Monday, 16 July 2018

Oh Daddy

Friday, 1 June 2018

The donkey and the bear - is it really that long!

When artificial intelligence finally surpasses humanity over any number of given tasks and can repeat those tasks, all without human intervention, then we’ll have arrived at the door-jamb of obsolescence, and I can hand over my drafts, so allowing for the odd corrective tweak.  Now, after firmly hoisting myself at the end of part ii, it’s time to move swiftly through part iii.  

Trubrexaggedon - part iii

Looking across the globe the realms of political square dancing seem to be going through a slight pinprick of turmoil.  If I had to pick a point in time, in which the general air of pensive foreboding hangs like a spectre of damocles (like ids at a hip and fun party, celebrating a victory shredding even the barest of safety nets from the most vulnerable in society) then that date hovers somewhere between the years 1928 & 1933.

Many part-time wielders of power (prostrating themselves in gratitude after reaching the executive level washrooms, come slinging out time in the public realm) appear furiously intent on appeasing their zealous, increasingly public, lever pulling power-tuggers, whilst trying to ensure voters vote the way that’s expected of them, but ideally, not having them vote at all.  However, even if the electorate did vote there are always ways to get around that particular bit of planking in the eye - democracy, or no democracy.  Pfft.  As we’ve seen throughout history, all that’s needed is a popular media uprising and soon enough people will trot out that hackneyed phrase “there’s no smoke without fire,” with a third of the readers vehemently, or partially at any rate, believing the regurgitation, and laws changing accordingly. 

Not quite the same as unleashing an army of killer nanobots in need of some real world testing, but it certainly does come a close second.  And why stop at nanobots when robots are becoming increasingly more flexible and heartwarmingly helpful - here, here, and oh yes, here.  After all, where there's a will and funds, and the funds for slaughter are always certainly there, then the ways are becoming practically limitless.

Mix into that heady sloop of rabid squirrels: sudden jolts of climate change, a seasoning twist (or two) of global hunger, an asteroid strike, a sprinkle of world-wide terror, and a stroke of light apocalyptic proportions - adding a dash of quintessential piquant essence.  Naturally, we haven’t quite finished.  Something interesting yet old, such as a new antibiotic-resistant plague, which is also 100% multi-vector communicable, and has at least a 98.5% fatality rate.  That would of course see off most of the populace making the rest, for those that survive, far more amenable and suitably cowering under a bounty of weapons pointed in their direction by autonomous entities a far better prospect to look forward to, for those inside a nice and intact dry base of operations.

Where was I?  Ah yes, the donkey and the bear.

The ongoing, self-inflicted car crashes on either side of the pond (the usa and uk for those in any doubt), show no signs of immediately petering out, or really being nipped in the bud.  It reminds me of, just for a split second after you leave a club, that you truly believe that you can fly, before gravity rudely distributes your body all over the floor.  But let’s not dwell on past memories, moving on.

Considering the scale, there doesn’t seem to be that much news regarding the panama, paradise, or even peculiar papers anymore which considering the large scale filching, is to be expected.  If we take a brief step back, we can really feel deep down that there’s probably going to be a third instalment.  Waiting, pensively.  Over there.  Just beyond that flaming horizon.

With nobody really brought to book (apart from the icelandic premier and i’m not even sure he counts) and the ongoing deaths of investigative journalists it looks as though justice is being shoved firmly back into its box, whilst being sat on by law.  No doubt justice’s full force will be wheeled to bear when an impoverished and poverty struck person decides they need to nick a loaf of bread, or face starvation.  That will teach them. Have their face firmly rubbed in it and displayed across the press, as a freak for public excoriation.

Considering the zeal with which some of the press salivate over any chance to castigate members of the workshy caught pilfering a bottle of water from the local branch of poundlight, due to a lack of rainfall and the local council having to choose between: ensuring the public fountains & water taps are kept running, or keeping the public libraries open for a few hours.  In their great wisdom, the council decided that on leaving the public libraries open!  Not only would that provide an avenue for people to read about how wonderful it was to drink water, but they could also find out how glorious it would be to actually eat food consisting of nutrients and micro nutrients, building to that delirious result of mouthwatering taste, instead of their usual bowl of grey dust.  Surely that would be far better than actually having someone lean over a tap, trying to get some temporary relief?  And if they’re dead from starvation, well it’s a job for the obituary column.

Gargh, the donkey and the bear!

If we look back at all those countries which have either expressed a wish to, or attempted to remove themselves from the petrodollar and take on a different currency, such as the euro, or in the case of libya whilst under the firm control of gaddafi, form a new continent-wide currency to replace the dollar as favoured currency to trade in oil, then without exception, the drums of war started to peal, and the labelling of those countries as dangerous to the utter existence of all around them reached a roaring crescendo - well, that is in the usa media and political circles.  But those countries didn’t really have the clout of somewhere like, china.  Yes, China - and this is something which completely passed me by, and I didn’t see on any of my newsfeeds - on the 26 march 2018 started trade in yuan-dominated oil futures contracts.  Some hail this as the beginning of the end of the petrodollar, whilst others believe such talk is overblown and the petrodollar dominance will be fine for years to come, which it could well be.  But over time all things change, and the fate of the us dollar will be the same as all others before it, bulldozed by the onward march of history.  For many in the usa and other countries around the world, let’s hope it’s a nice and orderly transition of influence and not a worst case scenario.  An event, i have no doubt, that will be ably presided over by the 45th potus, and  the coterie of mountebanks.

