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It could happen, you know. And it wouldn’t necessitate people taking to the streets, only to be arrested as terrorists, courtesy of some newfangled “law” pulled out of the Man’s hat-trick. And what if enough people dreamed the same dream and one day thousands upon thousands upon millions started telling it as it really is and describing the real reality? And they all cancelled their FaceFuckingBook, and Amazon, and Tick-tock, and Google accounts and so on? Oh, all right...Pigs will fly; but a girl can dream, innit? (Indeed, she must!) ‘ere, ‘ave another link to something fairly relevant to this rant: quantumdialectics.blog/2025/01/30/molecular-level-social-transformation-in-antonio-gramscis-thought-a-quantum-dialectical-perspective And for the Spanish speakers: elpais.com/opinion/2025-08-15/una-transformacion-molecular-hacia-el-canibalismo.html Have a spiffing weekend. And an inspirational quote. Love and subatomic particles. XXX I could be the catalyst that sparks the Revolution. I could be an inmate in a long-term institution. I could dream to wild extremes, I could do or die. I could yawn and be withdrawn and watch the world go by. What a waste. Ian Dury

I am entirely with the birdies. On the other hand… Have a butchers at this post: www.craigmurray.org.uk/archives/2026/03/seeing-trump-clearly Of course my (and the birdies’) point of view and Craig’s analysis are not incompatible. After all this kind of corrupt, evil “intelligence” is but another aspect of both stupidity and madness. And yes, possibly he is toast but, Bumba forfend!, it’ll be only to get something worse, like J. D. Vance. Oh, we are so fucked. Still: resist, bite, love, laugh, take the piss of all the pomposity currently doing the rounds. And stay sane, mi raccomando!

Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light. - Groucho Marx PS. I have been very erratic both in my uploading and my following me mates here. Won't bore you with otherwise perfectly good reasons but I can neither apologize for things totally out of my control. Just hope I'll be a good little Terminator and soon-soon ... I'll be back. :-) Stay sane. XXX

Another bit of long-distance synchronicity: I am free of all prejudices. I hate every one equally. - Groucho Marx

For a nice bit of synchronicity. You can know that everything around you points to the fact that your struggle for justice, maybe your entire life, has been futile. But this doesn’t invalidate what you have done. Chis Hedges (again)

Grace. Wonderful thing. Getting scarcer by the day but, amazingly, still around. Now and then one comes across it. Whoopy.

Emiliano is back, once more onto the breach, me old muckers. Here he can be seen instructing a defecting offspring of the Cyclopic Slug Beast of Screech, recently gone over to the ranks of the Free-floating Intergalactic Anarchist Siblinghood. The lesson for the day is: Question! Questioning is dissenting. Dissension is rebellion. Rebellion is good. Nay, indispensable, otherwise we’re totally fucked. Rebellion...should be our natural state. Chris Hedges

No comment. Not necessary, useful or even expedient. “They” will keep on doing whatever They want, whenever They like and in any manner, no matter how vile and hideous They fancy. And nobody else is going to say Boo! because everybody else is a bunch of abject big girl’s blouses with as much spine and guts as a newly-split amoeba -except, to some extent, don Pedrito (Sanchez), who might very well pay dearly for his dissenting chutzpah. Bumba, gimme strength...

This is, allegedly, for the original poor old Guernica of yore but by extension for today’s every poor bugger harassed, oppressed, vexed, battered, kidnapped, taken over, confiscated, forcibly democratized, colonized, assassinated, often mass-massacred and even genocided to Kingdom Come by the Evil System -no longer an Empire but a mere cog in the Macchina Diabolica of this Latter Days Crapitalist Grand Guignol. May the tutelary Dryad protect us all. Bumba knows we are in great need of protection, since we seem unable to defend ourselves from bullies, ghosties, long tentacled thingies and things that go Trump in the Dark Night of the Soul (to paraphrase my compadre don Ricardo).

Aka Brief Encounter XIV. You cannot have too many piss-takings of that most godawful “English Treasure” so here’s another one. Behold! In the jolly forest of the blooming ferns Mimi, the fragrant eight-legged caterpillar, indigenous to the forest, has bumped into Manolito, the Hardy Perennial Alien. Mimi, who absolutely loves novelty, oddities and aliens is startled and delighted. Manolito is weary; not by nature but by experience. He’s not universally welcome, especially since he wears his alienness not on his sleeve but brazenly on the front of his t-shirt. Not to worry. Mimi will make Manolito feel at home with offers of chamber music, green tea and sponge cake. Love happy endings.

