Globally many don't.
For your luxury to exist thousands will have perished.
That is what we do- balance the books and blame God.' CM
'My exhaustive foray into contacting literary agents, faux or otherwise, setting out their stall on FB has proven fruitless. Not the least surprising.
A paltry few had the very good grace to REPLY and I, because I am a native communicator and a gentleman, have thanked them personally for that despite the fact that NONE of those seemed to understand what a prolific literary polymath was or were abl
e to think outside their box.
The rest are clearly merely posing as literary agents. So, as ever, writer beware.
The downside of social networking is that it supports the American Church of Delusion where you are allowed to be anything that you say you are.
I can assure you that myself and my co-writer Mike Knowles are the real thing and the real deal AND we have the product and the credentials to prove it.
I shall spend some happy moments deleting the very pseudo literary agents pages from my 'likes' list- they have as much value as a cardboard lifeboat. LOL.' CM
The rest are clearly merely posing as literary agents. So, as ever, writer beware.
The downside of social networking is that it supports the American Church of Delusion where you are allowed to be anything that you say you are.
I can assure you that myself and my co-writer Mike Knowles are the real thing and the real deal AND we have the product and the credentials to prove it.
I shall spend some happy moments deleting the very pseudo literary agents pages from my 'likes' list- they have as much value as a cardboard lifeboat. LOL.' CM
'Mala'ck Ali asked me to give examples of piss poor writing.
This was my reply-
With the utmost respect, I am not given to pillory crap writers by name on social networking sites.
I would be here all day. LOL.
My preference is to let them fall on their own swords BUT so few of them do- just like those millions of would be singers who cannot keep pitch, they keep belting stuff out in some form of
ego-therapy.
The vast majority of them insist that they are right about themselves and with that, as an expert in Education, I have some sympathy. The vast majority are American. The education system there does not prepare anyone to be a failure [in a good way] at anything regardless of the challenges they face.
This is the society that impacted the 'American Dream' paradigm on every child born in the USA. "Here, if you try, you can be whatever you want to be, even the President." That is tantamount to emotional abuse.
This is the society that cannot abide coming second [losing] and so INVENTED the idiotic salving phrase "First runner-up."
It ends in tears.
The masses drink those tears with hypocritical glee on risable talent shows.' CM
The vast majority of them insist that they are right about themselves and with that, as an expert in Education, I have some sympathy. The vast majority are American. The education system there does not prepare anyone to be a failure [in a good way] at anything regardless of the challenges they face.
This is the society that impacted the 'American Dream' paradigm on every child born in the USA. "Here, if you try, you can be whatever you want to be, even the President." That is tantamount to emotional abuse.
This is the society that cannot abide coming second [losing] and so INVENTED the idiotic salving phrase "First runner-up."
It ends in tears.
The masses drink those tears with hypocritical glee on risable talent shows.' CM
'Niada Envy suggested that someone, maybe, is a 'poet' but never has had the chance to realise it and, furthermore, to express it.
This was my reply to her: for some IT capable people with palpable literary talent, social networks may prove to be a boon BUT for others the content they confront, being so often shallow, very poor and shallowly eulogised over, may cause them to abandon a modern day
literary career where it is made very clear that self-validation is of the essence.
This is not at all constructive. It is in fact an appalling highjacking of the highest of the all of the creative expressive art forms by a vast number of hobbyist writers who are good at sentiment, patriotism and shopping lists. You can see from their content how widely read they are, how widely travelled, how well educated they are, how penetrative is their understanding of the intimate and global human condition- pretty much way less than average. Certainly not the required standard for creative writing- low-brow tabloid journalism maybe.' CM
This is not at all constructive. It is in fact an appalling highjacking of the highest of the all of the creative expressive art forms by a vast number of hobbyist writers who are good at sentiment, patriotism and shopping lists. You can see from their content how widely read they are, how widely travelled, how well educated they are, how penetrative is their understanding of the intimate and global human condition- pretty much way less than average. Certainly not the required standard for creative writing- low-brow tabloid journalism maybe.' CM
'1] Oh dear. Oh very very dear. Psycho Simon Cowell: what a howl employing the 'services' of Khloe Kardashian- no discernible talent, dressed like a plump sofa in blue leather. Yes it was the utterly sexless American X-Factor.
2] Oh cheerless dear. Fear cometh! Almost that time of the year when the shits go wild for 'Hypocritimass'. Best name I've ever found for it.
Get original and go your own w
ay.
There is something to be said for partying to cheer the end of the dark days and the beginning of the lighter ones- 'The Winter Solstice'.
I am waiting for the pagan to become street [sidewalk] again.
And be suspicious of Santas- great cover for a paedo!!
'Sit on my lap little boy/girl. No! That's Santa's hard cell-phone and its on vibrate. Great! Now- sweets or puppies? Come into my grotto...'
It's a double dip recession- make something or bake something and wrap it in white paper you have decorated yourself.
Do not get into debt because of this vast 'Tillmass' con. You will so regret it.
I love home-made gifts EVEN the shit ones. LOL. It really is the friendly intention that counts. I'm a gardener- seeds are always welcome. LOL. Piss poor poetry makes good fire lighters. Mega LOL.' CM
There is something to be said for partying to cheer the end of the dark days and the beginning of the lighter ones- 'The Winter Solstice'.
I am waiting for the pagan to become street [sidewalk] again.
And be suspicious of Santas- great cover for a paedo!!
'Sit on my lap little boy/girl. No! That's Santa's hard cell-phone and its on vibrate. Great! Now- sweets or puppies? Come into my grotto...'
It's a double dip recession- make something or bake something and wrap it in white paper you have decorated yourself.
Do not get into debt because of this vast 'Tillmass' con. You will so regret it.
I love home-made gifts EVEN the shit ones. LOL. It really is the friendly intention that counts. I'm a gardener- seeds are always welcome. LOL. Piss poor poetry makes good fire lighters. Mega LOL.' CM
'I just ventured to read some random poetry posted on FB- big mistake, my own willful fault. I like to talent spot.
I do know most of the people on this fine network who properly make the distinction between hobbyist poetry and Poetry with a capital 'P'.
They also happen to be the people who know and accept that, classically, Poetry has always been the highest and most demanding of all the expres
sive arts. It deserves the utmost respect.
At this, the highest level of all of the expressive arts, it follows [let logic and reason prevail] that it should not be an easy thing to become accomplished at. You cannot be a Poet because you say that is what you are. The proof is in the reading
Hobbyist or diarist poetry is quite another kettle of fish. Once in a blue moon this entertains me.
On the whole though I am not the least interested in 'therapeutic' forays in creative writing and I am speaking as Editor in Chief of Paraseptic Rites- the Poetry supplement to Paraphilia.
We like content with intent, written as if your life depended on it.
The first issue is currently under review for airing in the new year.
Submissions may be made to me at madochwriter@googlemail.com Puts soap-box away. LOL.' CM
At this, the highest level of all of the expressive arts, it follows [let logic and reason prevail] that it should not be an easy thing to become accomplished at. You cannot be a Poet because you say that is what you are. The proof is in the reading
Hobbyist or diarist poetry is quite another kettle of fish. Once in a blue moon this entertains me.
On the whole though I am not the least interested in 'therapeutic' forays in creative writing and I am speaking as Editor in Chief of Paraseptic Rites- the Poetry supplement to Paraphilia.
We like content with intent, written as if your life depended on it.
The first issue is currently under review for airing in the new year.
Submissions may be made to me at madochwriter@googlemail.com Puts soap-box away. LOL.' CM
'One of my favourite wastes of time, indulged in only now and then, is the deliberate writing of an utterly pretentious piece of poetry. There are many models for me to gleefully base this aping on.
Sheer unabashed joy!
I am doing one today for the young man I mentor Kushal Poddar- whose poetry is potentially of the very highest order BUT lately he has been torturing himself by reading in ALL the wrong places and drawing comparisons.
Don't do this. Just write as if your life depended on it. Anything less then forget it.' CM
Sheer unabashed joy!
I am doing one today for the young man I mentor Kushal Poddar- whose poetry is potentially of the very highest order BUT lately he has been torturing himself by reading in ALL the wrong places and drawing comparisons.
