dolores666's photos with the keyword: Seasons

Once more, an all-purpose doodle will have to do for both the Solstice knees-up and the 12th Ash memorial. I’m all over the place and gigantically pooped, thus it makes sense to do things when I can rather than when I’d like to do them or (less importantly, really) when it would be proper. Have a spiffing one, do.

(Late) Season Greetings. Of course, given the current trend of world management the chances of 2024 being a tolerably good year, let alone a happy one, are as thin as cat’s ear but hey! who cares? Stay with Mehitabel and keep on Becketting on best you can. Resit, bite, annoy, be “difficult” and so on. You know the drill. Love, fangs and muffins.

This will have to do as both the customary Solstice greetings and the 11th Ash Memorial. I’m too cold and pooped and dispirited for discrete productions. Have a good one. Ash, I still miss you but no longer mourn you. Perhaps you’re lucky that you’re missing the colossal amount of crap we’ve been getting in these past 11 years. More power to your emancipated particles, me old china! XXX

New Year 2023. As it says on the tin. Have the best possible one. Dissent. Annoy. Irritate. Indict. Denounce. Be loud. Refuse. Etc. You know the drill by now. And have a sponditious 2023 in spite of It All and to spite Henry Kissinger, as ever. Love and shortbread (Scottish ilk).

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

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

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

Spring is here, oh, Spring is here. Life is skittles and life is beer. Tom Lehrer Or it should be. And if it isn’t is our own fault for being so/such …………………. (enter offensive terms of choice here). And so far it’s being the typical English Spring: cold, wet, dull and Tory-ridden. But let us try & make it the best we can, be only only to annoy The Powers That Be. Dig out your Tom Leher, your authentic bootleg Russian vodka, your Tolstoy, your Bakunin and your Rachmaninov. Defy, resist, bite and dance (The Rite of Spring, what else?) naked in the garden (weather permitting). And, above all, stay sane. Grooviness, love and borscht to you all.

Have a brisk 2022. Love and maracas. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.” George Orwell

Solstice 2021 (the Real One, this time). There. This time I’ve got it right. Checked with 3 different calendars. All said tomorrow IS the Winter Solstice. So, have a good one of you can manage it at all, please do. (You know the drill, by now: it annoys Henry Kissinger etc.) Love, sunbeams and raised fists (or middle fingers).

A very merry Solstice to you all, in spite of the possibilities of having a really jolly one being rather slim. Stay stubborn. Stay sane. Dance for as long as you have legs to dance with. Acknowledgment of Senior Moment. 22/09/21 This goes well beyond a mere “senior moment” and accelerates very hard from plain embarrassment to utter bewilderment. The worse is that I remained unaware of this fuck up for the whole of three days. Exhaustively checking my temporal sub-routines -which have bee somewhat maladjusted, lately- and doggedly backtracking the course of circs that led to it. (I suspect the clocks going back next week has played a not insignificant role in this gaffe) Nearly there although I won’t bore you with the results. All that remains is to say, like the Mi-Go would, is ‘Mozt zinzere apologiez, folkz. Ignore the zilly capzion and have a zpoinditiouz weekend”. Do. And be lenient with gross absent-mindedness.

Solstice 2021. So here we go again. The sun has come and now he’s going again, rousing much distress and indignation amongst the light-loving Fuzzies of the Badlands. I do sympathize with the infuriated one but I’m closer to his more philosophical friend. Some things are as they are and that’s that. Bumba speed and many happy returns, old chap. Have a splendid Solstice, although is wet, cold and miserable. Never mind. Toujours gai! Toujours gai!, even in the midst of dire conditions. Resist, bite and swim against the tide.

And so 2020 passed ignominiously and pathetically, with a whimper and a whinge. Brexshit by the skin of some vampire’s teeth; dodgy vaccines; allegedly novel mutations of the lurgy; culled minks; ice shelves crumbling; divisions multiplying and the Masters of the Universe conquering like it’s going out of fashion; the Left transmogrified into some kind of genetically modified Right and the Right screaming “Marxist!” at the least provocation and always inaccurately (poor old Karl must be turning in his grave…). And, of course, the eternal, canonic Russia/China/Iran trilateral dastardly plot to destroy our wonderful, freedom-loving, democracy-exporting Hollywoodized way of life. (Guantanamo anyone?) Ah, me…! It’s seems almost cruel to wish you all a splendid 2021, as it’s highly improbable that it’ll be any better that 2020 was. In fact, we’ll be lucky if it isn’t much, much worse, but hey, as Mehitabel never tired of saying, whatta hell. Life is short and full of trouble but there are a few thing we can still do to make it less crappy. Use your imagination. Also, resist, bite, dissent, object, rebel, disagree, hug a Chinese, love your loved ones and try and acquire new ones to love and cherish. Love is also mutating, from revolutionary to subversive. Cultivate it. Tend the gardens of your soul. Weed your hearts. Give Them as good as They try to give us. Personally I shan’t complain too much. The Pantomic has affected me far less that has afflicted (when not downright destroyed) the lives of so many other people; and there have been a couple of sponditious bright spots in my life; and for this I’m glad, grateful and inclined to be gracious. Stay sane, stay groovy, stay Gramscian, have a nice life. And un po’ di mu’, of course. www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0TiGV_nRtk www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIIAsQM_Q2M

Solstice Shubby. Here she is, the one and only, the splendid, the ineffable Black Goat of the Woods With a Thousand Young -currently on holiday in the Plateau of Leng and hence not in the picture. She’s commanding us wretched souls to have a fab Solstice in spite of the all-pervading crap that’s engulfing us. Milady’s cortège think (but not say; not aloud anyways) that she is, indeed, glorious and incomparable and unutterable but she has no social graces whatsoever. I say nobody’s perfect. And she means well, I’m sure. Follow her advice and do try and have a great Transition. Things are very unlikely to get any better but at least Apollo is turning his chariot around and heading back our way. Any time now, snowdrops and wee buds. Menos da una piedra… And un po’ di mu’ seasonal. (I know, I repeat myself. But I love this song and it’s not everyday that a couple of eccentric Scots write a song for me just to cheer me up.) cthulhubrothers.bandcamp.com/track/the-archer Stay sane, folks! www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvILFVJMPvY PS. And that's the lot for today. Tomorrow: New Year's Greetings. Better late than never, innit.

Here you go. Have a lovely Solstice even if there’s little cause for celebration. I’m sure we can fin something to make whoopy about. And here’s a wee bit of apocalyptic gossip to make you smile: The world is due to end tomorrow, June21st. Apparently the readers of the Maya prophecy read the calendars (which one I’m not sure) and got it all wrong for 2012, so the End Is Nigher that we thought. Have fun! Stop Press. This be a duplicate, with text, because my desktop is fucking about and possibly about to give up the ghost and me I'll have to jump into the Grand Union, alas. Etc. So I might be away sometime, like that gizer wot went to the Antarctic. Wish me luck. Love & Rockets

Dig out the teddy bears! Pile up the lemon ice cream! Sharpen your dentures! Dark times are coming and the Tories are not going anywhere any time soon -which is why dark times are coming. Still, resistance is not futile. Keep chipping at the boulder. Solstice card proper soon come. Hugs and rockets. XXX

Hello 2020. Personally I haven't the smallest, faintest shred of an anaemic hope that it'll be better than 2019, let alone a happy one. Still. We must Beckett it best we can, mustn't we? Have the best possible 2020 you can get, folks. Stay stubborn.