April 21, 2017
Diary 21st April
Easter weekend, became a lost weekend. We gave ourselves unashamedly to debauchery, Boys & Girls. And strong drink raged (as it does here, from time to time). Driven by our inflamed, animalistic urges we veered from manic to tender, from gently sentimental to crudely rough. It was, in short, an excellent time for us all.
Saturday night I watched a pretty woman put on her makeup. I M’s face, slightly flushed after her time alone with Dee and Gabby, reflected in the dressing table mirror in the spare room. She drank rum and sprite. Fussed with her hair. Spoke in banalities.
And now, between various feverish activities, I must decide whether or not to cancel an oral hygienist appointment at my dentist’s. The day and evening preceding we will be with old friends, eating, drinking, and over indulging. Can I face the hygienist first thing in the morning with a hangover and a mouth like a badger’s bum?
HYGIENIST: “Please Peedeel, allow me to fart in your mouth and freshen your breath.”
I think I’ll cancel!
Vast alchemies. Every three minutes, a person goes missing in the UK. Where do they all go? I find it a deeply disturbing statistic, don’t you?
Oh, yes, which reminds me. I watched the new episode of Dr Who at the weekend. Peter Capaldi’s last series playing the Dr . Mr Capaldi is a fine actor, but the Who series suffers from shite writing, and is in the guiding hands of those who believe that “narrative and characterization are too distracting from their preferred salad of videogame spaghetti”.
Long live the third rate, ay wot?
Food for thought: If all men disappeared of the face of the earth, every war would instantly be over.
February 19, 2017
Diary 19th February
My interest in history?
It was the way our teacher approached the subject back in the day, made it so much different to my other classes. I can’t remember her name now, but I can visualize her face. I was seven years old.
It was a mixed class, boys and girls, and we all sat around listening to her, still as statues as she told us about the Stone Age, Neanderthal man and the first Homo Sapiens. It fired my imagination.
I remember working flint in the garden at home and making my own (lethal) Stone Axe, using a tree branch (suitably trimmed and stripped of bark) and twine. My first attempt at ‘historic’ reconstruction.
Dildos are great and vibrators are fun,
But nothing beats the strength of my tongue!
Just because it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it won’t be fun…
I felt your mouth on me as I slept. I forgot about your teeth…Ah, my sweet vampire!
Trump, Trump, Trump…
Poor Donald seems to be floundering, out of his depth. He plays the media, of course, and they hate it. Each day in office he creates a new controversy and the media like a pack of constipated gripe hounds hurry to the sound of “their master’s voice”.
He has, without doubt, outraged the world with his attempted immigrant ban. But he’s certainly NOT the first president to do this. Back in 1882, Chester A Arthur signed his name to the ‘Chinese Exclusion Act’ banning Chinese for a period of ten years from entry into the US.
President Franklin D Roosevelt, elected four times no less, argued Jewish refugees posed a threat to US national security. Exaggerating the fear that Nazi spies could be hiding in their number, he limited the number of German Jews who could be admitted to 26,000 annually. (Less than 25% of that number were actually admitted).
Theodore Roosevelt, that tireless advocate of war and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize (one should never underestimate Scandinavian wit), banned “Anarchists” from entry to the US along with sufferers of epilepsy, beggars and importers of prostitutes. It was the first time ‘the home of the brave and land of the free’ banned people because of their political beliefs.
And more recently, Jimmy Carter banned Iranians from entering the US. His attorney general, Benjamin Civiletti, ordered all Iranians with student visas to report to U.S. immigration within a month or face possible deportation. Almost 60,000 students were registered as requested, 430 were deported and 5,000 left voluntarily. There was no great outcry or gnashing of teeth at the time by the moral majority.
And then President Ronald Reagan, dear Ronnie, inventor of the Star Wars project and ex-FBI informer, banned HIV positive persons from arriving in the US. This law was influenced by homophobic and xenophobic sentiment towards Africans and minorities at the time. Again, the media paid little attention.
So perhaps the problem is NOT the immigration ban as such, but is more about President Trump’s ‘style’ of government? He is NOT seen as “presidential” by the media, possibly?