Don't do this. Just write as if your life depended on it. Anything less then forget it.' CM
'I have photos to process before the numbers become unmanageable; the last short story of my new collection to write. All the while I am chasing after smiles with my invisible butterfly net. Caught just smirks as yet.
I have a promise list with boxes yet to tick.
I'd like to start making videos from my book Rumours From The Balcony.
Say cheese- smile. Easy as that. Preen and feature on your own si
I have a promise list with boxes yet to tick.
I'd like to start making videos from my book Rumours From The Balcony.
Say cheese- smile. Easy as that. Preen and feature on your own si
lver screen. Maybe it says I need you to love me.
Yesterday I mended an old wound from a hatchet in the back. There is no point in holding grudges. It only serves to compound the disappointment that got you there in the first place.
My fault for choosing a career whose primary weather condition is the almost constant rain of disappointments.
All those psychological umbrellas make me laugh. I wish I drank or did recreation drugs BUT I do neither. Fuck! My mind is wild enough without stimulants like that. LOL.' CM
Yesterday I mended an old wound from a hatchet in the back. There is no point in holding grudges. It only serves to compound the disappointment that got you there in the first place.
My fault for choosing a career whose primary weather condition is the almost constant rain of disappointments.
All those psychological umbrellas make me laugh. I wish I drank or did recreation drugs BUT I do neither. Fuck! My mind is wild enough without stimulants like that. LOL.' CM
'My radio woke me to an ugly chorus of bleating Republican muttons posturing as lambs afraid for their money: that an unfair share of THEIR personal wealth will be re-distributed to the disadvantaged in the USA- they mean the blacks, the gays, the anti-theists, the war veterans and the truly unfortunate poor; all of which these neo-fascist, totally self serving horrendous excuses for human beings,
would like to think do not matter or are at worst expendable.
These cnuts are the trigger happy nukers who puke up at the thought of anything ungodly within or beyond the homeland borders
If I were as utterly palpably vile as them I think I would keep quiet.
YOU LOST.
I have written to Barrack, congratulating him, as one does. LOL.
Why the fcuk is THAT news- a head of any state contacting The Pres to say "Well done the dummy in Airforce One, this is me licking your bum?" LOL.
So glad that the whole circus of back thumping God praising America hugging melodrama is finally out of here. Now deal with the massive issues in the room. They are like a whole herd of elephants- and they're very pissed off, 'cause its way past their feeding time and their zoo-keeper has been elsewhere for weeks. LOL.' CM
These cnuts are the trigger happy nukers who puke up at the thought of anything ungodly within or beyond the homeland borders
If I were as utterly palpably vile as them I think I would keep quiet.
YOU LOST.
I have written to Barrack, congratulating him, as one does. LOL.
Why the fcuk is THAT news- a head of any state contacting The Pres to say "Well done the dummy in Airforce One, this is me licking your bum?" LOL.
So glad that the whole circus of back thumping God praising America hugging melodrama is finally out of here. Now deal with the massive issues in the room. They are like a whole herd of elephants- and they're very pissed off, 'cause its way past their feeding time and their zoo-keeper has been elsewhere for weeks. LOL.' CM
'OMG! In the UK we are to be blighted by all-night exit polls from the USA with whom we have that deeply fucked up 'special relationship' [Actually both mismatched countries are using the services of Relate! Papers have been filed.].
Eager beaver reporters of all sorts will be sticking their phallic mikes in the face of the 'just voted' arse-holes of drooling Republican stools.
My hope is that t
Eager beaver reporters of all sorts will be sticking their phallic mikes in the face of the 'just voted' arse-holes of drooling Republican stools.
My hope is that t
he likes of them and all their self serving bigot shit will be making a swift exit. Must be a great day for sales of toilet tissues.
It comes on a day when part of rural India has decided to make defacating in public illegal. Wow! There's serendipity! It has long been a crime to shit in public in the States but politicians break the law in this respect all the time. LOL.' CM
It comes on a day when part of rural India has decided to make defacating in public illegal. Wow! There's serendipity! It has long been a crime to shit in public in the States but politicians break the law in this respect all the time. LOL.' CM
THE NEWS FROM MY AREA
by Chris Madoch
1
Shortly I'll be off to get the Sunday paper. The Sunday Mirror to be exact. Well, it gets me out of my high-rise low-life flat. The Sunday Mirror- it's intended to reflect our small lives back at us bigger, better. I've never been in it. But then, I'm not eighteen, a drop dead gorgeous dog with massive tits. Then again, I do have every intention of being newsworthy one day.
And that's an ominous promise.
This life is proper untreated shit, raw sewage like the Spanish farmers spray on salad crops in times of drought. You'd be amazed how many people have no idea what a farm looks like, smells like. Everything comes shrink wrapped or out of skips.Shit.Mass ignorance. There is no escaping it- the abiding, overriding stench. No matter what the fuck you throw at it.Now, they got what they call dirty nuclear bombs, well. Fuck me. That's all you need to know- bombs that blast disease willy nilly with consummate ease.Cleanliness has no more relevance. Dirt up- it's the new black.Sucking a peacock's cock in the considerably over romanticised Elizabethan age- imagine that; rolling back the grubby foreskin, liquid blue cheese.I've read Patrick Suskind's book 'Perfume'. It was a journey of necessity. Forget the disappointing film.
Here. Listen. I heard this through the paper thin walls the council calls building a short while ago.
'You're wearing perfume. You smell rank girl and you want me to thank you for a shag with 100 quid. There were skid marks on your grey knickers- I'm deducting 20 for that. Cunt. Pull another stunt like that and you'll be off my books. You're losing your underage looks. Got a fear of soap and water have you? Or has Christ got to you and you've suddenly decided to go all retro hippie on me? When I lick your kipper cunt, you cunt, I want those cunt lips clean and tasty- you listening to me. I like mopping on prawn pussy when I'm watching my gay porn.
Hang on. Excuse me while I fart. Ooh! Better out than in. Ripper. Beans. I been eating baked beans.
I have alternate meat and veg days. It was a veg day yesterday. Have a smell of that. Heinz. That's a proper smell that is. Can't you tell? Fuck me! It's a million times better than your street-market imitation Chanel muck. Muck. It sucks. Fucking sucks it does.'
Nice. Oh yes. Good memory me. Almost perfect recall.Just a neighbourhood taster for ya.
Lived here for years on disability benefits- its not just the aftermath of Thalidomide, its the Major Depression Disorder caused by the aftermath of the Thalidomide- the bullying, the failing eyesight through all that repeat form filling. Small minded office workers love minutiae. I'm missing most of an upper left limb. Good thing it turned out I was right handed.
It has real feelings- my human squid. I flip out if anyone calls it my flipper. It's Sid, Sid my squid.
Whenever I have a shower I give it a right soaping and, guess what,- it always gives me a stonking erection. Never fails. Like I said, bloody good thing I am right handed. Though, all this time on me own, I have developed a great and possibly unique technique for achieving full orgasm without hands. The mind is a marvel innit- a fucking marvel. I lie naked on the bed, curtains open, touching nothing, just flexing the glutinous maximus, pressing my coccyx hard against the mattress; my mind does the rest. Shooting your load like that is like stumbling into Nirvana- heavenly. Messy mind, but fucking heavenly. I fantasise that in an adjacent tower block some grunt bear, still deep in the closet, has got a telescope and his cock out; that his obese wife catches him catch his ejaculate in her peach tissues.
2
Oh!
I'll take you with me if that's alright with you- invisible you may be but I'd worry leaving you alone up here. Fifteenth floor.
The last tenant flew. He was a tub of lard; how he squeezed himself through the window was quite the mystery. There wasn't much left of him. Had to be dealt with by a shovel of sorts. Did you ever see that series of images by Andy Warhol 'Purple Jumping Man'? He was jumping from much higher- you know, New York, so he was almost mush on landing. I always remember that curious cop in uniform standing over the dead lump, he had a spade in his hand. Andy see, he had an artist's eye for detail. What a wizard.
No. We won't hold hands. You're making me repeat myself. I only have the one and I usually tuck the paper under Sid the squid. Got it?
