In the present case that vampire, that Dracula, is Wall Street, blood sucking architect of America's derelict economy, and invincible bubble leach. In the best movies, where audiences get what they want, the infernal thing isn't killed, just given a temporary hiatus pending its redux via the sequel. Somehow it comforts us to know that it can't be killed!
Not that they didn't try, Obama and his yes-we-can vampire slayers. First came the transfusions. But after pouring the life blood of millions of taxpayers into the veins of industry and commerce, alas, the prognosis was not good. The victims kept reverting to their old nocturnal roaming habits, still eager to resume their nefarious trysts with the demon. So then, onto the main lair! Obama and his team of Van Helsings had the sleeping monster in their power for a bit, last spring, right at the terrible climax: the stake was readied, the mallet raised, but then they lost their nerve. Damn it, he looked like someone they knew and loved - all their former colleagues at Goldman and Sachs, actually. Said the faltering Obama, "No, I can't!"
Well, no need to relate what befell our valiant vamp basher after that one moment of weakness. Now the POTUS is seldom seen in the diurnal glare, keeps mostly to the indoors, and wears his collar uncharacteristically high up, as though against the chilly air. And stranger still are reports of his old adversary, Sarah Palin, stake in one hand, hammer in the other, and never without her protective cross, stalking the twilit precincts of the capital with the zeal of a crusader. Expect no weakness from that quarter, Drac!

Thursday, 24 September 2009

Photo Essay: Then and Now



Sunday, 6 September 2009

Star Spangled Bonkers

Conspiracy Nation

Birthers on the right, Truthers to the left,
Each with plots more daft than deft,
The common ground of common sense have cleft,
And made America a land that's.... eff'd!

Friday, 4 September 2009

Canada's Conscience Still in [censored] Shackles

People who have wondered why I don't post more on this blog should understand that what gets posted is a fraction of what actually gets written. That's partly because I write a lot of drivel that doesn't merit anyone's attention. But it's also a result of simple survival instincts. Writing, intelligent, critical and conscientious writing, has become a hazardous occupation in this country over the last few decades. All it takes is one recreant rat of a reader to finger a blogger to the HRC thought police and it's good-bye sleep, good-bye bank balance, good-bye computer. Ultimately it could even be good-bye, period, as you're lead off to jail for non-compliance with the frumps' edicts. The edit page of this blog contains a score or more of pieces that didn't last more that an hour or two on the publish side of things. Why take the chance? one thinks. Is it worth it? Even if the charge doesn't stick, even if I somehow weather the Kafkaesue "invitation" to appear before the hated frump brigade, even if no sewer rat crawls out of the anonymous blogosphere to do me in, is it worth the hassle and anxiety? So reason I, and so, undoubtedly, reason many thousands like me all across this land of silence and repression, of chilled forums and frozen tongues, our true North wrong and unfree.
That's why a recent tribunal decision is receiving such a heartfelt welcome in so many quarters. Some are wondering if this unexpected decision by one of the commission's own could prove to be the final good-bye to the commission itself. But like most "decisions" these days, the Hadjis ruling is not really very decisive. In fact, it's a bit self-contradictory, very open ended, and probably inconsequential. The Canadian Jewish Congress lost no time in denouncing the ruling nonetheless, calling for an appeal and reiterating their undying faith in the constitutionality of Section 13. (There! I just self-censored myself again, deleting the modifier that preceded the name of that so-called congress. Blow thy trumpet, O Zion! For thy victories are unnumbered.)
No doubt the CJC , the ADL and sundry other Hebraic organizations would if they could shut down hundreds and maybe thousands of websites in Canada. Anyone hostile or even indifferent to what a former French diplomat scandalously called that "shitty little country Israel" is obviously a potential subject for their collective wrath. The canard that equates Israel critics with Jew haters, an equation as spurious as it is common, is the wedging ruse that will eventually allow them to "moderate" the internet at their own pleasure. The repeal or lapse of Section 13 would cut the wedge off at the base, and so Canadian Zionists rally at every least threat to this legal abomination. Shamelessly and ironically, [censored] all over the world have leagued themselves in spirit to the worst excesses of Nazi Germany in their disregard for individual rights. It is the diaspora of political diabolism. But of course it is the crowning irony of open societies that as they extend full rights to the historically denied or persecuted people, those same people will first exercise those rights in an attempt to deny them to others. Thus the [censored] who tried to ban the pornographers (aka men in general); then the [censored], taking a leaf from big sister, found that their recently vacated closet would serve admirably for churching their erstwhile foes, the Christians; and thus too, the [censored] world [censored] who came here for economic fulfillment but quickly became a prime distortion in the democratic culture of the land as vote-whoring pols began catering to their demands while ignoring the wishes of Canada's traditional white base.
And thus the [censored], many of whom are descended from refugees of a broken, Nazified Europe. They came for succor and opportunity, and they stayed for censorship, intolerance and coercing the human conscience. Like I said, blow thy trumpet, O Zion!

