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Here’s a little something, a sort of political tapas to keep us entertained until the new year, which won’t be so new after all, more like a dreary continuation, the Chapter 3,273 of the same old shit we’ve been getting from our beloved leaders and attached retinue of leeches, social psychologists, tame scientists, Guardian analysts and so on. Up the R-Evolution! Give ‘em hell! Kick Them where it hurts. Kill all the Dead Myths! The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living. Karl Marx. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. Karl Marx 1852

Drink 8 glasses of water a day! Do not drink 8 glasses of water a day! Eat your greens! Eat nothing but red meat! Be an individual! Do as you’re told! Question everything! Never ask inconvenient questions! Be free! Slavery’s great! Have sex! Do not have sex. Be a rebel! Comply!… And thus ad infinitum and ad nauseam. No wonder the world is in such a pickle. And the worst of all this wholesale crap is that this confusion-spreading carnival is totally, consciously, socially engineered in supreme bad faith. And if you don’t believe me...have another, deeper look around. Have a magnificent life. (Only joking. This has now been declared virtually impossible. But, once more, it’s the thought that counts.)

Have a sponditious Solstice, do. I agree, there are hardly any reasons to be cheerful. It’s perishing cold and utterly miserable out there, what with the political Pestilence, and the Russki-Hysteria and the BBC anti-strikes propaganda and all… But it’s the thought that counts, dontyouknow. Stay warm, stubborn and, if at all possible, awkward. Love and Blobs. PS. And don't forget to thank the Sun for its kind indifference to our welfare and, therefore, returning to us just because that's what the Sun does. (Me, in it's place, I would have given up and gone nova a long while ago. Roughly at the time the Nobel mafia gave the Peace Prize to Henry Kissinger...)

The levels of idiocy, incompetence and bad faith are reaching heights never seen before. It’s like the world is run by a small but very vocal (shrill, more like it…) bunch of utterly demented morons who can’t think of anything better to spew than absurdities that an infant in its cradle wouldn’t believe -but “adults” do, worse luck. And that’s what the small Wormy Birds are expressing to their mates, the Floating Spinning Roulettes. The FSRs totally agree. Keep warm, keep sane, compete with the cows and fart to your way into happiness.

It’ as I say all the time, even ad nauseam: if you’re lucky enough to have any friends, love them and cherish them and be good to them. They will not be around forever; like everything else, they are here today and poof! gone tomorrow. Have a nice life.

‘ere, ‘ave a fierce winter beastie, a bunch of flores para los muertos and an incandescent graphically modified clipart monster. Follow the croc’s advice. Ignore Holy Market Orthodoxy. Refuse to buy into the flimflam peddled by the Pieties Industrial Complex. Be nice to your neighbour, even if you don’t like him all that much; even if he’s Russian, look you! Be a pest. And remember, all not is either lost or even totally hopeless. Behold! even the dire Amazon is plunging. And that pratt Elon Musk might yet succeed in imploding Twitter. Olé! With a bit of luck I might live long enough to witness the utter demise of Facebook & all… Oh, well...a girl can dream, can’t she? Love and chilled vodka.

The dark season approaches; soon the clocks will go back. Light tumbles. Darkness engulfs all. Oh woe. We thought the political pantomime couldn’t get any more pathetic but guess what? it did. And it’s not over yet. Bumba alone knows where all this is going to end. Never mind. Tie yourselves up to the mast and sail away from the rocks, the rapids and the temptations of Best-Selling Wisdom. You’ll need to make your own light, though, for if you rely on the regular state-sanctioned channels to tell you what is really going on you'll only get deeper into the stranglehold of the pitch-black pit of orthodoxy than you ever though possible. Moreover, never forget that once you loose your soul’s eyes for good it’s nearly impossible to retrieve them by painless means. Or even in very painful ways, sometimes... Have a radiant week. They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness. John Milton

They put your mind right into a bag, and they take it wherever they want. Malcolm X In contrast to the Kantian, the categorical imperative of the culture industry no longer has anything in common with freedom. It proclaims: you shall conform, without instruction as to what; conform to that which exists anyway as a reflex of its power and omnipresence. The power of the culture industry’s ideology is such that conformity has replaced consciousness. Theodore Adorno

As we regress from clown to clown This one will bring us all to ground Do no fret, Britain, do not frown Embrace the Hell and the Hellhound. Be happy, clappy and eat shit brown. Really folks, don’t even bother kvetching. It’s done. And don’t imagine even for a moment that young Rishi wouldn't have been any better. It’s called Entropy, see. A cada bugada es perd un llencol, said The Poet. He was spot on; poets often are. Never mind. Go with Mehitabel and enjoy whatever life, of whatever kind, you may have left. Have some more pop poetry: Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one. And un’po’ di totally For The Hell of It mu’: www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7ow6ge5BBw

This is a kind of collective birthday card/memo (a salutary reminder, lest we forget) for, in no particular order, Pakistan, myself, India in her present form, anyone who thinks they need reminding of certain facts of life and poor old recently-stabbed Salman Rushdie, whose quotation the lapidary lady is throwing at the howling night winds. Have a splendiferous rest of the week. Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell tonight? Whom else from rapture's road will you expel tonight? Agha Shahid Ali And in case you’re in the mood for some totally spiffing un po’ di mu’: www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYxN_4i_mOA PS. This is also, in a sort of roundabout sneaky way, for my mate “Yazz”, gone from the Iper.sphere and somewhat unintentionally neglected but by no means forgotten, no way.

