Showing posts with label Baxterism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baxterism. Show all posts

Saturday 28 July 2018

Smoke


"The sacrifices are burnt on an altar. Why? 

Well, the smoke rises. 




Well, so what? 

Well, God’s up in the sky and if the smoke rises up there, he gets a whiff of it, he can tell what the quality of the sacrifice was. 


Job 5:7

And you can laugh about that and you can think about it as primitive, but it’s not primitive, it’s artistic and it’s beautiful and it’s accurate and here’s why. 

Because before the invention of the electrical light and maybe before the invention of fire, the closest a human could ever get to confrontation with the absolute unknown was to look up at the night sky. 





Because the night sky, especially when it’s sprinkled with stars, confronts you directly with the fact of the infinite. 

And to make the presupposition that God resides in The Infinite, and you’re having a direct experience of The Infinite at that moment, is not a primitive notion. 


It’s a very intelligent and creative hypothesis and so the notion that God occupies the sky, and the day sky being as equally impressive as the night sky, is not a primitive hypothesis. 

It’s a reflection of the nature of a certain kind of human experience. 

You burn something and you send the smoke up. 




God gets a crack at determining the quality of your offering, the quality of your sacrifice. 

Well, let’s be perfectly clear about this. 




If your sacrifices aren’t first rate, the nature of your relationship with the infinite is going to suffer dreadfully. 

And that’s exactly what the story of Cain and Abel reveals."






INT. HOSPITAL -- ELEVATOR DOORS -- MORNING
                         
          The Stones "Sympathy for the Devil" kicks up as we wait...
                         
          The doors split open and HARLING MAYS steps out. HARLING has
          a pony tail and a goatee and is probably wearing a Tommy
          Bahama button down shirt.
                         
          We follow HARLING as he strides down the hall. With ear buds
          in, HARLING points a Sanyo pistol-shaped cam corder at the
          ATTENDING NURSE at the nurses' station, recording her...
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           I'm on the list baby girl. Check
           the list for Mr. Mays. Harling.
                         
          The Stones continue to wail as Harling strolls on, adjusting
          the duffel bag he has slung over his shoulder.
                         
                         
          EXT. HOSPITAL ROOM -- MOMENTS LATER
                         
          HARLING stands in the doorway looking in. He sees...
                         
          The MORNING NURSE is helping WHIP to stand. HARLING points
          his camcorder at WHIP and the NURSE.
                         
           HARLING MAYS (O.C.)
           If this is gonna turn into a sponge
           bath, I'll come back.
                         
                          NURSE
                          SIR-
                         
          HARLING immediately goes to WHIP and supports him.
           
                         
                          WHIP
           It's okay, Harling.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           That's right honey, I'm on the
           list. Harling Mays. Some say they
           Harling knew me.
                         
          HARLING boxes her out. She steps away.
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Honey can you hustle us a couple of
           daiquiris and a cocktail weenie?
           On second thought just bring the
           booze. I brought my own weenie.
                         
          No reaction as the NURSE collects the trash and towels.
          HARLING focuses his camcorder on the NURSE and leaves WHIP in
          an unsteady stance. HARLING films her and comments...
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           She's offended, and she should be. I'm a pig. And I hate me. That's  what we have in common Nurse Ratched...we both hate me.
                         
          And she's gone. HARLING turns to WHIP.
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Whip? What the fuck my man?
           They're sayin', "Sweet Jesus, what
           a fuckin' stud that pilot is."
           You're a hero, no shit. You will
           never pay for another drink in this
           life time. There is crazy news
           people all over, look at this shit--
                         
          HARLING helps WHIP to the window...
                         
                         
          EXT. HOSPITAL ROOM -- PARKING LOT -- DAY
                         
          From WHIP's window we can see a slew of news vans with signal
          towers as well as reporters milling about -- a small zoo.
                         
                         
          INT. HOSPITAL ROOM -- DAY
                         
          HARLING and WHIP stare for a moment at the circus below.
          WHIP doesn't last long and slowly returns to the bed as
          HARLING continues to gawk.
           49.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Classic hero worship, you're a rock
           star man. You gotta see the video
           I've got -- I'm making a doc about
           you, well us, y'know?
                         
          HARLING pulls an iPad out of his knapsack and flips it open.
          He lets a collection of videos run...
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           This is outside your condo...
                         
