A black eulogist tells Huston A-listers and by extension me, that she “so lurved the Lord.” Did she really, or is blame for her chosen leisure activities being deflected from the Brown chap and spread around to include an imaginary character to better tart-up a damaged image? Quite frankly, my dears, I don’t give a damn. I come neither to condemn nor to praise her person and to paraphrase what’s-his-name, I am free of all prejudice, I dislike everyone equally.
Huston’s early screeching so twisted my bowels that she and her genre in general joined other stale hams like ‘Stand-up’ comedians, on my ‘get knotted’ list. Now, it seems, the wailing will go on relentlessly by would-be Whitneys on whom God will bestow the late singers magic, while they and other medicated melon-heads wear out plastic in a reverential and inflated buying frenzy. Imagine Coster leading the eulogy spotlight. I gave Cage a serve in this despatch when the subject of my tirade was the former, but running the world from my little hole can deplete the erg.
You are strong on, or rather, another of your aberrations is following and commenting on soccer, an interest that rates from Y to Z on my emotional and sporting ennui scale disqualifying any input from me. Lost interest in that field after years of chronic beard rash threatened permanent facial scouring. Cinema! Won’t go so far as saying it died with Clark Gable but for me, Once Upon a Time In The West and Picnic At Hanging Rock was pitchers pinnacle, revived with Trainspotting and a few others, re-surged with Angelina Jolie’s magic in Alexander.
World-wide, writers and thinkers are stillborn, truncated by covert Government dumbing-down of citizens in the guise of protection; nannyism, not dissimilar to a fish and chip shop proprietor being shaken-down for protection money. Reducing their esteem by reducing their IQ to the squabbling small-minded and dobbing-in that constitutes Government-run housing precincts. It was after a visit to me by the Labor controlled political police stressing how the Gulag principle can work on me as it does on Julien Assuage; how the ever alert tentacles of corruption reacts to good people as does a cross to a vampire.
In spite of Nicolas Cage’s connection to Hollywood royalty via the Coppola link, he doesn’t do it for me. If I had his wherewithal I wonder, would my ego match his self-absorption sufficiently enough to churn out those dreadful indulgences of his. In video format, I persisted with the $1 garage sale heap of corn for over a week, each start-up needing minutes of catch-up recall. Leaving Las Vagas, was so hard to cop it could become the insomniac’s panacea. His vanity aroused in me a sense of unease so strong that, as penance, I returned to the computer to complete this letter.
I’ve briefly covered your pet topics, Craig, those that my low Peter’s Level are easily overtaken by the smarts. In past aeons, keeping up with sporting yabber meant touch-up stuff like, “What the fucks a bye or a wide again? A Mulligan? Oh yes, that crops-up in the little ball game that interferes with a good walk.” Where once I skimmed over or ignored that which induced the yawns, I now promulgate, meaning I don’t give a rats rim. My abject indifference has also inured me to barbs.
Your Twitter puff piece unashamedly admits conspiracy worries and your blog revolves around conspiracy theory which in a sense was our only common thread, I’d be thinking, yet if I were a dyed-in-the-wool C.T, I would lay into the Lotto organisation for withdrawing at least half my picks every draw ensuring nothing decent will ever drop into my lap.
Our joint thread most likely is the constant irritation of the chaff-brained electorate who live and die unaware or unprepared to accept that government’s ultimate aim is to institutionalise or slot, not only their opponents, but all generally decent living men and women. This is where departmentalised herd-mentalists get vindictive if their wishes are thwarted by the likes of me who have already been slotted in the lolling-head compartment. The names of bad bureaucrats and biased public servants like those working out of Woodridge Housing Department should be disclosed occasionally in the forlorn hope that public exposure, like the stocks of olde England, brought shame and repentance on petty criminals.
Your reference to a secreted hard-drive holding enough goodies to banish Bligh’s Looters! Goodness gracious me Craig, much too fanciful and should be corrected. Keeping in mind her staff’s intellectual quotient deliberately kept low to maintain cohesion, or a sync with the community. In this country and especially of Queensland, basic educational requirements for public servants can’t be maintained and a simple misunderstood double negative can get you sent to Coventry or to life in prison.
Queensland maintains a deep-seated attachment to the methods of 1933 Germany and I’ll swear a furtive look at the backs of the portraits of once important dignitaries hanging in Parliament House would reveal images of Himmler and his fraternity. John le Carre‘s creative mind ran riot at the aftermath of the era that led to the division of Germany and the germination of elaborate, entertaining spy stories.
I have at hand, ready to access, four A4 dog-eared lecture pads, hand-written daily records from my first day in the public housing precinct at 220 Brisbane Street, Beaudesert, to the last day there and beyond, minutely detailing the goings-on of Queensland Housing staff and the vindictiveness of staff led by institutionalised accusatory liar, cadre Schoutens to a pair of fellow departmental dissemblers. Once upon a time the loss of document files would have caused consternation, but while the pads are a tangible back-up to my claims, especially for dates, times, vehicle registration numbers and so forth, my ability to transcribe hasn’t diminished a whit.
- Nazi Hacks and Counter-Attacks: Cyberwar and the Fight for Human Rights (dokmz.wordpress.com)
- Nazis, elsewhere (cubiksrube.wordpress.com)