dolores666's photos with the keyword: Shindigs

Between rants, a bit of fluff. Here, have a bit of mystical boogie-woogy, courtesy of Ms. Floribunda Spiccata (Blooming Sharp in English), a close relative of the Roman goddess of spring and flowers and all things green and bright and beautiful. Join her in a jig and a jaunt for to exorcise the round-the-clock crap that we get on daily basis from...well, practically everywhere, really. Knees up, folks! Life may be like a chicken coop’s ladder, short and full of shit, but “that’s no reason to pout ... smile and sweat it out.”* *Stephen Sondheim. Do I Hear a Waltz? PS. More rants sooooon come, worry not.

Further Catalan Stuff. aka It Never Rains… Featuring the same original Cucafera Tarraconensis and some mates she met at another tea party she was invited by one of her many admirers, the tiny Tentacular Thing With a Teddy wot kept watch upon the hills. Now they all travel Clouds 9 to 13. The beautiful lady dragon says, to anyone willing to listen, that drifting up & down the skies in kawai company, beats shuffling along the main drag of Tarragona City with a handful of blokes under her carapace trying to make her dance sardanas. See, the advantages of a pukka social life? As opposed to that dumb-show folks call “social” media, where you have 33,456 “friends”, none of which really gives a toss whether you live or die, not to mention several trolls and the odd stalker. Down with FaceFuckingBook! (And Snapchat, Twitter/X, Tick-Tock, Instagram and, at a pinch, Amazon.) Have a spiffing anti-“social” life.

More Catalan Stuff. Starring the original Cucafera (de Tarragona): The famous Vermis Ferus Tarraconensis: ca.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cucafera_de_Tarragona She was noticed by a talent-spotter from the Mid-Badlands on a weekend break in that beautiful region of Catalonia. He fell in love with the delicious creature then and there and he invited her to a tea-shindig forthwith. The adventurous worm accepted with alacrity and off she went to the perfumed knees-up, where she was an unmitigated success and charmed everybody off their socks. I do love a good love story, don’t you?

Walkies. aka (Small) reasons to be cheerful. The unruly doggies of the Mid-Badlands have escaped en masse to party and riot and rejoice at the demise of that ghastly cunt Berlusconi. One down many, many, many more to go, but, as the Spaniards say, Menos da una piedra. That is, every little helps and even a small bit of good news can be stretched and used as an excuse to have a merry shindig. I’m off to join the disorderly canines. Take very good care of yourselves and stay sane. Have un po’di very silly mu’: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojULkWEUsPs

Wee Ghosties. aka Anti-Valentine 2023. The annual Mush-Fest approaches if, just like last year, in a queerly listless manner and at a laggardly pace. Which is not surprising, given that antagonism, hostility and naked hatred are becoming the default positions all over the place. (Must be the abiding effects of all that “social” distancing bollocks that the We-The-People bought so blithely three years gone.) Anyways… That’s not stopping us from keeping faith with our own anti-shindig, except that this year, as we all feel very tired, a little lazy and kind of reticent, we have delegated the organizing and running of the blessed thing to an enigmatic entity that calls itself...The Entity, look you. It comes highly recommended by both the Shub-Niggurath and the GorgoMormo, who swear themselves blue that It is a true genius at creating and managing all sort of outrageous riots, parties, shows and other social events. Now, we know that the ineffable Shubby is many things but not exactly reliable in her assessments, but her rating of this particular creature is backed by the beautiful GorgoMormo, who is. So we are all half agog with anticipation and expectation and whatnots and well disposed to like anything said Entity throws at us as long as we don’t have to lift a finger, tentacle, pseudopod, encephalopod, forcipule, feeler, antenna, claw or whatever Nature (or Chaos) has been kind enough to endow us with. Kudos to Idleness! We will be carried to the secret venue by a specially licenced Byakhee procession. You’re all welcome, of course, if you can find the invites -soon to be deposited in the as yet undisclosed dead-drops- by yourselves. I’d suggest a few burnt offerings to Hypnos and a special postulation to Great Cthulhu. Love, vodka, cupcakes and grooviness to all!