3
The long concrete landings give daily lessons in perspective and patience. There are estates in Paris much like this- the future made to inflict the facelessness of urban hell on an imprisoned underclass. Graffiti somehow gets to be self-defeating by being almost impossible to read but at least in this place it is sprayed in English of a sort. In Paris it would be so street to cut in the odd English word but here the appearance of any French words would seem utterly absurd. Yet I kinda hanker after seeing the word 'baguette' in brazen neon pink screaming on a linking footbridge, knowing as I do that that long bread stick is a lame French slang term for cock. Fresh from the bakers, who could stop themselves breaking the warm end off.
I survive here and, yes, I have the temerity to think. Come on. Mind the flattened dog turd and the painterly trail of trainer prints.
We take a sharp right. Sudden, ironic- black graffiti in support of the UK BNP, grass root fascists in a place where grass grows like comb-overs on bitter old bigots. I am well inured to the blood red words 'nigga cunt'. That would seem to be the absolute limit of these guys' creative rage- it is exactly why I am not in the least frightened by them. Yes, of course, I am on their lists. I like the fact that I am on their extermination lists on three counts to date. In fact, I have made it part of my future life's work to create a fourth reason for them to have me oven baked in a state of the art stalag on the Isle-of-Wight.
I have watched a film of human bodies used as large candles- unsurprising, not gripping. You can buy wax candles as big as bodies at the shrine at Lourdes. The bigger the candle the better the chance of getting your petition answered by the Virgin Mary. Bollocks.
Indian families can be quite careless with the makeshift pyres of loved ones on the banks of the Ganges; often only half-burned they are kicked into the unclean depths and left: yes, left to be hooked out by a gang of cheap labour at the next dam employed specifically to snag the bloated bodies.The 'holy river' is a thick and dangerous viral soup by any scientific measure.I always remember this when I'm inclined to wince at the sight of used knotted condoms decorating the local swings- glossy grey Tibetan prayer rags hung from metal trees, seats varnished with the stain of children trying to deflect distress, the breeze carrying low-notes of their unscrubbed mess.
And that's on the ground.
Yes, I'm on the BNP's fucking low-brow lists- Alex Biddens, Gatling Gun Tower: disfigured and disabled, half-caste, shirt-lifter. The Front- that's a laugh, a lot of them are all front that's for sure. I've had some- young guns wearing braces and number one heads; late teens and curious. Clean as a whistle. I don't do anal but I got plugs that switch the prostrate on. I get these rabid heteros cumming and crying for joy at one and the same time. Then, mostly, they kick my head in- very half-heartedly mind, almost tenderly.
The screwed lambs.
What they want is a real full blown war.
That's what they're waiting for.
What they desperately desire is the chance to participate in a life-size Xbox game, certificate eighteen. They wanna shoot the proper brown bollocks off of all living breathing fundamentalist darkie terrorists. Yeah! Just like most Americans do.
And they love Big Macs and pack banter about gang raping virgin apes on the rag; mugging Downs' boys, breaking into a mortuary and bumming dead bodies.
You picked a good day- the two man cesspit of a lift is working.
4
I let the rumblings of the Eastern Block mechanism do its unpleasant worst. Habit is such a cunt. I always stand here and let elevator disaster movies flood my mind then turn to take in the view such as it is.
Semi-industrial. A theme park for the uglier aspects of aspiration. Molehills of deconstructed cars and mountains of factory retail outlets. Tile wholesalers. A cramped garden centre.
It might be the last time I get to see it and, because it might be the last time I get to see it, I see it again for the first time, as if I were a recently housed refugee, maybe, from some distant desert war zone where 'sand' is so removed from being a chic colour of paint and 'blood' is real, caused by a nail bomb, not by something artfully distressed that costs a fucking bomb for those pillocks who live in clover on distant hills- utterly cushioned against the least of beastly ills.
Although.
They may have lost a wife in childbirth. The baby too. Gone home and drowned the poodle.
Equally.
They may have sought a crumb of fame at the BBC and been interfered with for their trouble.
Alternatively.
They may have been less than vigilant on holiday in the sun and lost their young teenage boy to someone grey, well able to drift away into the mists of Grecian history, his motor nondescript, his garage a shrine to gaffa tape and whatever else a predatory paedophile needs to effect the perfect rape in plain sight.
Sweets. Swish techno treats. Gags and chloroform.
Yes.
Family, friends and the authorities eventually following a cold trail. A life-boat launched. Home tabloids screamed at. Ribbon campaigns routinely spread like rampant acne. Appeal spot on the TV- networked worldwide. How they cried.
When whoever [pick a number] is done to friction sores with a blonde kid like that, they make a snuff movie, saw him into bits and use him for shark bait.
I think so.
It is a little known fact that the Mediterranean is one of the breeding grounds of the Great White. Like to spread the news from my area.
Clatter. Shudder. Bang. A comic cock in permanent felt tip gets split in two as the lift doors open. Ugh. Disgusting.
I always gasp at this regular intrusion.
It is like being belched at by a chain-smoking Bukkake tart, freshly fuelled by a large measure of rum and a lamb kebab drowning in brown sauce; very strong undernotes of commercial bleach, defeated Febreeze, stale urine and obvious fecal matter; an overlay of something expensive and out of place, a hint of Chloe.
On the floor a discarded Ferraro Roche wrapper and a JLS condom carton.
Hell! I could be persuaded things are on the up.
We're going down.
Get in then.
Lift tragedies are extremely rare. So rare as to not be worth a second thought.
My insane dwelling on them and the joys of claustrophobia run into multiples of ten before we finally land- my small, implausible, invisible friend and me.
No dramatic jarring as the descent into this other hell ends; just a startling influx of light as the doors open.
There in the toughened glass stair-well stand two waiting Indian ladies wearing blinding saris and bindis, both laden with full carrier bags from the local pound shop. They do a wide range of food stuffs now.
Their eyes immediately spot Sid my flipper. I make it dance, fiddle, dance for them.
They giggle like dazzled UFO hunters, fans of Derren Brown- look through my peculiarity, the gods have special things in mind for me. Kiss my clothing.
I smile and mumble something vaguely ethnic. Its worth it to make the effort.
I love that acrid mix of sweat, sandalwood and patchouli. Think to myself- they must miss the burning of their relatives on pyres.
Maybe they keep them in large re-conditioned chest freezers and wait for the British 'Bonfire Night'- November the fifth. All the major bonfire sites have signs saying no fly tipping but they are always ignored- especially by peoples who only have English as a second language.
Habits.
Habits are so hard to break. The casually lit candle bodies- how removed are they from hard drug addicts anyway? Not much.
We all burn out in our several ways.
In the gutter a litter of take-away Styrofoam containers stained with old curry and crushed hypodermics. A ragged, fearless, bird absurdly bathing in unclean dust.
5
We stopped at the eight foot high, rusting, wire-mesh fencing intended to keep kids at play safe from predatory pedos. I slumped against it like an orang-utan, one hand high and gripping the cold metal string, making it sing small urban anthems. There's that band Stomp. They hit dustbins with sticks. They hit anything tin with sticks. Is that hip or shit? And who is it decides?
No kids here today. No teens sobbing, reading 'Dear Jane' letters over and over; not letters, texts.
Bless.
Half of the fuckers have forgotten how to write. That's some way down the road to total illiteracy. The bleeders don't even read porn.
They're all for the easy life and total suckers for graphic pictures. Now. Now and then you see escaped porn pictures torn from very explicit porn magazines happy to ride the thermals between the tower blocks. They're right tearaways- these escaped kites launched by terrorists against political correctness and all things fluffy.
On a sunny day they loop the loop. You get a sudden flash of a gaping cunt, tree high, followed by a stiffie pumping unlikely ejaculate. Some argue that that was what manna from heaven was- God's loving spoonfulls. What a wanker.
On a day when the rain was light, I saw something similar attach itself to the monkey bars in the playground. You're not allowed to call them that anymore. Beautiful black boys like to exercise their youthful muscle on that silver apparatus. For all sorts of reasons you keep your banana in your lunch box with your Twix and stuff. That's what the powerless Community Police advise. I was told. Fuck. These witty young black boys, they've been known to chuck banana skins at them.That brought a broad smile to my face.