          On HARLING's iPad we see footage of PRESS swarming outside
          WHIP's condo. We also see the crash scene footage.
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Look that's me, and that`s Mark
           Mellon...you know that douchey
           talking haircut from local Atlanta
           channel 3? I said a few words.
           Just straight talk, y'know?
                         
          WHIP's hands shake as he grabs the bed frame. HARLING takes
          notice and stashes the iPad...
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           You okay Captain Whitaker? Easy...
                         
          HARLING helps him get settled. We see the beads of sweat on
          WHIP's lip and forehead.
                         
                          WHIP
           The meds they're giving me are
           fucking me up -- I'm all shaky and
           dried out. I can't sleep good.
                         
          HARLING immediately picks up the small paper cup that holds
          WHIP's pain meds. He fishes out the two pills and stares at
          them. HARLING shakes his head.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Aprazolam? That's generic Xanax and
           this Hydrocodone is generic
           Vicodin. It's shit, prolly
           Canadian.
                         
          HARLING casually tosses the pills down his gullet and
          expertly swallows them without water. He grabs WHIP's
          medical chart and scours it as he prattles on...
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           We want the premium stuff. Blue
           label...not the fucking well shit.
           Where's the dihydromorphinone?
           
                         
           Or just some fucking Palladone
           would suffice. What is this?
           Fucking amateur hour over here?
           Get that goddamned doctor in here.
           You just saved a 100 people from
           death, they should get your fuckin'
           meds right.
           (calls to the door)
           YO! ROOM SERVICE!
                         
                          WHIP
           Listen Harling, leave it alone.
                          (HARLING CHILLS)
           So you got my message and decided
           not to call me back? Did you bring
           me smokes?
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           I decided to come by instead. And
           yes I got your fucking message and
           yes I brought you smokes.
                         
          HARLING hands WHIP a pack of smokes from his pocket. He also
          pulls out a carton of smokes from his backpack.
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Here is a fresh carton, enjoy. You
           fucking earned it -- you smoke your
           nuts off, champion. If I were you
           I'd fire up right here in the God
           damn room. Fuck'em, you're
           immortal, you're a fucking God man.
                         
                          WHIP
           Harling...
                         
          WHIP motions with his hands to "calm down."
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Sorry Whip. It's just...this is
           big time, man. You're a hero in a
           time when we really need heroes.
                         
                          WHIP
           Shut the fuck up, Harling...Six
           people died.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           96 people lived! When are you
           gonna take yes for an answer? Pick
           up the phone, man. Fuck.
                         
          HARLING pulls something from his vest pocket and puts it in
          WHIP'S hand. WHIP looks at it and back at HARLING.
           
                         
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Here's a pint of Smirnoff and a few
           Red Bulls. You know what I'm
           sayin'? I know my customer.
                         
          HARLING continues to pull items from the bag.
                         
                          WHIP
           Harling, take the vodka with you.
                         
          HARLING freezes his frenzied energy with this odd command.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           What?! Take the vodka? Dude, are
           you insane? I'm gonna just tuck it
           in the bottom of your-
                         
                          WHIP
           Take the fucking vodka!
                         
          HARLING hears him this time and raises his hand and nods,
          putting the VODKA back in his own duffel. HARLING tosses a
          tee shirt, sweat pants and flip-flops on the bed, then...
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Okay man. Check it out.
                         
          HARLING holds up a silk Japanese Happi Coat, with elaborate
          stitching depicting colorful birds flying around Mt. Fuji.
                         
                          WHIP
           Look, I'm tired man.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           I'm out. You rest up.
                         
                          WHIP
           You gotta come and get me,
           tomorrow.
                         
          WHIP pulls his keys from the bag that CHARLIE gave him.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Here are my keys. Go to the condo
           and bring me some nice clothes I
           can wear, my phone charger and grab
           the veal outta my fridge. It's
           marked.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           The veal?
           
                         
                          WHIP
           Yeah, the veal that's in my
           freezer.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Done and done. What time you need
           me here?
                         
                          WHIP
           Tomorrow. I'll call you.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Send the mayday and you're outta
           here in 7 minutes.
                          (A SMILE)
           I got you a few stroke mags too.
           I've been in hospitals. I know
           what you need. JUGS, HOT MILFS in
           heat. ASSMASTERS. You should just
           stroke it all day. You're a hero --
           know what I'm saying? If I was in
           here I'd be jerkin' it all day
           long. See, there's a smile.
                         
