dolores666's photos with the keyword: Anniversaries

Unhappy Anniversaries. (A little bit late but as the saying goes…) There’s chaos and then there’s chaos. There’s one kind of chaos that brings release and joy and renewal. The chaos They bring, unfailingly brings mindless, gratuitous destruction, all-round misery and moronic decay. And dreadfully predictable (perchance prearranged?) consequences. What’s worse, it’s hailed by some as progress. Oh, well. Let’s Beckett on best we can, shall we...

This is a kind of collective birthday card/memo (a salutary reminder, lest we forget) for, in no particular order, Pakistan, myself, India in her present form, anyone who thinks they need reminding of certain facts of life and poor old recently-stabbed Salman Rushdie, whose quotation the lapidary lady is throwing at the howling night winds. Have a splendiferous rest of the week. Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell tonight? Whom else from rapture's road will you expel tonight? Agha Shahid Ali And in case you’re in the mood for some totally spiffing un po’ di mu’: www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYxN_4i_mOA PS. This is also, in a sort of roundabout sneaky way, for my mate “Yazz”, gone from the Iper.sphere and somewhat unintentionally neglected but by no means forgotten, no way.

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.

Behold the Square Pegs! Weary with the supreme mug’s game of trying to fit into round holes, they have diversified into the trafficking of bootleg substances. They bring me the most intoxicating of potions as a sort of pre-anniversary warning. Ain’t they cute? The mixture itself is a secret formula developed by the Mi-Go and their cousins, the Lee-Loo, in cahoots with the Magister Artifex from the secret stills of the Moon Beasts of the beautiful Plateau of Leng. The Shub-Niggurath swears blue by it so it comes extremely well recommended. I intend to get totally plastered on it from today till next week, when I’ll wake up to the fact that tempus fucking fugit ever so fast, the wee bastard thing. I also will be listening to one if the best, most lucidly cynical songs ever written (by Dario Fo) and performed (by the glorious Enzo Jannacci) on the subjects greed, paranoid entitlement and the master/peasant dynamics. Enjoy and have a spiffing weekend. www.youtube.com/watch?v=s64KPXWOA4E And a bonus ball, for the sheer absurdity of it: www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_XySW1Qdhs

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”.

Never say die! Friends old and new have dropped in, defying the “distancing” diktat and two-fingering the engineered paranoia, to celebrate the fact that I’m still around, alive -if not well, and pretty much as they left me last year; that is unrepentant and obnoxious. They have brought me the usual gifts. You know: flowers (or flehs, as Primus calls them), Godivas by the boxful, mock pearls, and so on. Also, the new little Black Poppet*, the vessel that contains what I most need in these trying and tiring days: Infinite Patience. The ineffable Black Goat of the Woods with Far Too Many Riotous Churumbeles, has attended again. And, lo! She’s smiling!!! Admittedly, it is a wicked smile but all the same, it’s astonishing. I suspect she’s beginning to develop a sense of fun. Really, I don’t know what the Final Void is coming to. A bonus this year has been that as well as receiving gifts, I have had the chance to make one present. A much wanted one, too. There, all is fluffy. Have the customary un po’ di mu’ and stay awkward, stay silly and stay sane. www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzZqeWNpe3U *The little Black (Voodoo) Poppet has a White Twin who will make her debut soon. El que avisa no es traidor

Well, it makes a change from the old tiresome birthday blues, innit? So, 72 (tomorrow) and counting. I wonder when I’m going to get perfectly fed up with all this computing, computing… However, I’m still in good company and that counts for something. Look, even the Shub-Niggurath has joined the exquisite Li-Lo (another lot of distant relatives of the delightful Mi-Go) and other guest to the party. Judiciously she has brought with her, across the Mountains of Madness, her own little cloud of stroppy despondency, just in case things get too chirpy and fluffy, what with the fizzy finches, and the Li-Lo being congenital optimists, and the cat a born hedonist and the Musical Teddy far too fond of Conchita Piquer. That’s my girl!

Here’s just a little something to keep the juice flowing, now it seems to be back. See the acute Cagnolito of Tindalos and her mate, the Wholly Furious Fish, expressing their considered opinion on the subject of Brexshit, Theresa May, the Tories, that bunch of big girl’s blouses that call themselves the Labour Party, you name it. Also, a side, snide nod to the 100th anniversary of the Amritsar Massacre. Since nobody seems to have the basic decency to apologize for it, we’ll do it, although it’s really no skin of our long-suffering snouts. And while we’re at it, also for the Black Hole of Calcutta and the Bengal Famine, and the Chagossians, and for all those weapons Britain is selling to the bleeding Saudis so they can obliterate Yemen. There. Have a maaaarvelous week.

Ever since I turned 60 I’ve been pleasantly astonished by each subsequent birthday. I consider as something short of a miracle that they keep on happening. But there you have it; they do. And they keep on finding me, so far, pretty impenitent, frivolous and defiant. May this trend last for a bit longer, even if I know that I’ll never see the downfall of Crapitalism. But no so long that I may have to witness the complete overwhelming of all that is beautiful and good and right and groovy by this ultimate, Azathoth-like expression of it unleashed upon this lovely planet. Cheers. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Azathoth

OK, so the Russian Revolution failed pretty soon and pretty spectacularly and ended up in floods of Stalinist tears, further rivers of blood of the Long-Suffering Saintly Proletariat and bad art. But that’s because a) people are idiots and b) it was not a R-Evolution, just more of the same. Still, it was good for a while and, at the risk of sounding like a modern politician, lessons can still be learned. AND, and it’s a big “and”, before things went hideously tits up, it produced the Constructivists and the Suprematists and, most of all, the ineffable Aleksander Rodchenko, who was not only a genius but he was drop dead gorgeous to boot. There, that’s depth for you. Happy anniversary Winter Palace!

Tempus fugit vertiginously fast; gloria mundi transits like it's going out of fashion; Carthage is being destroyed relentlessly, over and over; my elderly bones sing a droning dirge from dawn till dusk; and I have become a tedious statistic to people that once pledged their knowledge and their endeavours to the promotion of the wellbeing of their fellow bipedal carbon-based sentient life-forms. One day you are a heedless bright young thing with flowers on her hair and next you are a wreck, most of what's left of your mind occupied by Shoggoths and the ineffable Cagnolitos of Tindalos. But why bovvah? Let us go, once more, with Mehitabel: Toujours gai, toujours gai. Argh, me hearties. The phantom whale is a-coming! Look, off she blows!