The twisted logic.
But why would you wheel a custom painted baby carriage in there? Because that's what's you do. You are fourteen and you have a baby and you have no idea who the father is.
You were taken to the fucking ground blindfold- not a peep out of you, and the whole gang had you. Spare me the penile details.
So you gets this half decent buggy from the social and in it is this thing in pink surrounded by a yellow stink and you think what it needs is fresh air.
Look at this place.
It is the u-bend in one of the many toilets of Greater London.
Did the kid shit before or after you left the flat that the authorities gave you for your troubles, you sad little cow? My bet is that you're a lazy bitch.
You sits your shitty nipper in the cage swing.
Happy days.
We can see her nappy off-loading unpleasant contents on both the ups and the downs. Why the fuck can't you?
That's right have a fag.
When you've finished you can stub it out on a used condom.
Nice shoes. Bought on the drip from your mother's catalogue. Lovely. Not much life in a suede pair though.
You're still not thinking as a survivor.
My first sighting of a paedo came when I was barely eleven.
I was in all white. It was the height of summer. White tee-shirt, white shorts. I was sat on top of a tennis umpire's ladder. Lads my own age, mates, were having a tournament on grass. All boys. Nobody gave a toss who was watching.
From my vantage point, between matches, I spotted the weird bastard.
He looked like, I imagined then, what an old gardener was supposed to appear to be- slightly stooped, baggy high-wasted brown corduroys. Short little fucker. Seemed old to me. He was clearly wanking through his right trouser pocket. And him noticing me noticing him brought him to a frenzied climax. Shocked.
I watched him shuffle off with the gait of a lame spaniel. Maybe the war had ruined him. The word paedophile was not then in my lexicon or in many other peoples'.
But the grass courts were watered, green and pristine, and the clubhouse smelled of warm pine planks and roses. If we dropped litter it was purely accidental and we always picked it up.
Come on, ghoul, or there'll be no papers left to drool over.
6
The windows of our very convenient, all hours, sells everything Pakistani run Convenience Store, Post Office and Newsagent with a delicatessen counter are blinded, put out by steel planking, bolted on. It has to be very strong. The whole building is surrounded by a henge of terrorist strength reinforced concrete bollards to fend off incursions by criminals in stolen vehicles.
I marvel at it.
Step inside the magic circle and I feel significantly more secure.
Step out with packages and I become a target for muggers.
Inside, the shop smells of a fresh baked chapatti crossed with a warm two day old sock. The rabid colour of its myriad contents makes everywhere you look seem like a Pollock canvass. This must be positively embraced or you would turn and run out screaming and the whole point of leaving the flat would be rendered utterly pointless.
Every other day I cross this Rubicon to dice with spices and speak with a welsh accent to a man with a brown face who does the same kind of thing back to me. North west India the most likely root of all Europeans.
"It's just the paper I'll be having for today, Mr Store. The usual yes. The Daily Mirror on a Sunday. Exactly. The Sunday Mirror. Love the pictures. They make my day they do. Can you see my friend. No of course you can't. You can't, Mr Store, because nobody can except me. Tarah then. No. Not The Star, never The Star my friend. Not that rag."
In comes an old dear with her wheelie shopper; she reeks of stale and fresh wee. I smile. It's a lie- a feeble attempt to cover up a grimace. She's wearing Shar Pei tights and a coat that might have started life before the war. On a lapel she's got a real rabbit's foot brooch. She'll have had that for years- for luck.
What fucking luck?
That wig's seen better days. She always spots Sid my squid. I wave it a little and watch her morbidly shiver. What a beauty she is. The embittered and bigoted old blameless bitch.
Navy-blue does nothing for her.
Come on ghosty, lets suck a holed, but perfectly round, Polo mint together on the polished concrete neighbourhood bench covered with solid, well weathered, lumps of bubble-gum, Basquait cocks and misshaped swastikas- most of them ironically invoking peace. On the side of houses in Nepal you find them both side by side- colourful giant cocks with balls and wings and ancient signs of peace that only ding-bats would confuse with Nazi emblems. China is there now, denigrating everything once considered holy and eating everything that breathes.
Dipping barbecued spare-rib girl babies in chocolate like they do ants.
They've made such a cock and balls of communism- the neo-fascist capitalist cunts.
My cock and balls ache. Is it a sign?
I've got a migraine in my testicles.
7
THE BENCH
The unmade bench, even if signed by Tracy Emmin, could not have got into the RA's Summer Exhibition where predictability holds sway most years because of the stalwart dears who grip tight to the cheque-books. They are very much still purple rinses halfway up the arses of the St Ive's School of discovering landscape in still-life and life in stilled landscapes and hybrids of the two. To listen to these people you would think that originality had deserted the working classes completely.
There were painters groups among the hard working tin miners of Cornwall but they were never in the eye of the shaker maker glitteratti and, had they been, they would have been dismissed as 'primitives', 'naives'. None of those cunts would have said no to having a Lowry or two stashed away in their lofts.
Yes.
Signed by Tracy Emmin RA, the riveting bench might have helped her win a Turner Prize. [Kids had by local tradition lost their virginity on it at dusk] Filling a large glass crucifix with your own piss could work the same magic for your trophy entries on LinkedIn.
Now there's a thing- Tracy come full circle from the avant garde to a Royal Academician with little more than the drawing skills of an ape obsessed with body fluids. Menstrual discharge a constant favourite.
Only women bleed. Women are the niggers of the world. Those old chestnuts.
She had all the advantages of a proper education. Higher.
I read about her alleged conversion or epiphany from a traditional wild child to something way more tragic and infinitely more profitable- she had her own bonfire night in the small back garden of her East End flat, burned all her prior paintings in a smoke-free zone. The rebel.
Now. Had she really seen the light or caught the bug of filthy lucre from Damien Hirst and his sycophantic crew.
You do the maths.
From that day on she never looked back. I went to see her unmade bed. Where was the novelty?
Let me recall.
Back-page. That tosser bastard manager of Manchester United is spouting on about how he believes that no premiership referee would ever resort to such arcane behaviour in the middle of a match. The ego-maniacal plonker. I have Scottish friends deeply embarrassed by his fucking god-like strutting. Let the fuckers separate from the British realm. They'll feel the cold without Trident. I would build a giant wicker man and put the likes of him in it. The horrid and inexplicable bagpipes would be more than welcome to drown their screaming.
Deep down in me an animal can still stir, make waves; indeed, it makes me no better than anyone else.
This recall. I often sit here on this bench and recall things. They sting.
You. Take a forensic look around us. The waste-bin cages at either end of the bench have no fucking waste bins in them. They were racing green. Someone with green finger's lifted them to pot up Mary-Jane plants for a south facing balcony.
Look. Is this ancient and modern litter art?
Tarts' flyers.
Well, they demolished the telephone box. Only the base remains. The local kids painted that blue and play out their own version of Dr Who on it. You can't blame them.
You can't blame them.
They've all been poisoned by Disney and reality TV. It's not a good mix. These kids want to click their fingers and be whisked away.
Now I know this, and I am, by no means, NOT the predatory paedophile that vile Sir Jimmy Saville was. The knighthood was a papal honour by the way. How apt is that, after the fact.
Predatory paedeophiles, the current buzz label, know that we have bred generations of 'lost' wannabe children who dream of entering a Tardis and fucking off to elsewhere; anywhere to get away from home. Why don't their thick as shit parents know this.
Up the duff at thirteen, it does your head in, that's why. The fags, the booze, the looser tag.
Shit. I get so easily diverted.
This recollection. A morning after the night before. Regret the elephant in the scummy room. The first of three awake in a small double- me, a black one and a yellow one.
I do like my ethnics.
The South Korean boy had pubic hair as stiff as a nail brush. The Jamaican had wine stains and only one-eye working. The grey white sheets had been starched with spunk.
Nothing at the windows but loud Hawaiian shirts.
The floor a rash of Muslim mats- probably jacked or a job lot. Assorted shitty rubbers. Mugs. Ashtrays.
Fag-ends smoked by faggots getting their end sucked.
Polaroids of an enthusiastic spit roasting. Tender ugliness.