Saturday, 22 August 2009

Something Rotten in Obamaland

You know Obama is in trouble when a lefty stalwart like Paul Krugman finally says, enough! After months of reflexively promoting and defending the new US president, the Nobel laureate and NY Times columnist has thrown the gauntlet down, exhorting the erstwhile Kid Dynamite to take off the gloves, kid gloves though they be. For Mr. Krugman, it's a trust problem. Obama's need for compromise and consensus has cost him his progressive base and only whetted the appetite of his enemies on the implacable right. And the author is right as far as he goes. But as many of the posts on his article point out, it's not just a matter of trust. It's a matter of thrust. Writes Krugman: "The fight over the public option involves real policy substance, but it’s also a proxy for broader questions about the president’s priorities and overall approach." The operative word here is fight. What the author doesn't see and what most of Obama's supporters never have seen is that the Kid never did have much of a punch in him. There's always been something strangely Hamletesque about the man. Is it his fatherless background? A marriage prone mother? His speeches have an almost soliloquizing air about them. He's "all abstractions," as Buchanan has noted. He comes across as someone for whom, "the native hue of resolution / Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, /And enterprises of great pith and moment /With this regard their currents turn awry,/ And lose the name of action." "Present" became his signature style of casting a vote, rather than take a defining stand on the issues. I'm sure Hamlet would have approved.
Liberals always give the active man short shrift. That's why Hamlet is their favorite play. Forever extolling someone like Obama for his intelligence, his oratory and his cool, they overlook the need for some kind of animating fire underlying things. Since most lefties seem to worship ideas instead of deeds, it follows that they distrust leaders who emphasize force over theory. Most elections come down to a choice between candidates that evince either action or reflection, deed or word, fire or ice, in defining their character. Last time around McCain took a drubbing for being hot headed, while his cool opponent was portrayed as essence of suave. McCain had fight. Too much! Four years earlier, however, force was in and reflection, again, not too much, please. And in the primaries, even committee queen Clinton couldn't outdo the One when it came to emotional control, try as she might. Now the question starts to emerge: is there any emotion there to control? Hillary got another faceful last week when they began asking, "Still angry after all these years?" But Mr. Cool must be scratching that clever little cranium of his and wondering of late where he, too, might get hold of some of that exotic political elixir called anger. Not, he may be sure, out of a book. Much less off a policy statement. And never from a committee.
Nations on the rise or seeking to consolidate their empires will always favor forceful leaders. Those undergoing contraction will tend toward the reflective type, the better to rationalize their loss of heat and hegemony. Not for nothing have the Americans reversed the usual coloration of politics so that conservatives garnered the flaming red state designation while their opposites were assigned the passive and contemplative blue. Not for nothing have the former controlled the White House for the vast majority of the time since the last World War. And not for nothing does Obama now sit in that same White House contriving ways to control the climate, dispose of the sick, and get his mojo back.

Qualms Away! As Obama Bombs Out, Will Children Die?

One maxim of presidential politics always valid: when polls head south, bomb your way out. Americans love their "democracy" and abhor "militarists," (scare quotes for scary concepts) but their ballot box is strung directly to the levers of a B52. Nothing rouses the bipartisan in the Yankee like standing shoulder to shoulder with his leader once the bombs start falling. So Reagan bombed Gaddafi, Bush I bombed Iraq and Clinton bombed Serbia, and Bush ll bombed - well, you name it! The only CiC in recent memory that failed the drop test was Carter, weak Jimmy Carter, who paid a heavy price for his light hand. And though he's been called JC redux by his enemies, nothing indicates that Barack Obama will opt to join Dhimmi Jimmy in that one-term wilderness to which America consigns its wimp-out Commanders in Chief. Like pols everywhere, Obama's primary cause is himself, and as we all know, self-love conquers all, especially when abetted by Bomber Command. His greatest challenge will be winning over the so-called conservative base, that mad amalgam of town hallers, birthers, Zionists, racists, free marketers, born-againers, American firsters, borders in orderers and, well, just about everyone, in other words, who believes that Obama has pussied out on America. But bitch as they might about health care, debt and death panels, if he'll only shout bombs away! and give them a reassuring scent of cordite in time for the holidays, they'll all be purring like kittens in catnip. I think the only question is not if but who ends up getting it. Present bets are on Pakistan (or Scotland!)