          HARLING puts his hand on WHIP's forehead in an attempt to
          reassure him. A quiet moment before HARLING slips out.
                         
                         
          INT. HOSPITAL ROOM -- 11 PM -- SAME EVENING
                         
          WHIP wakes up in a cold sweat. He is breathing heavy as he
          scans the room. LIGHTENING FLASHES from outside the window.
          Thunder RUMBLES.
                         
          WHIP looks to the night stand where we see a pack of nicotine
          gum has been chewed through. WHIP uses his hands to get to
          the edge of the bed. He roots through the duffle bag that
          HARLING left and finds a pack of smokes and a Bic lighter
          still in its package.
                         
          Determined to smoke, WHIP eyes a WHEEL CHAIR that has been
          placed next to his bed. Leaning against the wheelchair is a
          medical cane.
                         
                         
          INT. HOSPITAL -- QUIET HALLWAY -- MOMENTS LATER
                         
          Wearing his Happi Coat (or robe), WHIP limps in to the empty
          hallway with the use of his cane. He checks the quiet
          corridor as he begins his quest...
           
                         
          INT. HOSPITAL -- FIRE DOOR -- 11:38 PM
                         
          The door swings open, and no one appears to be on the other
          side. Now WHIP fights to push the heavy door open again to
          slip through. A hand grabs the door and holds it. WHIP
          walks into the sanctity of the stairwell.
                         
                         
          INT. HOSPITAL STAIRWELL -- SAME TIME
                         
          We find the owner of the helping hand was NICOLE who returns
          to a quiet spot along the wall of the stairwell as she
          demurely smokes a cigarette.
                         
                          WHIP
           Thank you.
                         
          WHIP leans his cane against the wall and carefully pulls a
          pack of smokes from his pocket.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           I didn't think anyone would have
           the same devious thought about
           using the fire stairs to have a
           smoke...
                         
          NICOLE smiles and looks down, awkward around men when she is
          not loaded. She drops her cigarette which we see was barely
          smoked as she maneuvers to leave.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Don't go. I'll be quiet.
                         
          He offers her a cigarette, she takes it.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           We don't have to talk. Be nice to just smoke with someone.

And they do. They sit in silence as the stairwell fills up with smoke. After a long beat... NICOLE Were you on the plane? WHIP studies her, she's beautiful in an exhausted way... WHIP Yeah, I was. Were you? Nicole shakes her head. NICOLE Where were you sitting? WHIP Up near the front. Again it falls silent as we let them smoke and think in the sanctity of the fire stairs. A VOICE breaks their silence. VOICE (O.S.) Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve; It shows our decay, We are but clay;...I love the smell of Nicotina in the morning. Smells like...victory. We hear a metallic rattle and WHIP and NICOLE look to the stairs. VOICE (CONT'D) Don't flee dear comrades! Really, wait for me, please. A GAUNT YOUNG MAN makes his way to their landing. He is dressed in a hospital gown and carrying an I.V. pole on which hangs a small bag of clear liquid. The man's hair has completely left him. His skin is gray. Eyes hollowed from his battle with cancer. GAUNT YOUNG MAN Can I bum a smoke? WHIP offers him a cigarette. He takes it and fires it up with a lighter he keeps stowed in the pocket of his gown. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D) I should quit, my cancer might get cancer. (SILENCE) Joke. You guys in the plane crash? NICOLE He was. WHIP looks at the ground as the GAUNT YOUNG MAN studies him. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (it hits him) You're the fucking pilot. Nicole gives Whip a look. 55. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D) I saw you on TV. Holy shit, man. Tough deal, but you walked away or it looks like you limped away. WHIP Yeah, I'm lucky. Goin' home tomorrow. GAUNT YOUNG MAN Home. Home for me is The Basement, they keep cancer treatment in the basement. I'm livin' here. WHIP You're living here? GAUNT YOUNG MAN No. I'm dying here. WHIP What kind of cancer?  
GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Fibro-mixzoid sarcoma, soft tissue sarcoma. Very rare, God chose me.
                         
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN laughs.
                         
                          WHIP
           God chose you? You believe in God?
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Fuck yeah bitch. You're a stupid fucker if you don't believe in God.
                         
