The Tories talk sense

I regret to say it.

I feel odd saying it.

But there has been a lot of sense talked by the Tories this week.

Why should people on benefits get money when they have another child while people not on benefits have to think about it? it was asked.

I'm not sure it's that simple; nor is the question really a population policy. But it's a start.

And then Theresa May has promised us that when people behave antisocially towards us, we may choose how they are punished.

I look forward standing beneath the High St crosses of screaming neglectful parents, saying ssshhh, sssssh, what is the matter with you? sssshhh, well I'm going home then.

And David Cameron has extended the notion of what is violent to include the kind of understanding I have always had e.g. Capitalism is violent. He will allow us to use violence whenever anyone invades our space and our privacy.

This is incredibly brave of him. He keeps invading me. It's a truly Damascene conversion. I propose not to take advantage and suggest that we only inflict violence on people who try to steal from us from, say, tomorrow morning. And only to deter, of course.

I hope he means it because lies invade me and are violent acts.

It couldn't be kept up, of course, and now he's talking complete bollocks about aspiration and rising again. I'm afraid that people will believe it; and that can only lead to violent acts like denying me support for my art and charging too much for the things I need.

Cafe blog

A little while ago, the excellent Steve Hanson emailed me: “I take much cathartic strength from your café blogs. They tell me that I'm human for feeling the same way and not dysfunctional for refusing to get gang raped quietly in those places, by their light jazz music, and their acceptance of amnesiac oblivion and a refusal to acknowledge the other as the default human setting...”

I'm probably more tolerant of the café itself than he. I am most inclined to hate a certain strand of clientèle which seems to gain a sense of entitlement from having children, when it is probably a sign that they're too stupid to practice contraception. I'd say the evidence is at least 50:50.

We have had in here just now 5 children simultaneously turning into cockatiels. The first one to do it today was so unwarranted there was no warning and so shrill that I shouted Shut up before I thought about it.

That is blasphemy.

It has been suggested that some common ancestor of the various human species at present roaming the urban wastes of the planet one day looked at a waterfall or a leaking gutter or some such, felt awe and so had the first religious experience. That may be so but it's a slightly different meaning of the root word, laid claim to by the believers amongst us.

Religion started the first time someone wanted to be told what to do. Eric Mottram caught it rather well in a poem many years ago when he pictured those who wake in the middle of the night screaming “I need a judge”.

Religion itself comes down to a set of behavioural axioms dressed up.

So we're looking at something that the domestic dog manages: anticipating what behaviour is acceptable to dim humans and trying not to cause trouble.

So much is raised to the level of the sacred, mostly to avoid having to face up to and consider contradictions.

So when I blasphemed today people looked at me all round the cafe, more with disbelief and dismay than disapproval. It was: look at the weirdo. Look at the one who isn't like us.

After some minutes I was challenged verbally, though I had said nothing else, presumably by those who feared we were now in trouble as a race and couldn't stand the suspense; and to those who wanted to listen, I put my case. The staff paid no attention. Mine was one more egotistical scream to them.

I disputed that all children make a lot of noise all the time without warning; and when one of the asbos shouted Are you saying I am not bringing up my children properly, I said yes. This was clearly an unexpected answer. She didn't respond.

I referred to the group which had been in here earlier and had included the child in what they were doing and had no noisy difficulties.

They didn't know about that, said some mothers. No, I said, but they were still here; and some here saw them. There were reluctant nods.

All this time brats were running up and down, choosing the time and place for their tantrums as they trained their parents.

Could I do any better? I was asked and I said that I would be happy to discuss this if they wouldn't mind conceding it is irrelevant. People DO manage; I do not bring children into the cafe.

And on and on.

Oh yes, that last brought: I don't know what you're talking about.

It wasn't true. It was a lie to avoid the point.

I did get through a little to one, seemingly; and she kept saying sshhh to her child. This was clearly unprecedented and the kid took her on with considerable skill and understanding of tactics. Once away from the cafe the routine will return to normal, I am sure.

Someone said I had a point but we all to live together, don't we. I said I saw no sign of such tolerance from the other side – I neglected to tell you about the brief political speech about democratic rights which the antisocials had tried to make.

