A syncretic little troll-like fetish standing in for a real human being — apparently articulating fears and frustrations but actually a tacky bit of posable plastic shit pedalled as a panacea, masquerading as myth — all impotent roar and fury signifying, doing, nothing … to change anything.
It’s there to prop up and perpetuate the staus quo — a silent but deadly war on the rest of us, robbing us, poisoning our dreams and our world … actually killing us.
Fuck off back to whatever shithole you came from — I don’t mean the US, more the imaginary aryan nation of daddy’s German American Bund — you aren’t welcome here.
After all, I hail from, officially, the mental health shithole of this country — let’s hear it for Stockport and shitholes everywhere!
The sad and frightening thing is that this crappy Trulk might just as well be the raging Id of our own national psyche too.
Just the second BBQ of the year but on a very special evening as Spring turns to Summer. Clearing away a shed load of the detritus from the old year.
Spring lamb Kebabs to die for … a glorious feast culturally appropriated from the wide fertile crescent and cooked on an American BBQ in a Cornish field … whatever … it was nommy.
With the stars above our heads, in a beautiful clear sky, and the earth beneath our feet, faces burning in the heat of the flames and the wind in our hair … and, very much, life bursting, bustling, snuffling all around us.
We even carefully, hurriedly, anxiously, carried the burning embers inside to rekindle our home fire … and it caught.
Something to do with that dazzling white paint I suppose — seducing the software — the skies are always unbelievably deep and intense behind the lantern at the Trinity House lighthouse on Lizard Point.
It’s just a guess but I’d bet almost anything that this granite finger is called Gull Rock … OMG, looking at the map it has a name name: Bumble Rock. Not sure about that. There are bona fide black-backed gulls just sitting there, owning it. Bumble? Teetering. Hmmm … Maybe. I’ll go with Gull.
And this week’s high point, half way to the moon, was high above Housel Bay …
Weird, no? Waving, not falling.
But in the steep little valleys around the Lizard, Spring has definitely vorsprunged.
So, whatcha do on a blustery Sunday … not looking for a soaking but something a little more soothing …
A gentle wander around Trengwainton, looking for the elixir of life (slight of hand: go somewhere where you’re the youngest person by two decades at least — works every time) — a beautiful crown of croziers in a forest of tree ferns.
Camellias at their best … dodging between the squally showers … much more my sort of tea time.
And lovely low, warm light exposing the trees up to lovely no good.
And fungus offering up plates of … hmmm … rot and decay … nom nom nom.
And enforcers on parade … you will be white! White is best. Whatever.
And, of course … this being Penwith … magnolias to die for …
Lovely day in Kassel, at about 4:30 am, workers from a local construction company began dismantling Olu Oguibe’s “controversial obelisk made for Documenta 14, titled “Monument to Strangers and Refugees,” (“I was a stranger and you took me in”: Matthew 25:35) with two heavy cranes.
By 9:30 am, the obelisk was entirely gone, strapped to a flatbed truck and sent to a construction site on the outskirts of the city (where it now remains).