          The GOD topic has silenced the stairwell...
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           As soon as you realize that the
           random events in your life are
           God...you will live a much better
           life. You spend your life
           believing that you have all the
           control over what happens.
           Bullshit. The plane you're flying
           goes down? Out of your control.
           God gives you cancer. I have no
           control over that. Did God give me
           cancer? You bet your ass God gave
           me cancer. You think if I begged
           for cancer God would have given it
           to me?
           56.
                         
           No...because I assure you I have
           begged for God to take it away -
           and guess what? I have no control
           over that.
                         
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN smokes the cig to the nub and rubs the
          remains against the smooth concrete wall.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           Can I get another smoke? What's
           wrong with you honey? You're
           beautiful, do you know that? Do I
           scare you? People either have to
           pretend they don't see me or
           they're drawn to me. It's funny
           because people see me as being
           close to the other side -- they
           feel like I have power or wisdom.
           They think I have the answers. Who
           knows? Maybe I do. Death gives
           you perspective. I lived my life
           so indecisive, in a haze. But now
           that I'm dying everything is so
           clear. It all makes sense somehow.
           I'm sorry but I can't get over how
           beautiful you are? Look at your
           arm, you an addict?
                         
          NICOLE looks at him. She nods.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           What's your name?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Nicole.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           What do you do in the world Nicole?
                         
          She laughs, what a question.
                         
                          NICOLE
           Not much. I was a photographer and
           then I was a masseuse and I wash
           hair at a salon sometimes.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Where is it? I'll come by, I'm
           easy, you can wash my head.
                          (SHE SMILES)
           Do you think you're gonna die?
                         
          NICOLE laughs to keep from weeping.
           57.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           You're not. You're not gonna die.
                         
          The men watch as NICOLE quietly cries, it's powerful.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           Don't you love her?
                         
                          WHIP
           I don't know her.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Bullshit, I do. Random act of God?
           Don't think so. Survive a plane
           crash to meet a gorgeous girl in a
           stairwell. Fuck you man.
           (he reflects, then...)
           I'm sure they're looking for me.
           My family just showed up from Utah.
           You know it's bad when they start
           flying in. Every morning is
           special now, I'm so grateful. It's
           a trip, wish I could bottle this
           feeling I have...about how
           beautiful every breath of life is..
                         
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN starts laughing. WHIP joins him.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D)
           Can I get a smoke for the road?
                         
                          WHIP
           Here's a pack.
                         
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Thank you, I'll pass them out in
           the cancer ward. Take care Nicole,
           you're gonna be okay.
                         
          The GAUNT YOUNG MAN leaves, clanging away with his I.V. pole.
                         
          NICOLE wipes away her tears, we see her hospital bracelet as
          well as her track marks.
                         
                          NICOLE
           Chemo brain. Chemo makes you
           pretty foggy.
                         
                          WHIP
           Yeah?
           
                         
                          NICOLE
           They call it chemo brain, my mom
           used to slur her words and get all
           chatty.
                         
                          WHIP
           Your mom had cancer.
                         
                          NICOLE
           Breast cancer, she was only 54.
                         
          It's quiet.
                         
                          WHIP
           But why'd that guy ask you if you
           were gonna die?
                         
                          NICOLE
           I dunno. I flat-lined twice in the
           ambulance. Heroin addicts who use
           needles tend to die. Especially
           women for some reason.
                         
                          WHIP
           Is that right?
                         
                          NICOLE
           I have a pamphlet to prove it. A
           girl from AA just came to see me --
                          (IT'S QUIET)
           That guy was a trip. He made it
           feel like, I dunno...we were the
           last people left on the planet..
           (drops her smoke)
           ...and together we should save the
           world.
                         
          NICOLE steps on her cigarette and puts the nub in her pocket.
          She begins to leave. WHIP stops her.
                         
                          WHIP
           Well, where should we live? If
           we're gonna save the world, where
           should we do that?
                         
          NICOLE laughs.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           What?
                         
                          NICOLE
           You don't want me.
                         
          WHIP laughs.
           59.
                         
                          NICOLE (CONT'D)
           What?
                         
                          WHIP
           You don't want me either.
                         
          NICOLE's laugh tapers off as she senses his honesty.
                         
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Where do you live?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Why you wanna come visit? It's
           luxurious.
           (silence between them)
           I live in Bankhead, it's south
           Atlanta, near the bus station.
                         
                          WHIP
           The luxurious bus station?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Yeah.
                         
                          WHIP
           I'll come visit you.
                         