Sorry: rites.

That's a bit unfair, he said.

In what way? I asked

I don't know, he said

Two other of the 5 young mothers were in a frenzy apparently that anyone should speak to them in such terms and banged around and eventually banged out, lathering the children's emotions into a younger frenzy as they went.

We're not all so bloody perfect as you, screamed one of the two. (Oh Lord I am a sinner and I'd like 27 other cases taken into account. Oh good, now I am free of sin again)

And everyone of these people has the vote.

Jimmy Saville

About time the BBC apologised for Jimmy Saville, quite apart from his sexual exploits, but I am struck by the vehemence of some attacks. The baying of the self-justifying ignorant mob as well as the righteous condemnation.

Ignoring the pronouncements of the can't-think-won't-thinks, I've been trying to get my head back to when I started work, late 60s, early 70s. I worked in a big office and it was almost entirely male.

I remember declining one day, late teens, to look at a dirty picture (which might make me sound more correct or virtuous than I was or am) and being told: Why not? We don't want any poofs here.

A woman dj remarked a few days ago that when she objected to being groped she was asked Why not? Are you a lesbian?

I think we were all, males anyway, pretty repulsive.

Men making decisions. Women in the typing pool.

But the intensity of condemnation intrigues me. Something is happening here and I don't know what it is.

The death of Gideon Osborne

I've forgotten what I was going to write. I had a number of processes running with my gmail account open and this website came up with no way in. I had to wait till the processes ended and then log out of gmail; and now blogger opens.
Did someone say _restrictive practices_?
Oh yes, I know
As Joe Worker was going home from the UK Trade Fair and Labour Struggle he met the pedlar Gideon. Gideon said _Hallo Joe. How are you?_
Joe said _Do I know you?__ and Gideon said _Course you do. I'm One Nation Gideon, friend to the workers. You've got a lot of paper there. It must be heavy."
Joe said _I don't mind. It's my workers' rights_
_Oh poo,_ said Gideon, _I've got something much better. THIS piece of paper, it's called a loyalty card, entitles you to a handful of coffee beans. That'll make you rich immediately._
_What's the catch?_ asked Joe
_No catch_ said Gideon. _You give me your employment rights and I'll give you the loyalty card_
Joe thought about it for a while in what some might think was a slow way and then he said _Fuck off_ and Gideon boiled away in a rage until there was nothing left but a small malignant tumour in a puddle of vomit.

A letter floods in

As a radio programme used to say, a letter has flooded in. 2 actually. Emails. From people who do not engage with this blog but who are apparently interested in what I write. (I send out copies) One came and I left it. Now another...

The first asks why when I am so able to express myself elegantly (their word) and fluently do I write here vulgarly, obscenely, aggressively etc. Why do I keep referring to bodily fluids and masturbation.

Good questions.

I have trouble with a lot of words of abuse because they are sexist.

Masturbation seems to me a useful metaphor. It is the individual seeking their own satisfaction to the exclusion of all else.

My friend, the late Alaric Sumner, used to ask me why I used wanker as a term of abuse. Wanking was, he said, a wonderful thing to do. Sometimes he would add that it is the safest form of sex. He'd had more than his share of grief from lovers so it may be that, when he said that, he was meaning more than sexual transmission of disease.

I agree with all that and I accept that I indulge a little in self-loathing when I use the term. It's taken me a while to see that.

And yet, if you have ever had the odd fortune to be around someone bringing themselves off as part of an activity which does not include you, then you will know the odd view it can give you of humanity.

From there (and other directions) it is not far to a perception of bombast and rhetoric as a kind of private pleasure.

Then there is a more abstract approach whereby I have referred to Onan as the father of modern administration. Now a bible reader of my past acquaintance has taken me to task quite vigorously for equating what Onan did with masturbation.

It is, colloquially, how the name is used; and, as I understand it, from Jehovah's point of view, it was much the same in one way – personal pleasure before what we should be doing.

Calling someone an onanist has another advantage in that they may not recognise the word and one has a chance of shouting it and running for the door before they respond, perhaps violently.