O children of the planet, please watch the sky,
And put by your light-hearted laughter and games;
For when presidents start sinking the bombers shall fly,
And soon your young bodies must go up in flames.

Saturday, 15 August 2009

Unless You Dare

Beauty is exuberance. - William Blake

I see that Terry Black, "teen sensation of the sixties," died recently. His obits are mostly marked by the same hype that lifted this pleasant and good-looking but basically talentless individual from obscurity in the first place. Red Robinson tries for a little perspective when he remarks that "Terry was a most sincere, humble guy who had the pipes to sing but not the management to make it happen." But to paraphrase Churchill, Red, the guy had a lot to be humble about.
Although he won the Maple Music Best Male Vocalist for 1965, he did so by remaining virtually unheard of, or more exactly, unheard, where I lived, in his own North Vancouver. True, the Vancouver media were all over the guy, big time. He was the product of that DeeJay culture that at one time seemed to count for so much among the so dumb. It is the culture of spin: spinning discs and spinning heads. The Buddy Clydes, the Red Robinsons and Fred Latremouilles were spinning him as the new Elvis just about the time the Beatles and Stones had effectively buried the old Elvis under an avalanche of fresh sounding and interesting music. I remember seeing Black for the first and only time on a local TV venue, the same Dance Party where he was "discovered." Let's see: a singer gets discovered on a TV dance show while dancing to records. Right! So Fabian was famously "discovered" lounging about on his front porch one Saturday afternoon. But let's give Fabian his due, he really could lounge.
Black, on the other hand, didn't really dance all that well, was a so-so singer and was a total bomb when it came to lounging. In that day, it was a law that pop idols had to be "good looking." But Black's handlers thought this meant that this was all you had to be. From today's perspective he looks and sounds rather pathetic, a nice youngster who liked to dance, pushed into the limelight by calculating adults trying for a quick buck off a static construct. Although he tried for a movie part playing Presley's kid brother, his only perceivable kinship to Elvis outside of his looks was the naive trust which he reposed in his managers, who vied with the notorious "Colonel" in professional obtusity by feeding him safe, i.e., dull, material and over-managing his fragile image. His one "international hit," "Unless You Care," is about as mediocre a pop song as you'll ever hear. The words are sappy, the (studio) band humdrum (Glen Campbell on guitar notwithstanding), and the delivery indifferent. It sounds in fact like Black doesn't care, as if he was afraid to hit a head note lest its unwonted intensity should shake free one of his impeccably managed hairs. (Ironically enough, it turns out that tidy Terry eventually landed a part in a Canadian production of Hair. Now that must have been humbling!)
Black's carrer, such as it was, and ending as it did in the year of Susan Boyle, was a testament to the limits of spin. I mention Boyle because in a way she represents the opposite of Black: no looks, zero spin, all talent and drive and dedication. I wonder what the aging and disillusioned former teen sensation, by then resigned to making his way by doing beer ads, thought when he saw her performance, that extraordinary act that turned the judges on their heads and won the audience and the world by the sheer power of voice and emotion. Beautiful! If he cried with rest of us, I hope he saved a tear or two for himself and what might have been if only...
Terry Black now sings with the angels where that sincere and sinless face of his always said he belonged. RIP. The deejays have spun out, the judges have been judged, and all we can really ask of our young and talented is to stand up and go for it. Aphorism of the day: the ones who break the mirrors are often the same ones who break the molds. Contrary to Red Robinson, talent conquers all, kids. Dare to be hot!

Unless You Care Dare

For Terry Black

Don't ever let them say you've got talent and flair,

Cause failure's too much to bear,

It's all just air, uh huh uh,

Unless you dare.

Don't dream of stars in heaven

If you don't belong up there,

It's all just air,

Unless you dare.

Terry, if you only knew

How safe and dull you sound!

You got the breaks,

If you'd got what it takes,

You'd have been world-renowned.

So don't dream of bright lights and fame

If singing jingles is no shame,

It's all just air

Unless you dare!

(See original here)

Wednesday, 1 July 2009

Harper Rocks it Out

Calling Canada “the most peaceful, prosperous and enduring democracy the world has ever known,” Harper cast ahead to the 2010 Olympics, which he said will give Canada a chance to showcase itself to the world.

“We must never forget that our country, our way of life, did not come about by accident,” he said. “We are a product of diverse peoples from all corners of the Earth, but committed to common values. A country that offers opportunity to all who seek it. A country proud of our past and confident of our future.” -Ottawa Citizen "You're in Canada - Rock it Out"

Thus Harper striking the usual three chord unofficial anthem of national harmony: tonic chord: feel good peace and prosperity; subdominant: proud past, (if we could only remember it without blushing); and dominant: the future belongs to us. Twang, twang, twang! Nice licks, Steve, but don't quit your day job, as they say.

