dolores666's photos with the keyword: WiseBeasties

‘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.

Fierce Fish. aka The Fish, the Plodder and the PR Chappie. Nothing much I can add that you can’t see for yourselves. The Fish’s name is Bellona, the Plodder’s is Diletta and her new baby is called Tarquin. The little PR gent’s name changes from client to client, according to necessity and his own very elastic ethics gradient. (This is, of course, for darling dead Iain Banks and his funky Minds. We still miss you, baby.)

Floating Tittle-tattle. We all live, knowingly or otherwise, entangled in a maze, a cat’s cradle of lies, virtual realities, fake news, vapid fairy tales and mutually contradicting, periodically shifting party lines. It might come as a surprise to some to know that not all -not even all that many by a long long chalk- of these bogus premises blow in from the so-called Axis of Evil but actually suppurate from the self-styled Free World, which is the true progenitor, developer and main spreader of that most insidiously sophisticated and useful of tools of manipulation and control of the masses, contemporary Propaganda. Which recently has reached truly hysterical levels of efficiency. One day The Orthodoxy (and its indentured minions) says one thing; the next day it says the opposite; and the day after that it shifts once more, perhaps with an ever so slight variation, so that the flock will think it really different and even new. Thus the Governance by Idiots, or Idiocracy, perpetuates itself, assisted by a herd ever anxious to be led and told what to do (anything-for-a-quiet-life! free of the precarious labours of independent thought). Only the Floaters (& Co.) know what’s what but they are very small, very few and their voices very faint amidst the shrill din and clash of all the tales told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I like the Floaters. They take me with them in their frequent sorties and they tell me things. Have a splendiferous week.

By all means take it easy, chill, relax, don’t have kittens over trivial things. Activate the Mehitabel Protocols and extract as much joy as you possibly can out of this wretched social order we’re gripped by. On no account, though, resort to sad little gimmicks like this: www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2020/jun/21/smile-could-the-pandemic-lead-to-happier-times-laurie-santos-professor-of-happiness-yale Or this: www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/sep/05/ready-for-the-roaring-20s-its-time-to-re-learn-how-to-have-fun-says-happiness-professor (Frankly, if one needs to resort to this sort of thing one deserves any amount of shite one, invariably, ends up getting.) Avoid falling into the clutches of the Happyness (sic) Industrial Complex. You might start with a harmless-sounding weekend seminar on Happy Happy Clappy Cognition and you may end up on morality pills (or antidepressants, same difference) for the rest of your lives. Also, and on the other side of this ongoing existential piffle, avoid buying the third rate merchandise spewed by con men of the Jordan Peterson variety. Bliss is possible. Just don’t confuse it with “fun” and the ersatz joviality of selfies. One thing is good, genuine, unpretentious merriment and quite another this current hysterical, dogmatic worship of The Little God Fun, as my good friend professor Hinks used to inveigh against a long time ago. (Cheers, toots!) Oh, and in for a penny… To add a note of delicious flippancy to the rather serious theme of “happiness”, here’s my favourite (possibly semi-misquoted) line from one of my favourite films of all times, Richard Lester’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum Michael Crawford (on realizing how crossed his and Annette Andre’s stars truly are): Then, my love, for us there can be no happiness... Annette Andre: Then we’ll just have to learn to be happy without it. Admirable attitude, girl. Way to go. Have a spiffing weekend.

Behold the peerless, delicious, perspicacious Sage Worms (no relation to Bozo’s SAGE) freely voicing their considerate, if bemused, opinion of the latest Bogus Silver Bullet devised by our dear leaders. This here pic can be used as the latest APGI (All Purpose Gripe Indicator) as well. Just enter the beef of your choice in the text box, sit back and have a nice life. Remember, a good moan is as good as a rest!