Perhaps they are comparing him with those rather dim presidents in the past? Rutherford B Hayes, for example. Hayes and his wife known as Lemonade Lucy were high society butterflies. Of course, his opponent in the 1876 election, Samuel Tilden, was elected president by a quarter of a million votes. But Congress and the Supreme court, showing they could act just as forcefully and illegally as any president, reversed the election and the poignantly blameless Rutherford became know thereafter as president Rutherfraud.
Or then again, perhaps it’s Trump’s wealth the media and his opponents take issue with? The US, of course, has never had a ‘poor’ president. Even George Washington was a millionaire (his fortune honestly acquired via marriage). From that day to this, holders of the presidential office simply became increasingly more wealthy – that had to be the case in order to finance their political campaigns. And the media flourishes on the hundreds of millions of dollars spent at election time for television advertising – air time that increasingly avoids anything political, while indulging in ever more disgraceful character assassination.
Or then again, perhaps it’s the way Donald backcombs his hair pisses off so many people? I don’t know. It’s a mystery. He’s not a very ‘revolutionary or original’ president; most of what he suggests has been done before – like the famous wall between US and Mexico, a build already commenced by another, earlier president!
No. Ultimately, I see Donald Trump as one of the prosperous few making wide-ranging promises to the restless many – his personal goal, to depart on that magical ego trip of White House residency. But will he keep those promises? Are they even realistic or realisable? Only time will tell…
December 11, 2016
October 6, 2016
The most important thing we’ve learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set –
Or better still, just don’t install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we’ve been,
We’ve watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone’s place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they’re hypnotised by it,
Until they’re absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don’t climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink –
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK – HE ONLY SEES!
‘All right!’ you’ll cry. ‘All right!’ you’ll say,
‘But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!’
We’ll answer this by asking you,
‘What used the darling ones to do?
‘How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?’
Have you forgotten? Don’t you know?
We’ll say it very loud and slow:
THEY…USED…TO…READ! They’d READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching ’round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it’s Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There’s Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole –
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks –
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They’ll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start – oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They’ll grow so keen
They’ll wonder what they’d ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.
August 24, 2016
April 10, 2016
I always put my pussy in the middle of trees like a waterfall, like a doorway to God, like a flock of birds. I always put my lover’s cunt on the crest of a wave, like a flag that I can pledge my allegiance to. This is my country. Here when we’re alone in public. My lover’s pussy is a badge, is a nightstick, is a helmet, is a deer’s face, is a handful of flowers, is a waterfall, is a river of blood, is a Bible, is a hurricane, is a soothsayer.
poem for Jill Soloway’s Amazon TV series Transparent
March 4, 2016
March 3, 2016
One of the favourite fantasy plots of a writer is, a character’s told you’ve got three months to live . . . which is what I was told . . . who would you kill? I call my cancer – the main one, the pancreas one – I call it Rupert, so I can get close to it, because that man Murdoch is the one who, if I had the time – in fact, I’ve got too much writing to do and I haven’t got the energy – but I would shoot the bugger if I could. There is no one person more responsible for the pollution of what was already a fairly polluted press, and the pollution of the British press is an important part of the pollution of British political life, and it’s an important part of the cynicism and misperception of our own realities that is destroying so much of our political discourse…
…This formula-ridden television (we have now) is because of sales, because they’ll soon be able to tell you every five seconds who’s switching off. The pressure upon creators, whether they’re writers, directors, designers, actors, producers, whatever, that pressure will be there all the time until you maximise your audience at any given point, which is the very antithesis of discovering something you didn’t know. It’s the very antithesis of the kind of broadcasting on television which was such a glory in British life.
extracts from the Channel 4 ‘Without Walls’ interview made shortly before Potter’s death.
March 3, 2016
Harold Pinter was the most influential, provocative and poetic dramatist of his generation. He enjoyed parallel careers as actor, screenwriter and director and was also, especially in later years, a vigorous political polemicist campaigning against abuses of human rights. But it is for his plays that he will be best remembered and for his ability to create dramatic poetry out of everyday speech. Among the dramatists of the last century, Beckett is his only serious rival in terms of theatrical influence; and it is a measure of Pinter’s power that early on in his career he spawned the adjective “Pinteresque” suggesting a cryptically mysterious situation imbued with hidden menace.