In point of fact the country was indeed the product of an "accident." Columbus stumbled onto the Americas while looking for China. No need to rehearse all the other stumbles that those gold lusting, slave trading, fur trapping, soul winning, war mongering white Euros made before they finally stumbled onto democracy. Suffice it to say that we're still stumbling, over five centuries later, as Harper's speech implies. We stumble over ourselves and our past and our whiteness and our "diversity.". Most of all, like everyone else, we stumble over the truth. Once in a while by some miracle or accident we stumble on to the truth, and man, that hurts.

Hard to fathom what makes Canada's democracy more enduring than America's, which out-endures it by almost a century. So too the bit about being "prosperous." Canada's spot on the prosperity roster has been sliding for years. Now with peaceful he might be on to something, but only with the caveats that anyone looks peaceful next to America and that peace in itself doesn't imply just or even decent. Indeed, Canada's penchant for peace uber alles is what leads her to censor and arrest people for voicing unpopular opinions, which her tribunals call 'hate" but which the haters call truth. And if truth be known, even our world famous peacefulness is taking a hit from the drug gangs and gun runners: "British Columbia or Columbia?" asked a recent headline in the Economist.

Truth always gets short shrift in a place like Canada, especially on July 1. The Ottawa Citizen story goes on to relate how popular the Mounties were during today's festivities. Was it just a few weeks ago that the Braidwood Commission began detailing the conspiracies and corruptions of our red serge surgers? And but for a lone cell phone that happened to be at the scene we might never have learned how really low our police can act when they think the parade is over and no one's watching. Come September the press will remember its indignation over the Dziekanksi killing, but right now, as the Citizen's headline says, it's time to rock, not rock the boat.

Harper's riff about "a country proud of our past" is also less than truthful. Last year a poll discovered that 60% of Canadians didn't know the Battle of the Somme for what. They didn't tell us what percentage cared. Like it or not our past was anything but peaceful, what with Indians to rob and subdue, rebels to hang and wars to wage. Nonetheless, we have a past that shouldn't be dirted on or apologized for because out of that past came the present, which everyone appears highly to value. As Cassirer wrote, dirt on your past and the future will dirt on you.

Many Canadians strongly object to "true North strong and free" in the real anthem on the grounds that it sounds wrong, i.e., "American." I object, too, because it is wrong, i.e., false. We aren't strong, or we'd be victorious in Afghanistan. We aren't free or we'd be free of Section Thirteen. And we aren't true, either to the past or to the rather forbidding future that's getting ready to rock and roll on us all.

Sunday, 28 June 2009

King Michael-Every Inch a Fake

Ah yes, Death: the ultimate come back act. And what a ghastly bit of danse macabre His Majesty is kicking up for the guy whose greatest hit was a "spectreacular" of graveside humor! Ironic that at the time of his demise the erstwhile heartthrob of pre-ads and post-menos, the eternal child bent on cheating old age, had come to look like one of the original "Thriller" ghouls, although they could probably dance better. The way the Yanks are mushing hankies over Jackson's death, you'd think the so-called King of Pop had been a real life monarch and the fans, just about everyone right at the moment, his actual subjects. Fox TV reportedly likened it to Kennedy's passing, whether in earnest or jest I cannot say. For Fox's sake I hope it was jest.
Can this nation sink any lower? In the same breath it is demonizing Iran it tries to apotheosize a second rater like Jackson, a man who's been the butt of talk show comedians and the whipping boy of piss pious journalism for twenty years. Suddenly he's a genius, "Thriller" is a great work of art and, as Baloney Ciccone, AKA Madonna, put it, "his music will live for ever."
Forever? Like dogs, American "gods" age differently than we do, so we have to adjust for the material girl's somewhat skewed frame of reference. Being on the shady side of fifty herself, she can be forgiven for making a vicarious grab for immortality via the brief candle that Jackson represents. "Forever" in America equals about a decade in human time. Just as "genius" in the States factors in as "nicely talented" in the real world.
Ciccone can pump Jackson because both she and Jackson were cut from the same see-through fabric. Coming in the wake of the last universal entertainers, they and many like them tried to make up in sales what they could never garner in respect. By universal, I mean those whose names and work were known universally, by young and old, black and white, cool and uncool, in America and world wide. This means Sinatra, Presley, Beatles and ...??? Exclusive the list definitely is. Isn't that what genius means in the rest of the world? Many, many people, maybe a good majority couldn't name a Michael Jackson song except "Thriller" if their life depended on it. Just as Ciccone tried to pass herself off as an avatar of the blonde bombshells of the forties and fifites, Jackson tried for the flaming mantle of Elvis and the other Adonises of that age. But no soldier, you can bet, ever put Ciccone's dull centrefold on his barracks wall. And as for Elvis' mantle, Jackson got the sequins but Elvis kept the flame.
I myself may have heard around five or six of Jackson's hits: "Beat It" and "Thriller" are just about the only ones that come to mind, both more for the visuals they connote than the notes themselves. The first has our frail freak rhythmically banging on his bony crotch - typically to the ecstasy of eleven year old girls in tow with their approving mommas- while the latter comes via the elaborate staging of a movie short. The eyes have it but the ear goes hungry."Billy Jean" appears to be the hit that his present beatifiers like best. Rolling Stone spent a lot of ink praising its bass line. Jackson, alas, couldn't play bass, or any instrument as far as I know. Nor did he write the music. Maybe Rolling Stone should hold off on beatification till the bass player dies.
As for the absurd claim that he opened up the music industry to black performers, let him try selling that to the ghosts of Ray Charles and dozens of other famous blacks right back to Scott Joplin. They'll tell him to beat it.
Jackson will be remembered more for his dancing and sartorial grandiloquence than for his singing. His voice was as skinny feminine as his frame - one of the reasons he couldn't hold the young males in his contemporary audience who typically looked upon him with bewilderment or hostility- and none of his hits ever rivaled in either tonal or emotional range those of the three universals listed above. Compare him to Elvis, who could, in his prime, span two octaves and a bit more, and whose baritone notes could be as smoky as his tenors were fiery, and you'll see Jackson for the clown prince he really was. Will there be Jackson impersonators thirty years from now? Only in freak shows.
Great singers don't grab their crotch, they grab us, body and soul. May Jackson's own rest in peace.