I rest my case. 2026 will be anything but happy. Ask the Venezuelans if you have any doubts. Or the poor Greenlanders. Or Mexico, or Colombia or… Andorra? Who can tell what’s on the mentally retarded mind of this ageing infant? The only bright spark I can think of in the midsts of this latest repulsive Grand Guignol is (and that’s only pure schadenfreude, which is not nice…) is the massive snub from said baby-psycho to that half-wit Nobel Peace Prize recipient who, obviously not content with this unrestricted public humiliation is now, in a prodigious display of masochistic cocksuckery, offering to share said chaffy piece of paper with him. Ah, well… Keep biting, my friends, keep biting. Love and fangs.

Belatedly... As usual, the chances that it will be a good, let alone a happy one are practically nil. Still, we resist, we bite, we make of ourselves the greatest possible nuisance and we keep Becketting on regardless and with an incandescent will. Love, ferrets and a cute quote! Al cabo de unos años o unos meses el viejo problema revienta los remiendos, provoca una crisis y el partido a la sazón relegado sustituye al que le sustituyó. Y por la misma causa. No sé de un solo gobierno que haya resuelto un problema serio: siempre caen, pero no les preocupa porque sus sucesores también caerán. (After a few years or a few months the old problem ruptures the patches, causes a crisis and the party formerly relegated replaces the one who replaced it. And for the same reason. I don’t know of a single government that has solved a serious problem: they always fall, but they don’t mind because their successors will fall too.) Eduardo Mendoza.

Solstice soon come. Have a spiffing one and go along with the Rugose Imp who thinks that a Solstice is as good as a Summer. I’m in no mood to argue the toss with It. At the moment I can do with a wee dose of optimism, no matter how misguided.

To paraphrase, probably misquote and possibly misconstrue Adorno’s quote on laughter, here’s what the Swineherd of Tindalos (plus attendant piggies) has to say to the two dancing black thingummybobs: Because there’s noting to dance about...dance, dance, dance! The two dancing black thingummybobs have given up on their erstwhile plan to re-designate themselves as a single white male accountant as a really daft idea. Bully for them.

Remember Remember. For them and for every other “unworthy” victims of the insanity that seems to rule the world, with no end in sight.

Reflections2. My advice: be wary of allowing your mirror to talk to strange itinerant mirrors. Things can get truly disorienting, not to say irritating.

Savvy Lizards. There is a witty and chillingly accurate saying doing the rounds at the moment (but no enough and not widely undisputed, worse luck) about the so-called ceasefire: You cease, we fire. Indeed. Quote for the day. A policy should never be based on the extermination of the adversary; not only because -and this is a lot to say- it is morally an abomination, but because it is materially unfeasible. And the blood unjustly spilled by the hatred that seeks to exterminate will be reborn, sprouting and giving accursed fruits; a curse that will not be restricted, unfortunately, to those who spiled the blood, but which will be over the very country which -to compound its misfortune- absorbed it. Manuel Azaña

Odd Cagnolito. The story so far. A young mutant Cagnolito (formerly of Tindalos Prime) crossing a dicey forest in the Vacillating Shift is suddenly accosted by one of the local talents, the Mafioso Wooden Poppet, with verbose promises of protection from nebulous perils and other equally vague extra-curricular risks. Matilda, on a break from minding Bonny Brown Bunny and doubling here as a spirit guide and paranormal cicerone to the adventurous canine, is counselling the youngster to ignore the overtures of the woody chappie, in part because said offers and threats are mostly hot air and in part because the ligneous laddie is so scatterbrained that he may start trying for intimidation and then switch, for no reason at all, to advice on the best inns, youth hostels, cocktail bars, discos, free swimming pools, restaurants, tapas bars and beauty parlours in the region. Well, that’s the Vacillating Shift for you, innit. Consistency is a word that even if It looked it up in the dictionary it still wouldn’t make sense to It, poor dear. By the way, if you ever find yourself travelling in this most perplexing of districts, I can recommend the Inn of the Seventeen Boons. It’s cheap, cheerful, the sheets are spotless, the food scrumptious and the landlady’s a good friend of mine, so a bit of name-dropping will get you a few free drinks as well.