On this day 75 years ago all sort of things happened, I’m sure, but not many that are actually of any interest to me unless I was into tubeless tyres and American drummers, which I’m not. So, on the whole the most interesting thing about 11th May 1947... ç'est de m'hi voir. There. Now I’m off to prepare the authentic Russian caviare canapés (for the Shubby, the Mi-Go and the local moggies, who like caviare) and to polish the cocktail shaker. The Cagnolitos of Tindalos have promised to bring me a distilled pan-dimensional, bend-free, incisively-angled liquor that's guaranteed to make me see beyond the Wall of Sleep and restore my equanimity (a little dented by the enormity of actually being three quarters of a century old). Au revoir! Have a spiffing rest of the week, a massively wonderful weekend and a long, loving and resplendent, clear-headed life. Love, red rags and un po’ di mu’. www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XoAJ98PbDM PS. An apology of sorts to all my pals, contacts and kind folks that are still talking to me. I’ve been very remiss about checking your stuff. This is not due to lack of caring but to the fact that energies are extremely constricted, of late. I will be back in action soon-soon...I hope.

The actual shindig was last Tuesday(11th) but I haven't felt like celebrating all that much (courtesy of the IDF and the Butcher of Beirut; also, Ip. was on the blink...again.) so here’s the related doodle, a wee bit late. The party was OK if a bit low key, in the spirit of the past year, when most flags have been flying at half mast if truth be told. Still, there were the usual highlights. A very stern-but-nice insectoid lady manifested early in the morning bringing a bagful of the most precious of commodities in these godawful days. A couple of freshly evolved Shoggothic … things also attended and were introduced to the rest of the company by the merry Voodoo Poppets. And while nobody was paying much attention, having been diverted by the music, the food and the ineffable drugs, a couple of hybrid Cagnolitos of...fuckknowswhere, really (the Tindalos High Commission denies any kinship with or even knowledge of the nonconformist beasties), infiltrated the festivities and proceeded to do a rain dance in the kitchen. No, I don’t know why, either. Cagnolitos, of Tindalos or Elsewhere, are laws onto themselves and they are seldom willing, or even able, to give coherent explanations for their behaviour. Me, I think “The more, the merrier”.

So here we are again; another round of consumer frenzy’s in the air –not to mention the telly. And while the general public are busy contracting the pseudo-organic roses and the soi-disant fair trade chocolates our little corner of South Hackney boils and bubbles with the traditional Anti-Valentine knees-up., which will begging officially tomorrow and may last, easily, until the end of next week. This year’s MC duties have been allocated to the capable and ever-cheerful Big Beata, a third cousin twice removed of the delightful Venus of Willendorf. See her here, carrying the Cantankerous Wheel of Fortune, assisted by that hardy perennial awkward git, Emiliano, a veteran of several successful insurrections, three young Shub-Niggureths on furlough, a devious Flying Fish and, as a link to last year’s card, our old pals the defecting Lloigor, Rhys and Rhodri. The entertainment will be unsurpassably groovy, if I say so myself. As well as the usual tableaux vivants (and mourants), Bach concerts, poetry recitals and bulk waltz-ins, this year we also have a few seminars on Post US Election Mass & Meedja Hysteria and discussion groups on the many health benefits of schadenfreude. As ever, entrance is free and all are welcome, even fifth columnists and agent provocateurs, since the Shub-Niggurath herself will be attending -and she simply adores agent provocateurs, especially if sautéed in a light batter and served in a bed of Lilloorian salad with some allioli. This year we have taken over the whole borough and there’ll be room aplenty, so there’s no need to book either. The usual free kit is available at the designated dead drops: de-stressed ice cream, real Chinese meals, subversive T-shirts, universal de-hypnotizers, all–gauge bamboozlers, Guardian Sludge antidotes, I Love Rosa rucksacks and so on. And because 2017 is the 100th anniversary of the Russian Revolution we’re also giving away gloriously proletarian caps and high definition repros of my top ten favourite Rodckenkos. Happy Non Valentine Day me old hearties!