Saturday, 27 June 2009

The Art of War

Aesthetically speaking, it is perhaps the most beautiful emblem in all vexillology. Form and figure appear unified in an almost divine simplicity of perception. And then there's the color: sky blue, nature's own ensign of peace. It's a triumph of art and a manifesto of faith. It uses basic geometry to suggest a kaleidoscope of kinesis. It charms the eye of a child while it evokes the most ancient of histories. It's the state flag of Israel and it's a thing of a beauty.
Between the picture and the practice, alas, falls the shadow. Recent history has dimmed the Zionist's pristine perspective. Painful associations cloud its clean design.
The azure bars that may have been meant for the spans of sea and sky have come to stand for walls instead. Everything looks boxed in, hopeless and closed. The triangles are cells, interlocking and bafflingly contrived. They imprison the eyes. Each of the six starry points now bristle like lance heads stabbing at Israel's six borders, at Lebanon, Syria, Egypt, Jordan, the Gulf of Aqaba (and across to Saudi Arabia), and of course the Mediterranean to the West and on into the very heart of America seven thousand miles away. Some now see barbed wire in its serrations, others a terrorist's spiked wheel. The star might better typify Goliath's armor than David's heroic stone. And then there's the color. We look at the blue but the blue turns red, nature's own brutal primer.
Now comes the final tergiversation. The "disassembling" star, to use a famous Bushism,
comes apart, turns black and reconnects as the most feared and hated motif in history, a swastika, the Nazi ensign of terror, now the great spider of Zion.