Oh dammit, i nearly forgot. The donkey and the bear!

A while stuffed polar bear is astride a laughing donkey - think of donkey from shrek

Monday, 9 April 2018

When we forget...

“Bloody computer, useless pile of shit.  It’s first thing, and I have an report for this morning’s meeting, useless IT!”  

“Thank you Sir.  Please wait a moment...
I’ve diagnosed the problem…
Did you remove the network cable before the weekend?”

“Er… er…"


Friday, 5 January 2018

Taking back control

Oh isn’t a week a really long time?! So here’s the recap from part I. Orange buttons, buffoons, garden of eden, and thanks for reading. Finally, a part ii which has made it out of the fervid recesses. So before this destructs, let’s take a gentle gander back through time and across the spinning globe, before it bursts into a gargantuan nuclear flower...
Trubrexaggedon - part ii


Ah the american dream. Where not pouring an endless stream of money into advertising, nor having 2,868,691 less people vote for you than your opponent by dint of an electoral college, ensures you win an election? Land of the free? More land of the extremely malleable - and you won't believe how long it took before that description replaced the far less charitable one!

A land where the carrot of wealth fights alongside the pendant of superficiality, and the entire balloon is periodically pricked by an underclass of consciousness. Once that pesky thing is firmly flung back in to its box before any serious damage can be done, and the balloon is fully patched, the citizenry can safely be returned to their mewling senses. Just in time to see the president tuck into an opponent with a carving knife, live on air, whilst dementedly screaming the presidency is mine for life.

That might just be the intensity of smacked realism needed for the moderately minded to finally see where the horror of electoral inactivity could truly lead. Hopefully that'll occur before they head to the polls in their droves, so turfing out the power hungry, small government (unless it involves getting hands over and into your private parts - especially if virginal offerings, sex optional) minded, power-crazed, empathically devoid dingbats.

Talking of manipulated carrots. The current potus (the 45th) allegedly suffers from partial cushing’s syndrome; and wherever there’s a troubling hotspot with temperatures in excess of 50 degrees, apparently leans towards placing a palatial edifice within striking distance of said trouble-spots. Strategically placed icbms dotted inside the gargantuan name overlooking the rubble, and any rabble with the temerity to cause a ruffled combover to slightly flop in a force 0.0015 breeze. So helping to ensure stocks continue to maintain their healthy defense payouts.

President thin skin is the undisputed leader of the free world. His administration of multi-billionaires studiously looking out for the little guy, and concentrating on the important things. Such as: cutting inheritance tax for all those people living wage packet to wage packet, but who have at least 14 plus million dollars they can squirrel away to their offspring, should they shuffle off this pie mud. Visiting the poor, the misfortunate, the stereotyped and downtroddenly maligned; providing them all with vhs copies of history programmes showing a better time in history, when workers were all hard at work, and the underprivileged knew their place.


Electing a non-fascist as president. Then slamming the brakes on, before pitching the pendulum fiercely into reverse.


The sphincters charter, taking back control; and soon, fresh from across the pond... best before the end of the apocalypse re-packaged chlorinated gmo chickens.

Yes the empire's better days of bringing the rule of slaughter, divide and conquer, appear to be well behind it. Now leaders seem submerged by the alternatives of fear. No longer able to distinguish one mad max future from another, believing the only thing preventing a descent into sure madness is by monitoring, storing, and archiving everything everyone does should in-depth analysis years down the line be required. Should citizens dare think, let alone do anything mildly stimulatingly subversive. Protest over fair pay, or another duck pond not fit for a gnat? Tough. The checkbox for your permanent monitoring has been automatically checked and everything you do from now on will be stored for the safety and security of the nation, until the end of time.

Such moves are only a boon to nationalists everywhere. Who utilise them as affirmative signs the others shouldn’t be allowed in to their particular patches of twisted reality - let alone interbreed with pure stock. Whilst so many of their fellow compatriots (for whatever reason) fall on less than stellar times, their goto pissing post is always the same: it’s everybody else who’s different from us fault, and should be blamed for our ills. Usually though, if you spare more than two seconds to read the headlines before skipping to the next click-bait piece, the others (most of them at any rate) are usually escaping something: bombs being dropped, markets been blown up, beheadings for not believing in whichever sky fairy is the most popular in the region at the time. Economic systems decimated from pilfering politicians, bribing global corporations, small-minded henchmen, or possibly years of drought leading to pictures that usually depict a malnourished african child in a woollen jumper who's forgotten how to use his hands when the film crew are there, whilst the flies treat him as an aircraft carrier.

