Amazing Grace. Have a sponditious Solstice, do. I agree, there are hardly any reasons to be cheerful. It’s perishing cold and utterly miserable out there, what with the political Pestilence, and the Russki-Hysteria and the BBC anti-strikes propaganda and all… But it’s the thought that counts, dontyouknow. Stay warm, stubborn and, if at all possible, awkward. Love and Blobs. PS. And don’t forget to thank the Sun for its kind indifference to our welfare and, therefore, returning to us just because that’s what the Sun does. (Me, in it’s place, I would have given up and gone nova a long while ago. Roughly at the time the Nobel mafia gave the Peace Prize to Henry Kissinger…)

Love Dance. Ash’s 10th. It’ as I say all the time, even ad nauseam: if you’re lucky enough to have any friends, love them and cherish them and be good to them. They will not be around forever; like everything else, they are here today and poof! gone tomorrow. Have a nice life.

Winter Croc. ‘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.

Flames. The dark season approaches; soon the clocks will go back. Light tumbles. Darkness engulfs all. Oh woe.
We thought the political pantomime couldn’t get any more pathetic but guess what? it did. And it’s not over yet. Bumba alone knows where all this is going to end. Never mind. Tie yourselves to the mast and sail away from the rocks, the rapids and the temptations of Best-Selling Wisdom.
You’ll need to make your own light, though, for if you rely on the regular state-sanctioned channels to tell you what is really going on you’ll only get deeper into the stranglehold of the pitch-black pit of orthodoxy than you ever though possible. Moreover, never forget that once you loose your soul’s eyes for good it’s nearly impossible to retrieve them by painless means. Or even in very painful ways, sometimes…
Have a radiant week.
They who have put out the people’s eyes reproach them of their blindness.
John Milton

Announcements.
They put your mind right into a bag, and they take it wherever they want.
Malcolm X
In contrast to the Kantian, the categorical imperative of the culture industry no longer has anything in common with freedom. It proclaims: you shall conform, without instruction as to what; conform to that which exists anyway as a reflex of its power and omnipresence. The power of the culture industry’s ideology is such that conformity has replaced consciousness.
Theodore Adorno

Sol solet,
vine’m a veure
vine’m a veure
sol solet
vine’m a veure
que tinc fred.

Si tens fred
posa’t la capa
posa’t la capa
si tens fred,
posa’t la capa
i el barret.

No tinc capa ni barret,
per abrigar-me,
per abrigar-me
no tinc capa ni barret,
per abrigar-me
quan fa fred!.

And that’s how the cookie crumbles, worse luck.