Friday, 19 June 2009

Black Ops and the Velvet Tarbaby

If anything should convince us that the US is in for a long term economic decline, despite the "green shoots" that are sprouting up in the fantasy sections of business mags, it is the avidity with which many Americans are calling for intervention in Iran. Just when the green stuff is becoming notoriously scarce, these fools can think of nothing else but throwing what little of it they have left on the so-called "green revolution" playing itself out in Tehran. I know the Yanks pride themselves on their eternal innocence, much like the wizened old whore who still dresses like a rural ingenue, but this refusal to ever learn anything from past errors is getting downright obscene. Have they no shame? Can the span of thirty years be enough to erase the memory of that great comeuppance of the "Great Satan?" Have they forgotten the humiliation, the impotence, the utter prostrating paralysis of that time? Or is the case exactly the opposite? They do remember, all too well!
After Jimmy Carter left to assume the role of wandering Jew in search of second term redemption, Reagan came on like the Kool Ade kid with a fix for anyone with a monkey -or a Mullah- on his back. Nothing like a huge twenty year draft of LSD, liberty soaked delirium, to make them forget it ever happened.
But the party's over, as they say, and now the bitter memories are seeping back in to collective consciousness. It's time for revenge and vindication. Bring on the black ops and the green puppets! The velvet convolution is at hand! America's favorite tar baby just got a new look, the preferred shade of innocence, envy and old whores. Take your pick, America.
In every big Western city you run into the Iranian, or as they might prefer to call themselves, Persian, expatriates and their offspring. By and large these are the Pahlavi crowd that lost out to the Mullahs in 79. Pahlavi's royal son, in fact, has become the most prominent mouthpiece for the so-called velvet revolution now putatively underway in Iran. And by and large they are decent human beings. Nonetheless, their political lineage leaves much to be desired. While Savak disappeared their fellow Iranians, they looked the other way. While the CIA wooed and cajoled them, they went along for the ride. While the Ayatollah thundered from Paris, they laughed and let the good times roll. But when the heads started rolling they ran like rabbits to Europe, Australia and North America, where their swollen wallets and devotion to Western icons like the holy Profit bought them easy entry. Now you find them, or rather their grown children, on summer weekends holding rallies and demonstrations, as they do on the steps of Vancouver's old CourtHouse, for the cause, for fatherland and for "freedom." But just try engaging them in a constructive dialogue about the Shah's shameless legacy and you'll discover how deep their devotion to Western freedom really goes: about as deep as the green silk wrapped around their sun tanned necks. After all, if you really are determined to alter the course of your nation's destiny, running away to the safe haven of the affluent West should not be your first option. If these million odd "refugees" had stayed in Iran, who knows but that their steadfast if muted opposition would not have long since made a big difference in that country's evolving polity. Their votes in the recent election might have been enough to oust Ahmadinejad - legitimately, I mean, rather than in the hypothetical victory claimed by the protesters. Not that that means very much in itself: the president is merely the Mullah's mouthpiece, as we should all know by now. Nevertheless, at the very least, the expats' swelling numbers and love of the green stuff could have filled out the CIA's black ops destabilization plan started in 07 to real effect. Now that's what I'd call real loyalty!

Saturday, 16 May 2009

Comments and Comminations

Here are some of my recent forum postings and emails around the web, offered in lieu of longer pieces which lack of time prevents me from submitting.

Letter to LA Times re: movie review:
" 'The Stoning of Soraya M.' vividly depicts the violent execution of a woman condemned by religion distorted." Oh yeah? Where's the distortion? In fact, stoning is a literal and faithful adherence to Koranic and Hadithic imperatives. And then for good equivocating measure the LA Times adds, " the film recalls evils perpetrated in the name of Christianity and other organized religions as well." Right! Now we've got it: all religions are like this! In fact the founder of Christianity saved a woman from stoning! But let's not allow that insignificant factoid to interfere with weasel journalism's higher mission of ecumenical distortion, where they always emphasize that Islam is a religion of peace. How do they know? George Bush tells them so.

On a forum about the world's worst religion wherein the author argued that humanism was in fact the prize winner:
Humanism is not a religion, except in an extended or metaphorical sense. By definition it does not enjoin one to a belief in a supreme being. Religions draw down our condemnation not so much because of the heinous acts they may perpetrate, since nations at war have caused commensurable havoc without censure, but rather because of the inconsistency of such acts with a belief in a superior moral presence. Were Nazism or Stalinism acting inconsistently when they carried out programs of mass murder? They were not. Therefore any recrimination against them begs the issue of whether in fact they are or are not "true" belief systems. A religion's criminal actions, however, always stand in implicit contradiction with its foundation belief in divine goodness and mercy. Hence ISLAM is the worst religion, since its practice of coerced conversion and execution of nonbelievers not only excites our abhorrence of murder but also impinges on our fundamental belief in the inviolability of the God-ordained human conscience.

On a piece by Thomas Fleming in Chronicles which misquotes the Washington Post: "Actually, I believe the Post’s headline was, “He came, he SPOKE, he conquered.” [emphasis added] Remember that, according to the media, this man’s prowess is always verbal, never martial. Caesar’s legacy is evoked only to be eclipsed by that of their even greater word-wielding emperor. Swords are so 2nd amendment, don’t you know? - except when it comes to the unborn child: then Obama can cut and thrust with the best of them! "

On a story about the oldest U.S. soldier, a Viet Nam vet and widower, to die in Iraq: "At sixty a symbol, perhaps, of America herself: the aging and intransigent policeman of the world, no longer attached to the late Lady Liberty, but footloose, alone and purposeless, waiting for the ineluctable blast from a younger, more agile challenger that must finally illuminate the meaning of all those past sacrifices. RIP."

To Pat Boone's recent post dismissing the torture brief against the U.S. (following his disingenuous comment that "the Bible directs all of us to 'pray for all those in authority,' "): " and the Bible (also) directs us to ... love thy neighbor as thyself. And your Constitution (Article 1 Section 9) directs you to regard the accused as innocent until proven guilty. And your conscience should direct you to stop justifying these patently brutish policies with the dubious claim of "saving American lives." Are American lives worth sacrificing America herself for, Mr. Boone?

