Saturday, June 29, 2013

Still falls the rain

 
This month's pic is a portrait of Dame Edith Sitwell by Wyndham Lewis. If you aint never read a Dame Edith Sitwell poem, you aint no friend of mine. She reminds me a little bit of a character called Chiaroscuro Schist in a story called A Hole to China what you can read here. No not here, back there. 12 words ago.

Phew! Made it. Nearly didn't get one of these out for June, not that there isn't a lot to comment on in a hilariously lop-sided way for the entertainment of virtually no-one. Actually it seems increasingly likely that while I may be practically unread by actual real people my ridiculous output is being stored for possible future scrutiny by the covert intelligence agencies of several nation-states including the one I'm parked in right now. How exciting! This is all real you guys! If you were high enough in your organisations you'd know that already, of course. I actually did know chap who was recruited to work in GCHQ and I must report that he was a complete shit-wipe. If GCHQ are any good I'm sure they've sacked him by now but you never know. He could be reading this right now with the knowledge of who I actually am. Hello! Shit-wipe! It's not absolutely impossible of course, after all I did back the Soviets and am therefore still potentially dodgy. Yes I am embarrassed by it as it happens but hey buddy, history aint over yet! Besides, while communism may have scored low in realising human potential, it certainly scored high at winning wars.

It is worth remembering of course, in the light of the Snowden revelations, that The German Democratic Republic, that is communist East Germany, failed as a regime despite being, by reputation, the most intrusive state in history. In those days of course, information was analog and there was only ever as much as human beings could process. Today's intelligence trawlers are too large and unwieldy to be of any use to their human captains and they should bloody well concentrate on their own business, which of course, the next world war. Besides, as I have spoken off on this virtual publication before, there's a monster growing in all that stored intelligence, dark as the world of man, black as his loss.

Here's the music bit- Morricone at his most sweet and succulent:







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