                          NICOLE
           You're sweet.
                         
                          WHIP
           I will. What's your address?
                         
          She measures him.
                         
                          NICOLE
           I live at the Georgian Gardens on
           Taylor street.
                         
                          WHIP
           Georgian Gardens?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Yeah.
                         
                         
                          WHIP
           How long are you staying here?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Trying to stay as long as I can but
           I don't have insurance to cover
           rehab. I'll prolly be out
           tomorrow.
           60.
                         
                          WHIP
           Oh. Okay. And you're a masseuse?
                         
                          NICOLE
           Yeah.
                         
                          WHIP
           What kind of masseuse?
                         
                          NICOLE
           I've been every kind of masseuse
           there is.
                         
          There is strong tension between them. An orderly busts
          through the down the stairs. This breaks their stare.
                         
                          WHIP
           Good luck Nicole.
                         
                          NICOLE
           You too.
                         
          WHIP leaves NICOLE where he found her.
                         
                         
          EXT. ST. FRANCIS REGIONAL MEDICAL HOSPITAL-LOADING DOCK-DAY
                         
          WHIP is wheeled out of a service exit by an ORDERLY who also
          holds the duffle bag of WHIP's stuff around his neck. Whip no
          longer wears the eye patch but has a butterfly bandage over
          his left eye brow.
                         
          HARLING jumps out of his 2001 Cadillac STS and immediately
          takes over, grabbing the duffel bag.
                         
                          WHIP
           Thanks Mike.
                         
          The ORDERLY tries to hand WHIP a medical file. HARLING
          snatches it.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           Yeah, thanks Mike.
           (Harling tips him)
           Here's 20 American.
                         
                          ORDERLY MIKE
           Thanks. Good luck, sir.
                         
          HARLING hugs WHIP who hangs on tight. The ORDERLY spins the
          chair around and heads back inside.
                         
          HARLING uses his key fob to remotely pop the trunk and stow
          Whip's duffel.
           61.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           This is how they get the Stones out
           of Madison Square Garden, man. 4
           smoked black limos fly outta the
           VIP driveway and the fans jump on
           the limos...mayhem. Those limos?
           Empty. Meanwhile, Mick and the boys
           go out the service exit into
           delivery vans -- casual, rock star
           type shit.
                         
           HARLING helps him into the front seat and they pull away.
                         
           The Stones, "Gimme Shelter" starts to play...
                         
           As they drive off, we see media mayhem collected in front of 53
           the hospital. Trucks with towers, cameramen, stringers and
           newscasters add to catering trucks and coffee stands as the
           vultures wait for the carrion of sound bytes and footage of
           survivors.
                         
                         
           INT. HARLING'S CADDY -- DAY
                         
           Whip watches through the rear window -- the "Media Circus"
           disappears as the Caddy rounds a corner. The back seat is
           piled with Whip's clothes, most of them still on hangers.
                         
           HARLING lights a cigarette and hands one to WHIP who takes
           it.
                         
                          HARLING MAYS
           I couldn't find any suitcases so I
           just put your shit in grocery bags.
                         
           HARLING pulls a cold Becks from a cooler on the floor of the
           back seat and uses a bottle opener that's been screwed to the
           dash of his car next to the radio to open the beer. He
           offers the beer to WHIP who waves it off. HARLING gladly
           keeps it for himself... "Gimme Shelter" continues to play...



Monday 7 May 2018

Gods That Walk Upon The Earth



YOU are Becoming Gods.
- Baxter

Augustus as Jove, holding scepter and orb (first half of 1st century AD).

The Imperial cult of ancient Rome identified Roman emperors and some members of their families with the divinely sanctioned authority (auctoritas) of the Roman State. 
The official offer of cultus to a living emperor acknowledged his office and rule as divinely approved and constitutional: his Principate should therefore demonstrate pious respect for traditional Republican deities and mores. 
Many of the rites, practices and status distinctions that characterized the cult to emperors were perpetuated in the theology and politics of the Christianized Empire.



The whole of the Roman Empire, and the civilisation supporting and underlying it was established on the proposition, that had been agreed, as a Truth universally acknowledged, that 
The Emperor of Rome was a God.

( and if you refused to acknowledge The Truth, then they would kill you )

But they took a vote on it.





"It is for the good of Rome that Caesar has stayed so long in Egypt. 

In his absence, The People have come to worship him as a god. 