Re: Pat Buchanan's Human Events article praising Dick Cheney's defiance of the Obabma White House : "Our usually pertinent student of history, Mr. Buchanan, appears to be unaccountably playing hooky on this one. Why, he might have asked, isn't the "courageous" Mr. Cheney out on the hunting ranch, maiming innocent attorneys to his heart's content, instead of consuming his retirement years in playing gadfly to Obama and masquerading as the conscience of the GOP? Because he's worried sick about his legacy, stained with the blood - and water - of Abu Grahib and Guantanamo, that's why! His behavior is not that of someone confident in the legality of his actions but of someone clearly at pains to justify the unjustifiable. Rejecting the label of torturer but justifying the extraordinariness of the techniques he initiated as "savers of lives," Cheney is caught in the meshes of the old axiom that the victors write the war's history. His customary apoplexy and bristling impatience with his detractors don't strike me as being unashamed but just plain shameless. Not that any intelligent person shouldn't have foreseen it all, but then again, these fools never could see past what they wanted to see."

After reading a CBC story about Skytrain pickpockets: "People seeking a photo of the felon [as some were] shouldn't hold their breath. For one thing it's becoming rare for the newsies to actually have anyone on the beat taking pictures anymore, internet revenues being what they are. It's cheaper (and safer) for the press just to pass on the barebones police release verbatim. Secondly, as someone above has already hinted, if the perp belongs to a minority group the cops won't go there out of fear of drawing imputations of racism. But take comfort in knowing that the same people doing all the non-reporting will also be juggling the stats that demonstrate how, contrary to our perception of Skytrain as a Robbers Express, crime and violence are perpetually on the decline in Canada! Welcome to our craven new Trudeauorwellian world where only those conversant with the code understand what's actually happening out there!"

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

The Belief that Dare Not Speak its Name

Just when creepy Perez Hilton thought it was safe to go back into the bathhouse, up rises Carrie Prejean like Botticellis' Venus from the waves and kicks his diaper. This beautiful girl with the fiery spirit, who was dragged through the mud over the last three weeks by the usual liberal pitch bitches, male and female, was standing tall* today as she won the endorsement of her "owner," so to speak, Donald Trump. Trump keeps reiterating the idea that other notable people, such as Barack Obama, share Prejean's point of view on traditional marriage. Prejean herself, however, emphasizes the real issue here: not whether her opinion is "right" but that it is her honest opinion and she has every right to express it without being vilified as somehow un-American. If the pageant has a homosexual test oath in place it should make it open and official, rather than the secret credo that a devious self-styled queen like Hilton (real name:Mario Armando Lavandeira) can use to trap and humiliate the naive recusants who stand before him in the modern American equivalent of a star chamber trial.
Lots of tripe being penned about these pageants, mostly on the negative, by the mainstream hacks, mostly from the spindle side, and almost all of it worthless. A beautiful young woman is really a flag to her tribe, her race, her world, of the progenitive power. The lovely girl holds the promise not just of sexual allure, but through that allure the greater promise of children and family and motherhood. And through all these the continuity of life and nation. A beauty pageant, traditionally on display at the fairs and arenas of the community, was a celebration of sexual allure integrated into the overall cycle of life. Hence Prejean merely expressed what is at base the original if unacknowledged inspiration of the pageant itself when she rejected homosexual "marriage." As it is, the liberal's quarrel with Ms Prejean would be better directed at Shakespeare, himself of somewhat fluid sexuality, who famously wrote in his eleventh sonnet: "If all were minded so, the times should cease, and three score year would make the world away." A gay prospect, indeed!
Only with the advent of feminism and its freakish brood of abortion and homosexualism and careerism, did these pageants come to be seen as something suspect and insulting to women, putting the contestants perpetually on the defensive. But as we saw three weeks ago, the most grievous insult of all was for beauty to submit to the cold and sterile gaze that regards her charms not with the ardour of a potential suitor, lover, or husband, but rather as a competitor who sees only an enemy to be discredited and destroyed. This insult is built right into the process when a cockroach like Lavandeira is allowed to sit on the panel. In the end, thankfully, it was he who was put on the defensive. Against the ineluctable right of life itself, gay rights are as so much winter chaff before the gales of spring: blown, baby!
Is it not strange how our hierophants of taste among the gelded press priests are always affecting a high regard for the primitive and the earthen and yet are always trying to set enmity between fruit and flower, always the quickest to sneer whenever the elemental connexions of sex, birth and marriage are invoked by traditionalists? Strange? Why, it's downright queer!
If the pageant had any real integrity, never mind sexiness, its emblem would be a Botticelli painting and its theme music would be either Beethoven's Seventh Symphony or Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. Alas, this year the sacrifice of the maiden almost went to the powers of darkness instead of life.
*Not quite as tall as seen above, however: I had to stretch her to get the pic to stay in place! Also: apologies for the red star: I couldn't censor, i.e., brush out, try as I might, the censor at TMZ, which I take it is short for The Moralist's Zone.