Here be the ever-useful subatomic particles Smith and Jones, shining stars of the Far Fringes Commentariat, expressing their considered opinion on the latest tactics dripping from No. 10 to get rid of as many as possible of the superfluous, non-productive, non-consuming, pension-cashing members of this our wonderful Late-Late Crapitalist society. And here’s a nice bit of gossip: www.medialens.org/2020/for-unknown-reasons-they-waited-and-watched-lancet-editor-exposes-devastating-government-failure-on-coronavirus

Indeed there’s no such thing as too many of those. That’s what I think, anyway. And when you think about the slimy, slithery, venomous, scary vermin currently populating 10, Downing St. and Whitehall and Parliament, you’ll have to agree with me. My worms are cute, wise, pleasant to know and very good for your mental health. Have a spiffing week and don’t fret too much; it’ll all come out in the wash, sooner or later, when the wee worms and the tardigrades and the rats inherit the Earth. Love and whizzes. And here’s a little bit of day music to help you through the week. www.youtube.com/watch?v=tT65fkTrf3k www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXH-sj9miO8

Spanish Elections 2019 Well, it could have been so much worse, innit? My natural pessimism was predicting, Cassandra-like, a considerable victory for the three (increasingly rabid) right wing parties, wot would have coalesced immediately into a dread tripartite nightmare. As things stand, it’s bad enough that Vox has got in any sodding reps at all, and 24 is far, far, far too effing many for sub-human scum of that ilk. About the vast majority of ERC in Catalonia, the least said the better for my ulcer. As for Cs huge success … don’t get me started. Funny old thing, though. For once, it was the Right that fragmented into an unseemly (and uncharacteristic) display of high-pitched bitching and backstabbing. This kind of indecorous, not to say impractical, behaviour, generally befalls the Left’s encampment. Or our current Tory pigsty. It’s nice, though. Refreshing. My best wishes (tempered by thin hopes) to don Pedrito and his merry lot of autochthonous quasi-but-not-quite New Labour clones. Life goes on. Regardless. It must. I can’t go on. I’ll go on. Samuel Beckett And she crawled on, do or die, in the serene weather. Joseph Conrad

Rumbeta de l'entropia. Per mi, per tu, per als meus, per als nostres, per als de casa i els de fora de casa. Per el Peret i per l'Espriu. Per tots els pobres malaurats que no tenen res, literalment, ni tan sols una terra on caure morts i que acaben morint ofegats al Mediterrani perquè els que si tenen un país no els volen a casa, capficats com estan dissenyant nous canals per desviar el patrimoni comú a llurs butxaques eternament famèliques, o embrancats en elucubracions fútils i bizantines sobre el futur improbable de fronteres imaginàries mentre el país s'en va a la merda. Per als malastrucs desheretats, per als escanyats, per als tristos i per qui plora per ells. En una platja llevantina qualsevol, en una nit sense gens d'importància, l'Àziz de cals Egipcis, que és molt bon músic i millor amfitrió, ha organitzat un gaudeamus satíric, una mena de xirigota autòctona d'estar per casa, per presentar al respectable la seva darrera parida, la Rumbeta de l'Entropia. Les Santes Llagostes Il•luminades estan tan encisades amb l'espectacle que han fet la dansa ritual per fer baixar la lluna. I àdhuc la pruna, fixeu-vos! Les Llagostes Xiquetes, que són totes de Calella i Palafrugell, com les havaneres, ballen la rumbeta com si ballessin la conga perquè si, perquè són molt seves. La Daina Hipercrítica, amiga de tota la vida del Aziz, no podria estar més d'acord amb I’mpecable i concís anàlisi del seu compadrito sobre la situació regional. Les famoses partícules subatòmiques Smith i Jones, que no es perden una festa ni per casualitat, ponderen el valor intoxicant del Valdepeñas, que irriga la juerga a dojo com un bé de Bumba baixat del cel. Els Shoggoths fan guàrdia, que no se sap mai... Si poseu molta atenció, podreu fins i tot sentir l'oloret de l'escalivada que es cou a poc a poc fora de la imatge. I l'única "estelada" que veureu aquí, és la Via Làctia, que cobreix un cel tan negre i tan lluent com els ulls d'un cavall en un poema de Lorca. Now, put this lot through Google Translate and have a giggle. Or, alternatively, learn Catalan. :-)