Why should he return, to show himself as mortal as the rest?"

Cicero




" The state of monarchy is the supremest thing upon earth, for kings are not only God's lieutenants upon earth and sit upon God's throne, but even by God himself they are called gods. 

There be three principal [comparisons] that illustrate the state of monarchy: one taken out of the word of God, and the two other out of the grounds of policy and philosophy. 

In the Scriptures kings are called gods, and so their power after a certain relation compared to the Divine power. 

Kings are also compared to fathers of families; for a king is truly parens patriae [parent of the country], the politic father of his people. 

And lastly, kings are compared to the head of this microcosm of the body of man. "





The Senate had debated the matter of the divinity (or not) of the late Julius Ceaser ( who they had just killed ), voted on the question, and the consensus that resulted from this was, that they had just put to death one of The Gods, and were being punished  (or warned, at any rate) of the gravity of their trespass to as a means to force them to recognise the truth of the matter.

So the late, lamented Gaius Julius Cesar was declared to be (by simple majority vote and popular acclamation), a God, as was (by extension), his appointed heir Augustus.

These were each a God, occupying an earthly throne within dynasty of Gods.

A living God, who walked The Earth and took on human form to rule on Earth. This was decided, and had been the finding of the Senate and The People (but mostly The Senate) of Rome

That he  was not what was extras 

Tuesday 12 July 2016

North Of Heaven


"If y'want the position o' God, then tek t'responsibilty."

Stephen Baxter

"LOTS of planets have a North..!"

Only in the North, and in Northern people and in Northern Hearts have I ever encountered have I ever encountered actual Englishness, the much-vaunted, much-lauded "British Values", Loyalty and Quiet Pride, Modesty, Warm Humour and Wit, genuineness, radicalism and agitation, GOTH, a sense of self, place and nation, bravery, stoicism and cheek.

They are our best and only Tribe of unrepentant patriots - but their loyalty, always is only to The Nation, and it's People, and to the story of this land.

Not to The Court.

Not to the usurped and tainted Crown or its office-holders, Mistresses and Favourites, Viscountesses, false-pretending Pomp and Circumstance 

Not to the Privy Councillors and Toilet-Room Toadies in WestMinster

Not to The City, it's Banks and Guilds and Corporation or Toxic (Human) Assets.

And not to the bloody BBC LicenseFree Enforcement and Revenue Recovery Unit - Jog on, pal.






It's Grim Up North
by The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu


Bolton,
Barnsley,
Nelson,
Colne,
Burnley
Bradford,
Buxton,
Crewe,
Warrington,
Widnes,
Wigan,
Leeds,
Northwich,
Nantwich,
Knutsford,
Hull,
Sale,
Salford,
Southport,
Leigh,
Derby,
Kearsley
Keighley
Maghull,
Harrogate,
Huddersfield,
Oldham, Lancs,
Grimsby,
Glossop,
Hebden Bridge,

It's Grim Up North,
It's Grim Up North.

Brighouse,
Bootle,
Featherstone,
Speke,
Runcorn,
Rotherham,
Rochdale,
Barrow,
Morecambe,
Macclesfield,
Lytham St. Annes
Clitheroe,
Cleethorpes,
The M62,

It's Grim Up North,
It's Grim Up North.

Pendlebury,
Prestwich,
Preston,
York,
Skipton,
Scunthorpe,
Scarborough-on-Sea,
Chester,
Chorley,
Cheedle Hulme,
Ormskirk,
Accrington Stanley,
and Leigh,
Ossett,
Otley,
Ikley Moor,
Sheffield,
Manchester,
Castleford,
Skem,
Doncaster,
Dewsbury,
Hali-fax,
Bingley,
Bramall,
Are all in the North.

EARTH + AIR + FIRE + WATER

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy lamb of god
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem built here
Amongst these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold
Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spear, o clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand

Till we have built :

JERUSALEM

In England's green and pleasant land.


THE NORTH SHALL RISE AGAIN

Thursday 23 June 2016

The New 1945


"You Lot...? Really?
You Lot...? 

Cheeky bastards...."

The Organising Committee of the 
Popular Front to Build for The New 1945 needs your help, and we're up against the clock on this one.

I get pessimism and despair. 
I do.

Meaning that I can dig them - by which I mean that in the sense in which I "get" them, I recognise and appreciate them for what they are, meaning that I understand their nature and their role  , as well as utility - as opposed to the "I often experience them" sense of getting them. 