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-That's all folks!

Can Christianity rise from the dead? Every year the interment of this once "universal faith" seems more settled, permanent and, in retrospect, inevitable. The resurrection myth, once a given across the entire culture, is becoming almost too embarrassing to even rehearse in the mainstream media. The notion that Jesus somehow walked away from the tomb and then flew away to heaven is quite literally becoming the stuff of cartoons. It makes the Easter bunny look like promising ethology by comparison.
All religions are problematic, making claims of unseeable, unprovable agencies operating in an all too material world. But the claims of Christianity add insult to injury against the reasoning mind, entailing the acceptance not just of a supreme being and his plan for what usually looks like a pretty god awful creation, but of an entirely new and improved "consubstantial" being who "came down" to earth to be crucified for our sins etc. Next to these abstractions and elaborations it is not hard to fathom the appeal of Islam to the ignorant and unreflective masses of the third world.
Granted the purported facts of Jesus's divinity have been long since nailed to the cross of science and logic, then what about the moral life which he espoused and which still animates and underpins the law and customs of the West, and by sheer force of history, the entire world? Kant taught that the moral intuition led to God ("The starry heavens above and the moral law within."), reversing the traditional or rather Judaic, theological compass. The reformation however, and in particular the bizarre doctrine of justification by faith which it spawned, has confused and confounded the traditional moral poles of Christianity, at least in the variety practiced in that "most religious of nations," the USA. The notion that by dint of some completely passive and arbitrary "born again" Jesus Hendrix Experience I'm going straight to heaven after death, no matter the works I've done, or rather failed to do, has to rank among the all-time most absurd and most iniquitous ideas ever broached by the fallen mind of man. Not only does it contradict every moral impulse in the natural breast of humanity, it implicitly spits in the face of Jesus himself. Hardly a page in the Gospels doesn't find the Son of Man declaring in effect, Do these things (i.e. charitable works) or I disown you. Even the so-called Lord's Prayer spells it out: forgive us trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Being "born again" helped George Bush get into the White House. If we can believe Jesus, however, it just as certainly reserved him a prime spot in hell.
In cultural and institutional terms, in art, law and basic societal expectations, Jesus remains Our Lord, whether we acknowledge Him or not. Obama's dismissal of the still preeminent Christian nature of his nation demonstrates what a sadly literal mind he really has. As the old faith fades, and as human beings seem more resigned to the belief that this life is all there is, thinking people should have two qualms: the rise of something sinister in its place and the void of moral anarchy if nothing supersedes it. The shadow of Islam now spreading across Europe, on the one hand, and the chaos of iconoclasm beginning to engulf America, on the other, suggest that, after all, Armageddon may be the only true and verifiable prophecy in the whole Bible. To which I say, God help us all!
Happy Easter.

Saturday, 31 January 2009

The Gardener

I looked into the Crusades and redrew all the maps,
I challenged China's claim she suffered under the Japs,
I threw the Indian's storied battles into doubt,
And found the starving Russians' stats were somewhat out;
History was a garden, mine to prune and weed:
Grafts against the roots, and fruit against the seed;
But when I set to Holocaust my humble hoe,
I learned there are some plots where thought must never go,
And that scholar's zeal nor curiosity,
Should touch one leaf of that Forbidden Tree.

Friday, 30 January 2009

Canadung Strikes Again: Judge don't!

"Penny Boudreau was sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole for 20 years. She can apply for parole after 15 years under the so-called faint-hope clause." Here we go again, outhouse justice in the land of strangled kids and throttled english. This monstrous "mother" who chose to garrote her little girl rather than give up her fuck friend, gets "life," that is to say, twenty years, which is actually fifteen years which may in reality become who knows how many years. Her daughter was 12, with perhaps another six or seven decades of life to enjoy, while the 34 year old "mom" could be out before she's even turned fifty, thanks to the notorious "faint hope clause." Was there ever a hope more faint than this child's own as she cried out under her heartless parent's onslaught, "Mommy don't?"
      Meanwhile the ongoing farce of the Ellard case just got another supplement of absurdity with yet another appeal granted to the defendant. Trial #4 is now in the works. Will this bitch from hell ever be punished? Will justice ever prevail in Canadung? Faint hope indeed!