I know what you're thinking- did I catch anything. No. Never did. Never got pregnant. Never ever did sport an unwanted kid.
That black guy had a small cock though. See myths can be proper shit.
There are black guys on YouTube complaining of the unfair expectation.
They make small BMW's now- hatchbacks.
But that bed bed there, the glee bed, we was all sixteen, that was altogether on another level from Tracy Emmin's pretentious heap of crumpled bed-linen, bras, knickers, and used tampons.
Come on! Alex Biddens, Thalidomide, fucking RA.
Hang on. Here's trouble coming our way. My arse is flexing. Shall we go or shall we stay.
Too late.
Great.
That is the way with fucking fate.
Six of them stand in front of us, staring with malicious intent at me and my invisible familiar. I wave my Sid the squid at them. Not a flicker.
I've had two of them. Total recall.
It is Sunday. They're all bored and off their heads. Six bicycles. Two baseball bats. Not what you'd call a social visit. They call themselves The Cubans. None of them could place that island on a globe.
Three whites. Two blacks. One in-betweeny. Eldest nineteen. Youngest sixteen. My kind of party.
You looking for the football scores lads?
8
THE POLE INCIDENT
They hung St Sebastian in a tree, JC on a tree of sorts. My ritual twig turned out to be a Bus Stop sign attacked by knock-off hammers and spray paint.
Some Green Party lesbo politician on the local council drove through this mad initiative to have hanging basket hooks put on all the Bus Stops in the council-tax catchment area. Being something of a pessimist I had always seen the dark side of this ill-thought move.The very poor make plants a low priority- more so in the middle of a double-dip recession. If the authorities saw fit to hang abundant baskets within the gift of all and sundry it was a given they'd be nicked. Free plants, compost and containers makes gardeners of the most hardened slags.
Not all the criminal fraternity find it impossible to cry.
Gangsters in touch with their feminine side- it's by no means just a gay fantasy. Ask any prison officer with an eye for detail, someone anal enough to religiously put entries into a five year diary and keep it locked.
Digression has some power to dissipate pain, but by no means enough.
They hung me up roughly by my fawn hoodie; the armholes cutting deep into my moist armpits. They bound my booted feet. They unbelted my kecks, laid bare my ginger decorated genitals; the sudden fresh air strange, chill in concert with a rush of fear.
I orange pissed myself.
They laughed, whooped, jeered.
I brown crapped myself.
They all clapped at me, picked up the loose stool, smeared it on my Sid. God!
God forbids nothing much.
The old lady from the Convenience Store passes by, the wheels on her shopping trolly chirping like spring fledglings. She sees me in grave peril, waves like the Queen and goes on, doing diddley squat.
She is God! Yes.
She is fucking God! And SHE has just forsaken me.
The gang are shaking cans of gloss black spray paint. Cellulose. Up my shitty arse it goes, under my damp foreskin, EVERYWHERE genital.
That is me black-balled, made an untouchable.
No chance of those gracious Indian ladies saying prayers to me now, no gift of sacred saffron cake, no handmade necklaces of fresh marigolds.
I've always been an undiscovered deity on the back foot.
The point is, wraith, we are all of us, no exceptions, messiahs of something.
9
NEWS THE DAY BEFORE THEY DISCHARGED ME
There's a spare view from my fogged hospital window.
In the mid-distance, on mud recreation grounds, there's growing some social fungus- a phallic neo-pagan tower of hedge clippings, pruned spruce and broken pallets. Tomorrow they'll be dousing it in petrol and setting light. Fireworks. Family familiar delights. Who will go missing that night, under the cover of legitimate terrorist sound effects. All sorts of perverts revel in the magic lure of sparklers after dark.
I go on watching until the sky goes velvet blue.
They shaved me. Very sore I am from what they called a penetrating clean.
Look on the bright side, there is no STD known to science which could have survived that.
Of course I informed the police. The NHS make sure you do.
Still part of a community, I suffered convenient memory loss. I know my rule book.
The ward is all men. You'd think that was a plus. But no.
Across the ward from me, his face deeply acne scarred, a veteran of the Iraqi conflict has been having immense bowel troubles.
No graces are being spared.
It is a war zone crossed with a porn movie. I am not turned on.
They've got him naked, on his knees, in a vast see-thru plastic balloon. It has the effect of distorting all his features. Something, with his challenges, he could have done without.
There are two male nurses wearing top to toe see-thru plastic coverings. I quickly get the gist. Approximately ten minutes previous they'd shoved a large suppository up his bum.The drug works fast. It's always used as a last resort and careful preparations need to be made.
The NHS guys are watching watches.
My eyes meet with my fellow patient's eyes. You can read his arriving realisation. He is so right. It was rapid, violent and not pretty.
The two men held the ex-gunner while he heaved and exploded shit in various arcs; bursts of arcs as his strong frame twisted on the bed. You live to see such things, amazing things that verify life.
Like this new 'art-shit installation' thing, a lot of the other things verify that life is indeed unadulterated shit.
We foolishly sully it with our pretensions to being the least important.
Every day I tell myself- this truly is as bad as it gets.
I'm being discharged tomorrow. My prostitute battering neighbour is driving me home.
There's a turn up for the books. Turns out he really likes me.
Yes. Like- he REALLY likes me.
Fuck! I got myself a right scary minder who loves it up the chuff.
I know I said earlier I never do anal but, when a relationship comes knocking, you've got to be prepared to be adaptable.
In the gay personal columns we say- versatile.
It's no news to me, a gay Thalidomide, that there's always going to be a game to played.
Play.
You've got to make yourself fit according to the cut of your communal circumstances.
If you don't do it or don't get out, one or the other, life will, too soon, be the death of you.
Chris Madoch: Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.
AFFECTING THINGS: SOME THAT STING
1
The American Presidential race has cost to date, so I am told, six billion dollars. That is six billion dollars invested in little more than hot air. Is that the behaviour of a country that likes to believe it is civilised but always cries foul when it comes to 'freebies' for its masses of poor or disadvantaged [the people America would prefer us not to know a
nything about, the fall-out from OTHERS achieving their greedy and utterly self-serving 'American Dream' to be wealthy BY WHATEVER IT TAKES.]
Make no mistake, Mitt Romney is one of those 'wealthy by whatever it takes' people. And, what is more, it is quite impossible and illogical for him to be at peace with his very silly and dangerous Mormon religion on this issue.
The man is a profoundly flawed hypocrite of the highest order- but then he is a right wing Republican who would actually not feel at all uncomfortable supping at the same table with Nick Griffin, the leader of the UK's British National Party.
The difference between the two is that Nick Griffin is a self confessed bigot, racist, homophobe. Mitt is those three things on the quiet. Like most of his rabid on the phone vote rousers. Via his wife he is also a Pro-Lifer who perceives abortion as murder and has, disgustingly, made politics of every woman's body. Girl- no-one owns you!!
On the UK's BBC Radio 5 today, a British reporter was talking in Washington to African American male supporters of Obama. I was dumbfounded as to why. It is typical of how we are fed with politically correct irrelevancies.
80% of the Americans who will vote today will be women, and of the remaining 20% the vast majority will be white male racist, homophobes voting Republican. Fact.
That this in no way represents the broad population of the USA is extremely sad. Very fortunate for white extremists though. Go figure.
2
Let's talk about what really matters. The rumour is that Gary Barlow is to be replaced on the UK X-Factor by the syco himself Simon Cowell. Good. Barlow has grown way too big for the boots he believes are permanent fixtures under the X-Factor table. I so understand why he [the bigot] and the bi-sexual Robbie Williams find it difficult to be in the same space- it was only filthy lucre that drove them to put up with it second time around.
Simon is apparently wanting to affect the competitions outcome. As if. None of us ever thought it was fixed did we. Shock horror.
The karaoke singer from Liverpool is, Simon believes, a cruise ship too far. What? Can't the man laugh at himself.
The whole programme, both here and in the USA, is a titanic cruise ship too far. Lets all hope it encounters a vast iceberg soon.
3
The Saville saga rolls on like the expansion of awful Gregg's the munter's fast food outlet. Yes, it has become indigestible.