Listen to the tiny rodent's advice. Life is too short to waste on, say, identity politics, or blaming Putin for the heat wave, or discussing the relative merits of Grossly-Richy Sunak v Lizz Trussed-In-Knots. Have a fab weekend and un po’ di tangentially relevant and endearingly frivolous mu’ from my dearly departed. www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzTQkd7ttIo

Sometimes more is more. Two chubby chappies for the price of one. Lovely. Two Snakes of Tindalos. Groovy! Two Bulky Ancestors… well, that’s beyond spiffingness, innit. As to hypothetical doubles...just imagine: two Vladimir Putins (not ideal strictly speaking but, boy, would that annoy all the bien pensants and all the pious bovines out there!). Stay cool and sane.

It’s as the cat says. No point. Waste of time. No matter how right your question is if it doesn't suit Them and their servile media to answer it, or, more to the point, answer it truthfully, then They won’t. And there's little point in seeking answers elsewhere (and there are plenty of trustworthy “wheres” out there, believe me). You’ll only end up with a lot of righteously groovy answers and … nowhere to go with them. Have a sponditious week.

(New Series: Bottled Messages. No.1.) I have always dreamed of finding a message in a bottle. Two days ago I found one. In the rain water bucket outside my garden door. It came in a double bottle, look you. And a very good message it was, too. Unfortunately I can’t share it with you because a postscript informed me that it was creature-specific and extremely classified, very hush-hush. Too bad. So I’m posting a picture of the vessels and of Bubbles and BoomBoom in enraptured contemplation of the containers. You may say hello to Bubbles and BoomBoom. They always welcome cheery words and so on. You may also send them Smarties. They’d like that VERY much. Have a grand weekend, stay in the shade, drink lots of water and don’t waste any worrying energy on the impending Tory leadership “election”. Just assume we’ll end up with someone even worse that Bojo. Remember: A cada bugada es perd un llençol...

This fat little beastie totemic Merry, subtle and polemic Has witchings and jujus aplenty Because of his modus vivendi: Batty, gainly and ecumenic. This plump little creature sublime, A totem who’s now in his prime, Has magic and purges galore That will thrill and shake your core And rid you of all mental grime. (This chubby organism totemic Is trying to start a pandemic Of sweet rebel anarchism Even if that means a schism With some pompous academic.)

Pick a point. Any point. Make it a good one, though; one with brass knobs on and attendant dancing fireflies. Argue it clearly, cogently and free of jargon. Back your evidence with forensic precision and solid, easily provable facts. Put some passion into your delivery but don’t drift into messianic hysteria. There. You’ll have been wasting your time and breath. For if your argument runs contrary to the mainstream doctrine, the prevailing Group-Thought of the moment, it could be delivered by God himself, on an all-channels prime-time TV stunt and still it wouldn’t cut any ice with either Joe Public or with the Masters of the Universe (aka Them). Because if the Good Shepherds say that Covid-19 was worse than all the plages of Egypt put together, or that Putin, personally, poisoned the Skripals and invaded Ukraine just for the Hell of it, or that we live in a democracy, then that’s what the WeThePeople will believe and bleat back at you and to anyone else foolish enough to back you up. And you’ll be called all sort of unpleasant names into the bargain. And in some cases burnt at the stake on the local Common. Now you know. Have a spiffing life.

Stardust. or How We All Go Back to the Same Place Sooner or Latter. Which is indeed better than a slap in the face with the proverbial wet kipper. Also, vastly unfair, seen from the perspective of this here & now perishable flesh. I mean, is it seemly than Henry Kissinger ’s subatomic particles should have the same fate as my own? No, not really. Fortunately Nature and the laws of physics know nothing (and care even less) about fairness, or decorum or such petty human matters. There. Have a splendiferous week. (And stay sane, for Bumba’s sake. The psychopathy levels are on the rise and rise and rise.)

No rant necessary. The Tadpoles and the GMCA racoon have got it spot on. However, sometimes there’s news out there that can still raise a smile...of despair. Look!: boriquagato.substack.com/p/kitten-corner-the-rubber-room-gang?token=eyJ1c2VyX2lkIjo4MDQ1OTgxNSwicG9zdF9pZCI6NTY5NTI3NTEsIl8iOiJCaDlkeiIsImlhdCI6MTY1MzgzNTU5OCwiZXhwIjoxNjUzODM5MTk4LCJpc3MiOiJwdWItMzIzOTE0Iiwic3ViIjoicG9zdC1yZWFjdGlvbiJ9.wykv898_FPWWQU1VIK1amQ9DYrX1manUS9evUfDYndw&s=r And: duckduckgo.com/?q=youtube%2C+do+do+the+monkey+do&t=newext&iax=videos&ia=videos&iai=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D10OCBNR8L0Y (Do it before the Antarctic shelves collapse totally and with them the penguins.) The world in Their hands. Dear, oh dear… Never mind. Up Mehitabel! Keep on smiling, resisting, biting, irritating and making like difficult for Them. Beware of money business and have sponditious week, do. Love and lemon frappé.