People drink in the nonsense spouted by most of the billionaire owned press, either not knowing or not caring enough to ensure their mental goalposts are sufficiently robust to view the material with a major helping of suspicion. But when reports of people with a more conservative frame of mind, indicate that they believe most people are guilty until otherwise proven innocent, then why on earth would the billionaire owning class do anything that would jepordise the status quo that ensures their billions remain untouched, by the trolls further down the ladder?

Perhaps if the top 0.001% of the people didn’t own more than the lowest 60%, and instead turned from fluffing their own nests into attempting to understand why so many parts of the world are, for so many, such steaming piles of dung heaps. Then just maybe, we could have a world where more people were able to reach their potential, and who knows, perhaps society as whole might just feel a little bit better off for it.

And before this continues in part iii somewhere around the corner, i hope you all had a wonderful christmas and a very happy new year.

Monday, 20 November 2017


Sometimes we need to squirrel ourselves away to recharge rundown and corroded batteries. Sort of take a little time out.  To try and remember precisely where we’ve squirrelled away all of those batteries.  Especially when ingesting and processing the endless streams of guff pouring over wires, or through the ether, has the unfortunate side effect of exponentially draining our energy reserves, as mind-boggling levels of worldwide guff grows with eye bleeding rapidity.

Part I

Oh blimey.

Oh dear.  

Oh my omnipresent sky biscuit and creator of all. Whom despite being all knowing all seeing, and all powerful (albeit with a short fuse) just can't put his/her/it’s own creations in order and needs one of those creations (a bunch of semi-intelligent, arse scratching, missile waving bipeds) as poxy fodder to help win a simmering cosmic war.  A war which will finally be concluded when the hamsters of the apocalypse pop along to firmly press the orange finger of pudginess, into the gaping windblown crack of wanton armageddon - or something tautologically horrific!
Lest we forget, this familial bust-up (for a fifth of the world’s population at any rate) began with the brightest and most favoured feeling put out by some upstart knuckle-draggers daddy had the temerity to pop into existence, and started paying far too much attention to.

The flouncing and pouting was partially inspired by a towering pillar of narcissism, and nascent realisation the gullible and easily manipulated bipeds were more than ripe for the picking and for a bit of upselling, with nothing more requisite than a dingle-dangling delicious bite of an apple.  

I’m sorry, but if the fate of the universe depended on whether some grunting mud-slingers, apparently without prior knowledge of good or evil (nor seemingly much knowledge of anything else outside of lewd behaviour) decided to eat the forbidden fruit, as the magic speaking snake said it tasted soooo so good, then that surely smacks of juvenile entrapment, along with been a bit of a flaw in the master plan.  After all they hadn’t even reached their first birthday; and which parent expects a toddler less than one year old to do anything it’s told.  But who am I to quibble over the elated finer points of reverential godly existences!

Moving on.

What a year 2016 turned out to be!?  Yes this is a bit late, and yes no one cares, and do you have to read it?  Of course.

This was going to be the bright and shiny 2017 new year's day post.  But i’ve been stuffing my face with popcorn and cream cakes ever since the year birthed into being.  My open mouth refusing to stay shut, as my eyes stared in amazement at the reality tv series that had overrun the newsreels. Launching us kicking, and screaming down our very own dystopian version of the twilight zone.

Dependent on which part of the social, political, empathic, climatic, sociopathic, bring-on-the-trumpets side of revelations you inhabit, either your throat is hoarse from all the shouting and screaming - and that's only at your heathen neighbours with the temerity to fly a rainbow flag - or you haven’t stopped shaking your head, as each mind-boggling month is followed by yet another, even more out there, boggling month of creaming uncertainty.

So with 2016 firmly in the rear view of the great knackers bin of history, and 2018 in the wings, hardhat firmly wedged behind baroque velvety curtains - eyes peeking through embryonic camouflaged hands - it’s time to take a gentle gander back through the briarbush of popcorn-stuffing stuff, which had people sputtering burnt toast across and over their better half - whilst listening to the news, first thing of a morning.  

So, and in no particular order, let’s take a gentle gander back through time and across the spinning globe, before it bursts into a gargantuan nuclear flower...

Which in time honoured tradition, will be continued in part ii, next week.   

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Telegraph Hill

Every now and then, in-between reading, listening, and being mesmerised by the deranged goings on of the loons in the current american presidential cycle, sighing over the ever bleaching coral, extrapolating when warmer land and sea temperatures will lead to rapid sea rise, massive migrations, wondering just what goes through the mind of a suicide bomber as they exit this life; my fingers wander across the periodic little gem.

Telegraph hill. A short film, from paulo berberan, which held my attention through all of its' 14 minutes, and there are still two scenes which refuse to budge from my minds eye – despite numerous attempts at swatting.

Sunday, 24 January 2016