The dead DJ, once a lovie of the UK media and a Knight of the Vatican State, was quite clearly a predatory paedo into both boys and girls. He worked with others of similar tastes- possibly in complex rings of such beasts which would have needed the co-oporation of WOMEN: make no mistake about that.
Many of these 'others' are in the current gun sights of various police authorities. And not before time. I hope their aim is true THIS TIME.
BUT it is becoming clear that some people in power and positions of authority throughout the realm have known for a very long time the truth about it all. It is an appalling position that goes as as high as government level.
Let us sort it once and for all. I want the sex offenders, whoever they are, and the perpetrators of any cover-up, properly prosecuted and if that includes the iron lady so be it. Is there any justice for the underclass in the UK? Well, I have always doubted it.
Now is the time for the country to step up to the plate and show how civilised we actually can be.
4
Yes. There's more.
'The Mother's Union' which is a females only Christian organisation long attached to The Church Of England [far too afraid to elect an evangelical homophobic black bishop to the vacancy of archbishop- please bring it on] today announced that they thought children writing a list of Christmas presents they want in a letter that they post to Santa [St Nicholas or Disney- whatever rocks your boat] will put too much pressure on families during a double dip recession. What!!
I so love it when devout faithists, taking themselves so seriously, state the fucking obvious. They do it a lot.
This lot started the Christmas farce in the first place. It is utterly delusional, mythic, and I would ban the whole shebang at the drop of a hat.
For as long as I can remember, impoverished families have been trying to live up to the glossy perception of what is a good or 'required' Christmas for the kids as sold to them by the capitalist media. They going into deep debt to achieve it.
Just fucking forget it and save yourself a fortune.
You'll need the money to pay the fuel bills which have criminally increased by 10% whilst inflation stays at 1%.
You stupid nobs- you must be blind BECAUSE you are being robbed blind at every turn.
VOTE OBAMA.' CM
Make no mistake, Mitt Romney is one of those 'wealthy by whatever it takes' people. And, what is more, it is quite impossible and illogical for him to be at peace with his very silly and dangerous Mormon religion on this issue.
The man is a profoundly flawed hypocrite of the highest order- but then he is a right wing Republican who would actually not feel at all uncomfortable supping at the same table with Nick Griffin, the leader of the UK's British National Party.
The difference between the two is that Nick Griffin is a self confessed bigot, racist, homophobe. Mitt is those three things on the quiet. Like most of his rabid on the phone vote rousers. Via his wife he is also a Pro-Lifer who perceives abortion as murder and has, disgustingly, made politics of every woman's body. Girl- no-one owns you!!
On the UK's BBC Radio 5 today, a British reporter was talking in Washington to African American male supporters of Obama. I was dumbfounded as to why. It is typical of how we are fed with politically correct irrelevancies.
80% of the Americans who will vote today will be women, and of the remaining 20% the vast majority will be white male racist, homophobes voting Republican. Fact.
That this in no way represents the broad population of the USA is extremely sad. Very fortunate for white extremists though. Go figure.
2
Let's talk about what really matters. The rumour is that Gary Barlow is to be replaced on the UK X-Factor by the syco himself Simon Cowell. Good. Barlow has grown way too big for the boots he believes are permanent fixtures under the X-Factor table. I so understand why he [the bigot] and the bi-sexual Robbie Williams find it difficult to be in the same space- it was only filthy lucre that drove them to put up with it second time around.
Simon is apparently wanting to affect the competitions outcome. As if. None of us ever thought it was fixed did we. Shock horror.
The karaoke singer from Liverpool is, Simon believes, a cruise ship too far. What? Can't the man laugh at himself.
The whole programme, both here and in the USA, is a titanic cruise ship too far. Lets all hope it encounters a vast iceberg soon.
3
The Saville saga rolls on like the expansion of awful Gregg's the munter's fast food outlet. Yes, it has become indigestible.
The dead DJ, once a lovie of the UK media and a Knight of the Vatican State, was quite clearly a predatory paedo into both boys and girls. He worked with others of similar tastes- possibly in complex rings of such beasts which would have needed the co-oporation of WOMEN: make no mistake about that.
Many of these 'others' are in the current gun sights of various police authorities. And not before time. I hope their aim is true THIS TIME.
BUT it is becoming clear that some people in power and positions of authority throughout the realm have known for a very long time the truth about it all. It is an appalling position that goes as as high as government level.
Let us sort it once and for all. I want the sex offenders, whoever they are, and the perpetrators of any cover-up, properly prosecuted and if that includes the iron lady so be it. Is there any justice for the underclass in the UK? Well, I have always doubted it.
Now is the time for the country to step up to the plate and show how civilised we actually can be.
4
Yes. There's more.
'The Mother's Union' which is a females only Christian organisation long attached to The Church Of England [far too afraid to elect an evangelical homophobic black bishop to the vacancy of archbishop- please bring it on] today announced that they thought children writing a list of Christmas presents they want in a letter that they post to Santa [St Nicholas or Disney- whatever rocks your boat] will put too much pressure on families during a double dip recession. What!!
I so love it when devout faithists, taking themselves so seriously, state the fucking obvious. They do it a lot.
This lot started the Christmas farce in the first place. It is utterly delusional, mythic, and I would ban the whole shebang at the drop of a hat.
For as long as I can remember, impoverished families have been trying to live up to the glossy perception of what is a good or 'required' Christmas for the kids as sold to them by the capitalist media. They going into deep debt to achieve it.
Just fucking forget it and save yourself a fortune.
You'll need the money to pay the fuel bills which have criminally increased by 10% whilst inflation stays at 1%.
You stupid nobs- you must be blind BECAUSE you are being robbed blind at every turn.
VOTE OBAMA.' CM
'Should we all confess our sins to one another we would laugh together at our lack of our originality.' Kahil Gibran
Madoch says- 'Considering the above I could easily make priest confessors weep- whether or not that would be from them being roundly entertained or scornful might prove to be a thorny matter. I often envy Catholics this useful process even though sprinkles of delusion are really not my style. It is pure convenience envy. I could slot a spot of confessional therapy into my anti-theist life. Maybe I WAS taken off the breast too soon. LOL.' CM
'Children who are repeatedly beastly to any living creatures need to be very closely watched for further signs of psychopathic or sociopathic behaviour.
You may well have bred someone dangerous to society, a killer, a rapist, a serial killer, a predatory paedophile.
These people all have parents and, following their crimes and capture, very smart psychiatrists. They all cite problems in their nu
rturing. Yes. Mum and dad got it wrong.
It could be you. How would you know? You are besotted. Myra Hindley had to have a mum and dad, likewise Mr Nielson and Ian Brady and the 'butter-would-not-melt-in-her-
So don't be fucking complacent with your fucking unruly kids.
I saw two beautiful looking girls under the age of six running riot in their father's care.
If we allowed our dogs to behave like people would stare.
Get the point. Wise-up. Get a grip.
Criminals are born to someones. And there are culpable someones who nurture them or bring them on.
Go on. Argue with me that that is alright.' CM.
It could be you. How would you know? You are besotted. Myra Hindley had to have a mum and dad, likewise Mr Nielson and Ian Brady and the 'butter-would-not-melt-in-her-
So don't be fucking complacent with your fucking unruly kids.
I saw two beautiful looking girls under the age of six running riot in their father's care.
If we allowed our dogs to behave like people would stare.
Get the point. Wise-up. Get a grip.
Criminals are born to someones. And there are culpable someones who nurture them or bring them on.
Go on. Argue with me that that is alright.' CM.
'I am having a day away from the madding fray. I am not being spiritual. Oh! Go in pursuit of Godot if you must. Put your trust in a religion and your freedom to fulfill your creative potential and live a vivid life is utterly lost.' CM
'Despite the countless interruptions I have managed to complete my short story- it was obviously meant to be. My patience has risen to a whole higher level. Almost godlike. LOL.
I have SO much empathy for people attempting to create in adverse conditions- mine are not the least adverse BUT they still can be perversely taxing. I blame people.
When in doubt always blame people, including yourself of course. Somedays I just get very pissed off with being a person. LOL.' CM
'Some women will loathe this post BUT let them. They can label be misogynist if they like BUT all the very wonderful intelligent women who know me well will attest that that could not be further from the truth.