All over the country millions of employees are saying How may I help you? as a part of procedural acts which have no chance of being any help. Managers are responding to what they call issues, because of course there are no problems, which will not work.

I am tired of mentioning noisy children, and I bet you are fed up with it, but that's because there are so many of them. There is one here now. It is SCREAMING. The adults with it are making it worse because of their behaviour. They are damaging the child. They are spoiling this space for everyone else with their insouciant selfishness.

The cafe does nothing because they come in to spend money. The rest of us suffer.

Most persuade themselves they don't mind because they have been trained to fear the kind of anger I feel.

Quite where these arrogant inanities get their sense of entitlement from, I do not know; and I would happily see them postnatally recycled; but they are quite clearly, in the language community in which I grew up, wankers; just like those with the authority in the cafe management, in the lawmakers

As to shit. I do understand. But we are given shit to do, to eat, to think.

I take the point as a stylistic problem. If that's all I say, it is boring.

I'll think about it.

Handjob Maestro of the Week

This week's Handjob Maestro of the Week goes to J L McDonald of j.mcdonold@gmx.com who offered me a quote Free Webinar! unquote
McDonald of McDonold asks: Is getting to the top of Google searches important to you? Do you
know where your company ranks on Google, Yahoo, and/or Bing?
and then without giving me a chance to answer says: If so, I believe that you, and your company, may benefit from training on Google/SEO.
He wants me to improve my Google ranking with 10 proven free tools.
I suppose google ranking in mockney rhyming slang.
He sends me his Best regards. Him and his belief
gave this bipedal dog turd no reason that I would be interested in his belief.

He sent his invitation to a temporary email used for the convenience of those whom I am editing for a particular project. He sent it to no other. It is possibly the least likely email address that I have. It cannot benefit from google ranking or any other solitary pastime.

Therefore it seems only right to award M of M the Handjob Maestro. He has already received the traditional greeting for anyone in the running for this prestigious prize: go and have sex with yourself Why not write to MoM yourself and wish him luck – he's all on his own there

The case for post natal abortion

I suppose that, if you are one of the rare creatures who survives the abortionist's bucket, and survives to adulthood, it isn't beyond imagination that you would have negative feelings about the process.

The more so, if you achieve high office even when it is known that such office is only achieved by brown nosing, arse licking and bull shitting. The Brown Studies, as we used to call them.

I do feel for Jeremy Hunt. To know that you were not wanted. To know that you were deliberately sent for disposal down a vacumm tube. It doesn't bear thinking about by the empathetic.

But, as I am sure thebiggest and most famous Hunt in the country would agree, sympathy must be combined with toughness when there are difficult decisions to be made.

The Hunt has damaged the arts severely and now he is going on to damage Health. That's worse. There are and perhaps always will be many bucket escapees in the Arts. The Arts do need to devour themselves a little but. Perhaps a lot. They need to be unreliable to some extent if only because the cheats and liars are so good at dissemblance. If the rules were too strict, the Arts would be become bureaucratised, as they are to a considerable extent already, and the unskilled unintelligent but persuasive curators would take over. So the only way for good curators and genuinely and interesting artists is to turn a blind eye to the occasional turd floating near the beach.

But Health must be as good as it can get. Everyone except those designated for what I might call Post Natal Abortion must be given the best treatment.

And the opinions of a half-broken foetus are not to be influential.

I don't care what his opinions are. I want arguments. And I don't want arguments based on a belief after death, personal creation -- creation of any kind -- et cetera until those are themselves proven. Saying It's my religious belief is nearly always a synonym for saying I'm a nutter.

By all means let us help those with learning difficulties. Jeremy Hunt is a case in point. Let him have the very best care for the rest of his life. But the idea that he should be able to reproduce or influence others is ridiculous. The man is not mentally viable.

The time is not right for reduction in the laws; but for their increase and strengthening. Post natal abortion is needed. All those with self-inflicted disability must be contained or preferably silenced but only under the law. They are a plague; and mine is really a modest proposal.

We do not need more babies. We do not need more fools. We do not need more opinions.