Or at least, with less and less frequency I have found at any rate, at least of late - long may it continue, God Wi77ing.

I have known, and I know depression, imimately. 

Biblically, you might say. 

She remains with me in all places and times as an old and constant friend with rare and highly dubious, yet undeniable benefits. 

And she's always there, just out of sight, lying in wait to pounce right on top of my head and try with all her strength to f**k me as mercilessly as she can, regular as clockwork, as soon as I sense complacency or contendedness looming, as soon as she senses a gap or a breech in my vilgiance opening or the minute she   calculates that my guard has begun to sag or started to slacken down.

But we all each have our demons and she just happens to be mine - in the Chymical Wedding that occupies what I suppose must pass for my brain, we're joined at the hip and stuck with one another now, no matter how much we might tear at one another and try to wage unholy war for momentary, transient domination and subjugation of the other, neither one of us is going  to get anywhere, so much as a single step away on our own against the wishes, will and consent of the other. Til Death Us Do Part. 

It's after all isn't her fault, after all, not really. 

She can't help being what she is any more than I can choose to be what I am, within a certain bandwidth of degrees of freedom of choice, at least for the time being, and I realise now, my future options and odds-on likely best hope to achieve my next Level-Up are just a complete non-starter, ball-breaking deal-breaker unless I can ensure her complete cooperation, take a firm grasp on my Depression, break it to my will and keep it on a tight leash - which turns out to be very fortuitous that I was able to achieve this milestone of self-discovery in order to reach this key resolution as firmly and concretely as I have, given the fact that she's actually really into all of that, as luck would have it... The filthy, witchy little wenchy whoremongering slut of a hell spawned succubus that she is - I don't see why that should even have come as a surprise. Not that it did, as in fact turned out.

So I live with depression every waking minute of my day, and for as long as I can remember, and will until the day that I die, and probably even after beyond that - she'll try her damnedest (literally) to drag me back down to Hell with her and lie for all enternity caught locked in her excruciating embrace,  lost an entangled forever in her arms and by her legs where she is free to inflict upon me never-ending pain and spiritual torment and agony, as she tortures me so exquistly, like a small boy savouring the pure thrill and relish of the experience of power of slowly pulling each of the legs off of a captured and terrified spider, stretched out over the course of an æon. 

If instead, I succeed instead in dragging her up behind with me by a collar or her hair only so far Up as even one of Mormon Heavens, it'll have some sense of victory at least, or so it seems like, on days when I feel as though I'm tiring. Like today, actually. 

I can't lie to you and pretend that Mormon heaven wouldn't be a disappointing achievement, should I end up making it there, but consider all the extra weight I'm carrying here on the journey, not to mention the endless setbacks, complications and distractions that have to be dealt with in turn, as the arise (and they will) en route along the way.

All of which also applies with reference to Degree, Mum and Dad, by the way, if you somehow are reading this right now - I know how it sounded, and I realise that it wasn't quite what you had expected of me (admittedly, to be fair, not that you had actually, y'know, TOLD me what you had expected of me, either at or, - ideally - y'know, sufficiently and generously ahead of such time as I might have been  still able to actually, y'know do something about it, but never mind), but I forgive you.

A 2:2 is what it is and I Yam What I Yam, and knowing that and those things and all the rest , I know that I did well.

Michelle from Eastenders got a Third.

And she wasn't dragging a malevolent daemon halfway up her hill as she went, she just shagged Dirty Den and had his iligitimate teenage love-child... In which case, actually, I retract that last critical completely.

A Christian Demon may be a Djinn or malevolent spirit, or a fallen and disembodied Angel sworn to plague men's souls in service to Lucifer or The Enemy, but a Greek or Hellenistic Dæmon is guardian animal, some supernatural beast or monster brought forth into The Flesh, as a created creature of the Olympian gods to protect and keep safe some great horde of treasure, some secret roadway or path, or some equally precious and valuable thing, as like the gorgon Medusa and her two sisters, the Gryphons and millions-strong swarms of wingèd serpents of Scythia that guard the Crimean Tree at the End of the World from which hung the Golden Fleece of the epic ode of Jason and the Argonauts, the Giant Ants of India that dig up Gold dust out of the sands of the earth, or the man-eating Thracian Sphinx of the tragedies of Oedipus Rex, the she-monster lying in wait by the side of the road, waiting to devour any who failed to answer her cryptic riddle and supply her with the correct passwords. 