In fact you will find, if you only have the patience to do your research, that I am very much on your on your side; particularly when women are being unfairly blanketed with a pink fluffy
blanket stereotype that is only there to serve the greed monster that is rampant western capitalism.
This creature is best seen in the world of advertising. the loathing of which is something I have in common with most if not all genuine Buddhists. [I put in the word genuine there because I know how many prats play at being 'modern Buddhists' LOL.] Oh please! Wise-up to such idiotic transparencies.
The fact is that women are generally boxed away and belittled by most advertising- particularly TV adverts. I am going to hone in the intimate ones. YES I do laugh at the Tenna lady adverts- those ladies doing ballet or floral arrangements are in fact pissing there pants. Who said romance was dead. No trace EVER of Tenna Gent adverts even though similar products by the same company exist for men. Men can have the same problem. Incontinence isn't just associated with having given birth umpteen times.
The pinnacle of these intimate ads which make most people cringe are all the ads for menstrual products. Are women really so thick that don't know which aisle in the supermarket to browse for such things- you see very few men there. There's a clue.
These ads now border on what I call 'body awareness porn'. One last night almost made me heave because of the one word it included- MASKING. Now- these expanding 'pearls' which you plug your lightly bleeding vagina with are said to be saturated with a product with actually dissipates the smell of apt odours. It does not just MASK them.
This creature is best seen in the world of advertising. the loathing of which is something I have in common with most if not all genuine Buddhists. [I put in the word genuine there because I know how many prats play at being 'modern Buddhists' LOL.] Oh please! Wise-up to such idiotic transparencies.
The fact is that women are generally boxed away and belittled by most advertising- particularly TV adverts. I am going to hone in the intimate ones. YES I do laugh at the Tenna lady adverts- those ladies doing ballet or floral arrangements are in fact pissing there pants. Who said romance was dead. No trace EVER of Tenna Gent adverts even though similar products by the same company exist for men. Men can have the same problem. Incontinence isn't just associated with having given birth umpteen times.
The pinnacle of these intimate ads which make most people cringe are all the ads for menstrual products. Are women really so thick that don't know which aisle in the supermarket to browse for such things- you see very few men there. There's a clue.
These ads now border on what I call 'body awareness porn'. One last night almost made me heave because of the one word it included- MASKING. Now- these expanding 'pearls' which you plug your lightly bleeding vagina with are said to be saturated with a product with actually dissipates the smell of apt odours. It does not just MASK them.
'Some women will loathe this post BUT let them. They can label be misogynist if they like BUT all the very wonderful intelligent women who know me well will attest that that could not be further from the truth.
In fact you will find, if you only have the patience to do your research, that I am very much on your on your side; particularly when women are being unfairly blanketed with a pink fluffy
blanket stereotype that is only there to serve the greed monster that is rampant western capitalism.
This creature is best seen in the world of advertising. the loathing of which is something I have in common with most if not all genuine Buddhists. [I put in the word genuine there because I know how many prats play at being 'modern Buddhists' LOL.] Oh please! Wise-up to such idiotic transparencies.
The fact is that women are generally boxed away and belittled by most advertising- particularly TV adverts. I am going to hone in the intimate ones. YES I do laugh at the Tenna lady adverts- those ladies doing ballet or floral arrangements are in fact pissing there pants. Who said romance was dead. No trace EVER of Tenna Gent adverts even though similar products by the same company exist for men. Men can have the same problem. Incontinence isn't just associated with having given birth umpteen times.
The pinnacle of these intimate ads which make most people cringe are all the ads for menstrual products. Are women really so thick that don't know which aisle in the supermarket to browse for such things- you see very few men there. There's a clue.
These ads now border on what I call 'body awareness porn'. One last night almost made me heave because of the one word it included- MASKING. Now- these expanding 'pearls' which you plug your lightly bleeding vagina with are said to be saturated with a product with actually dissipates the smell of apt odours. It does not just MASK them.
I was left asking- ew, what's so wrong with those natural smells that they ever needed to be heavily MASKED and does that explain the horrible perfume that some women wear? This was all well before the watershed. I am on a strict diet. I was having my tea and ALL food is very precious to me!!
My man said he remembered, as a boy, wondering why his cousin Susan, sprayed her armpits and also up her skirt. I thought, well yes, these small things can prove very formative.
Feminism has achieved much BUT not as much you might reasonably have expected and the way women continue to be vandalised in advertising continues to be proof of the movement's short-comings. At the root of it lies a great mass of women who really couldn't give a fuck either way. And yes, even though I am not misogynist, I don't care for them stupid bitches at all.' CM
This creature is best seen in the world of advertising. the loathing of which is something I have in common with most if not all genuine Buddhists. [I put in the word genuine there because I know how many prats play at being 'modern Buddhists' LOL.] Oh please! Wise-up to such idiotic transparencies.
The fact is that women are generally boxed away and belittled by most advertising- particularly TV adverts. I am going to hone in the intimate ones. YES I do laugh at the Tenna lady adverts- those ladies doing ballet or floral arrangements are in fact pissing there pants. Who said romance was dead. No trace EVER of Tenna Gent adverts even though similar products by the same company exist for men. Men can have the same problem. Incontinence isn't just associated with having given birth umpteen times.
The pinnacle of these intimate ads which make most people cringe are all the ads for menstrual products. Are women really so thick that don't know which aisle in the supermarket to browse for such things- you see very few men there. There's a clue.
These ads now border on what I call 'body awareness porn'. One last night almost made me heave because of the one word it included- MASKING. Now- these expanding 'pearls' which you plug your lightly bleeding vagina with are said to be saturated with a product with actually dissipates the smell of apt odours. It does not just MASK them.
I was left asking- ew, what's so wrong with those natural smells that they ever needed to be heavily MASKED and does that explain the horrible perfume that some women wear? This was all well before the watershed. I am on a strict diet. I was having my tea and ALL food is very precious to me!!
My man said he remembered, as a boy, wondering why his cousin Susan, sprayed her armpits and also up her skirt. I thought, well yes, these small things can prove very formative.
Feminism has achieved much BUT not as much you might reasonably have expected and the way women continue to be vandalised in advertising continues to be proof of the movement's short-comings. At the root of it lies a great mass of women who really couldn't give a fuck either way. And yes, even though I am not misogynist, I don't care for them stupid bitches at all.' CM
'My eldest grandchild Phoebe Hughes-Williams- is a groovy chick brainbox who totally rocks [you know who she gets that from] and the spooky thing is we do so absolutely have the same taste in men- cute to hot men-of-colour with talent, manners and devotion. LOL.
If you think this out of order- fuck off! Get a grip and zip that lip.
I like to think that my genetic material has not been wasted in the progress of human evolution.' CM
'I recorded a programme off the TV and in mid watch deleted it enraged. Not really my style.
The presenter was a very capable young women who had grabbed my attention with her penetrative reporting on the riots in Greece- here, though, she was in America [that was a good bet] tackling a growing phenomenon that really does beggar belief.
The organisation at the heart of the matter purports to be
The presenter was a very capable young women who had grabbed my attention with her penetrative reporting on the riots in Greece- here, though, she was in America [that was a good bet] tackling a growing phenomenon that really does beggar belief.
The organisation at the heart of the matter purports to be
'christian' and is seeking to spread its puerile poison into Europe. The right wing Mayor of London recently used his considerable powers to ban their advertising from appearing on London Transport of all kinds. Thank you Boris Johnston.
We are talking the reformation of gay men. NATURALLY all of the gay men concerned are plagued by a faith plus the wish to embrace a model of family life which is difficult to do if it is men who sexually rock your boat.
The start of this dubious process is to give these men 'hope' and, at the outset, some typical American re-branding. The word gay is erased and replaced with the 'condition' 'SAME SEX ATTRACTION' which heavily implies that there is a cure on the cards. Oh PLEASE!!
Yes. We were introduced to formerly gay men who are now married and have fathered children. Their wives all looked like fruit loops, equally faith dogged and UTTERLY BLIND to the possibility that their husbands might very possibly have secret gay lives. One remarked that the positives were that HE did all the home furnishings and interiors. HE ticked ALL the gay boxes. LOL.
We were made a party to a counselling session. Another young gay man who ticked ALL the gay boxes was happy that he was making some progress towards freedom from his barrier to marital bliss- his same sex attraction. He said he no longer felt a rush of blood when he saw an attractive man in the street. He did not confirm that NOW he felt a rush a blood when he saw an attractive woman in the street. Mmm questionable progress.
He informed us he had cut down his masturbating to porn from three times a day to just three times a week. YES- he was still using gay porn to reach orgasm. He had never been able to orgasm to straight porn. Mmm even more questionable progress but he is at least saving on tissues.
Then these gay men seeking to convert to straight men went on a group jolly into the woods for a weekend. Two man tents. The pairs were made of a straight guy and a gay guy. I am not making this up. On this weekend of 'male bonding' they stripped to the waist to play group sports and handle body issues. Unbelievable. They learned how to hug without sexual inference.
At this point I deleted the programme from the hard drive of my TV.
God does not give a fuck that you are gay. Besides which a God capable of communicating in understandable human constructs has never existed. You are deluded and arguably suffering from a mental condition called religious faith. PLUS, the family, as the paradigm is currently accepted, will be the eventual death of mankind, because it has lost the ability to listen to NATURE and seeks to know better than nature. Such ignorant arrogance.
Just get a grip. But you won't. I know FOR CERTAIN that there is not one gay man seeking to be a straight man, or a 'former gay' man featured in that programme who will not drift into a guilty secret solo session with gay porn or into a spot of mutual masturbation with another man IN THE VERY NEAR FUTURE. Being married and a father is not a prophylactic against such perfectly normal behaviour for a gay man.' CM
We are talking the reformation of gay men. NATURALLY all of the gay men concerned are plagued by a faith plus the wish to embrace a model of family life which is difficult to do if it is men who sexually rock your boat.
The start of this dubious process is to give these men 'hope' and, at the outset, some typical American re-branding. The word gay is erased and replaced with the 'condition' 'SAME SEX ATTRACTION' which heavily implies that there is a cure on the cards. Oh PLEASE!!
Yes. We were introduced to formerly gay men who are now married and have fathered children. Their wives all looked like fruit loops, equally faith dogged and UTTERLY BLIND to the possibility that their husbands might very possibly have secret gay lives. One remarked that the positives were that HE did all the home furnishings and interiors. HE ticked ALL the gay boxes. LOL.
We were made a party to a counselling session. Another young gay man who ticked ALL the gay boxes was happy that he was making some progress towards freedom from his barrier to marital bliss- his same sex attraction. He said he no longer felt a rush of blood when he saw an attractive man in the street. He did not confirm that NOW he felt a rush a blood when he saw an attractive woman in the street. Mmm questionable progress.
He informed us he had cut down his masturbating to porn from three times a day to just three times a week. YES- he was still using gay porn to reach orgasm. He had never been able to orgasm to straight porn. Mmm even more questionable progress but he is at least saving on tissues.
Then these gay men seeking to convert to straight men went on a group jolly into the woods for a weekend. Two man tents. The pairs were made of a straight guy and a gay guy. I am not making this up. On this weekend of 'male bonding' they stripped to the waist to play group sports and handle body issues. Unbelievable. They learned how to hug without sexual inference.
At this point I deleted the programme from the hard drive of my TV.
God does not give a fuck that you are gay. Besides which a God capable of communicating in understandable human constructs has never existed. You are deluded and arguably suffering from a mental condition called religious faith. PLUS, the family, as the paradigm is currently accepted, will be the eventual death of mankind, because it has lost the ability to listen to NATURE and seeks to know better than nature. Such ignorant arrogance.
Just get a grip. But you won't. I know FOR CERTAIN that there is not one gay man seeking to be a straight man, or a 'former gay' man featured in that programme who will not drift into a guilty secret solo session with gay porn or into a spot of mutual masturbation with another man IN THE VERY NEAR FUTURE. Being married and a father is not a prophylactic against such perfectly normal behaviour for a gay man.' CM
Believe it or not, there is still every chance that the incumbent Pres in the most desirable res in the USA may yet lose his race for a second term of office.
As I recall you Americans do not do losers. Instead you duck the essential cathartic effect of loss by inventing the tosser's term 'first runner-up'. I am not sure the very bright Barrack will find that at all consoling.
More alarmingly, in
As I recall you Americans do not do losers. Instead you duck the essential cathartic effect of loss by inventing the tosser's term 'first runner-up'. I am not sure the very bright Barrack will find that at all consoling.
More alarmingly, in
a country where so many of those eligible to vote do not and, of those who do, the vast majority are women it seems you could be on the brink of electing a Mormon [a more discredited religion most and deservedly so] billionaire asset stripper who clearly has become inured to not blinking an eye when costing people their jobs where profit is at stake. Or had that passed you by?
Women are the home wreckers of the world.
I recall a letter stabbed in clay in early Sumerian, many thousands of years old, it was from a wife to her merchant husband, spitefully arguing that he should earn a lot more because she wanted a house just like the neighbours.
Nothing much changes.
Except now we are post feminist in the grip of a depression and women have their own incomes- but it is still not enough. In such circumstances we always start to play the blame game just like the American masses are doing right now.
They are blaming any 'unnecessary aid' to both Johnny foreigner and the American impoverished- it is brainless, predictable and platitudinously right wing. History tells us that this road can lead to extremes with violent and inhumane consequences. But you are not listening to the lessons of history- you are only interested in the rightness of yourselves now as YOU greedily perceive it.
Obama is fundamentally a good man and he would never take you down this unforgivable path of righteous self-interest.
This is the absolute truth- if EVERY voter in America went to the polls in the next week the Republican Party would be destroyed. They do not have the vast majority of the American people in their thrall.
Just like in the UK you have a diseased democracy which is screaming out for emergency surgery. But you are quite content to let the patient suffer because that is how is it is with Western Capitalism.
You can yell philanthropy at me all you like but philanthropy can be inordinately divisive and cover a multitude of sins- most of which are cited by the various religions but OF COURSE routinely ignored. For philanthropy in the USA, substitute the words hypocrisy and tax-breaks.
Get a grip. We see hysterical politically motivated Americans behaving like apes on speed on our TV news-feeds, they remind me of other peoples way beyond their borders- passionate Arabs delighted by the green shoots of their false dawn of the 'Arab spring' shooting rifles into the air and burning the flags of dead regimes.
Americans would never behave like that would they. God would surely forbid it- at least in the bible belt.' CM
Women are the home wreckers of the world.
I recall a letter stabbed in clay in early Sumerian, many thousands of years old, it was from a wife to her merchant husband, spitefully arguing that he should earn a lot more because she wanted a house just like the neighbours.
Nothing much changes.
Except now we are post feminist in the grip of a depression and women have their own incomes- but it is still not enough. In such circumstances we always start to play the blame game just like the American masses are doing right now.
They are blaming any 'unnecessary aid' to both Johnny foreigner and the American impoverished- it is brainless, predictable and platitudinously right wing. History tells us that this road can lead to extremes with violent and inhumane consequences. But you are not listening to the lessons of history- you are only interested in the rightness of yourselves now as YOU greedily perceive it.
Obama is fundamentally a good man and he would never take you down this unforgivable path of righteous self-interest.
This is the absolute truth- if EVERY voter in America went to the polls in the next week the Republican Party would be destroyed. They do not have the vast majority of the American people in their thrall.
Just like in the UK you have a diseased democracy which is screaming out for emergency surgery. But you are quite content to let the patient suffer because that is how is it is with Western Capitalism.
You can yell philanthropy at me all you like but philanthropy can be inordinately divisive and cover a multitude of sins- most of which are cited by the various religions but OF COURSE routinely ignored. For philanthropy in the USA, substitute the words hypocrisy and tax-breaks.
Get a grip. We see hysterical politically motivated Americans behaving like apes on speed on our TV news-feeds, they remind me of other peoples way beyond their borders- passionate Arabs delighted by the green shoots of their false dawn of the 'Arab spring' shooting rifles into the air and burning the flags of dead regimes.
Americans would never behave like that would they. God would surely forbid it- at least in the bible belt.' CM
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