I didn't understand it then, but now I do - my depression is a part of me, a part of who I am. 

It is me - an equal and opposite aspect of me gone mad, created to protect me, to keep me safe, mindless, savage, pure instinct, a legendary, deathly dark black, monstrous vision of me and all that I am, that I made up somewhere, some time, for some reason a lifetime or maybe more ago, like some kind of psychic Doomsday Device to marshall all of my strength and will and courage and rage to fight myself free from some place and time and situation where there seemed as though there was absolutely no last shred of hope left, as I was being backed down into a corner, checkmated in every direction, with no room to manuvere, no end in sight, no other way out, no options open and no help on the way and no cards left to me to play.

Probably, I assume, or I am guessing, that at or before (I must have been) around the age of six (back when I was still counting birthdays [ like that matters ]), I can only conclude, having given it much thought and rumination in order seek out, hunt, stalk and chase down  each of the clues that have led me to reconstruct this particular Truth, that reveals to me the Origin Story of my Dark Heart and the Blackness that encircles the very centre of my soul......

[I'm] a walking study,
In Dæmonologie...



If we can survive 5 years under Winston Churchill's 1-Party State during the Blitz, Wartime Austerity, a Police State and Rationing, I am prepared to suffer through a similar fate to  bring on the new 1945 and the next NHS.

Britons Can Take It.



You've just named the core leadership of Churchill's Cabinet in the One Party State of 1940-45.

Clement Attlee led the Churchillian Coup of May 1940 as the ranking member of New Welcome Lodge No. 5139, created at the behest of the Head of British Masonry at that time, the Nazi Prince of Wales.


As for Nye Bevan - as for how he was able to get the Doctors, GPs and crucially, the British Medical Association on-side and on-message and on-board with the NHS in the first place : "I stuffed their mouths with Gold."

He paid them off.


The BMA is also, as one would obviously imagine for such a ruling class institution, somewhat Masonic...


Don't misunderstand me - training, studying and qualifying as a junior doctor is expensive, lengthy, stressful and incredibly hard work.

But there is a galaxy of difference between the labour intensity, over-work and burden of professional responsibility a junior doctor on a ward working overtime, understaffed back-to-back irregular shift patterns in A&E, a surgeon or specialist and a General Practitioner with a cosy private county practice.

They basically get £100-150,000 a year from the State to essentially perform the same tasks as a skilled administrator, perform triage, risk assessment and make referrals and pastoral care. 

Because of the way it was negotiated in 1947, in a such a damned, chaotic, heist-like rush.

That was such a worthy caper, the Lavender Hill Mob would have been proud to have pulled it off.

GPs essentially have picked up much of the slack left behind by taking on the major aspects of the functions formerly provided and carried out by the parish vicar prior to 1940.

And vicars generally don't cost the public purse £150 grand a year (plus final salary pension).

Junior Doctors and front line emergency staff (which mean NURSES AND AMBULANCE DRIVERS, too) ought to earn A LOT MORE.

But the money has never been there for anything other than below poverty-level wages, training or recruitment because the General Practioners TAKE so much and contribute so much LESS.

All this furore over The Tory Government vs. The Junior Doctors is nothing but The Pledge towards The Prestige, when that was never the issue - The Turn has always pivoted around question of the real battle it has always been between The General Practioners and the Nurses et al. over All The Money as to who gets to keep the heat on and eat meals that come in tins vs. who gets to grow laconically rich and upwardly mobile, socially.

That's why we need a NEW 1945.

Better than the last one, better prepared (we've got the next 5 years to get it right), coolly calculated rather than patched and cobbled together out of desperation and pieces of old sticky-tape and string, free from all of the dangerous compromises embedded, deep-rooted within the core foundations of the first one.

The Wise learn by studying the mistakes and errors of others.

Don Corleone's patròn swore "I believe in America".

Sod that for a lark - why not try believing in yourself, your friends and neighbours and going out to try and inspire them to feats of grandeur?

So how about we all just agree between ourselves to say that we each affirm that I believe in you, you can have confidence in me, so roll up yer sleeves y'great jessie, ye, and come on and let's all get stuck in, lad.

There's work as needs doin'.


"This time, there'll be a THIRD Covenant - and it's going to be written by each and every one of you.


Really....? You Lot....?

Yeah. 
You Lot.