Wednesday, 26 July 2017

An Unholy Book, Part Five

Cynic, Going Postal

The Cardinal

One morning, some two years after these events had passed, a small sleek haired man wearing spectacles and sober   clerical garb, sat alone in a cool room, at a highly polished desk, looking out over an extensive vista of  gardens and trees ending in a view of hillsides which in the right light could appear purple. This of course was  His Eminence Cardinal Xavier Ximenes, known familiarly as Doublecross, not, we must hasten to add, because he was  of a notably treacherous disposition, but because he liked to joke that as a Prince of the Church he bore the  weight of both sacred and secular concerns and it was reflected in the initials with which he annotated  documents.

As his fingers slowly played with his prized family heirloom of an antique fountain pen, so much more impressive  than the goose feather quills used by his secretaries and other scriveners, his mind and gaze turned from the  view over his palatial gardens where his servants toiled amid the splashing and tinkling of carefully contrived  fountains, to the three documents in front of him. One was the notorious ancient magazine or 'Unholy Book'. The  second was as detailed an analysis and commentary upon it as the troubled Father Mendoza had been able to  compile. The third was his own note on the matter. He had determined that all three should be kept together in a  locked leather briefcase in a secret archive, and he hoped that none of them would again see the light of day  until long after he and all those involved were dead, if ever. He could have destroyed the magazine as almost  every other remnant of this remote past had been destroyed, but had decided not to do so for a variety of  reasons.

Postcard from Belgrade, No 2

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

It's Only Rock and Roll

Viciousbutfair, Going Postal
Kayser Bondor Hall (now Tesco) in Baldock

In the Summer of '63 my buddy Pete and I were edging toward being mods.
Frankly, the catch appeared better, rocker chics always looked like they needed a good scrub, long lacquered  hair, dirty fingernails, white stilettos and fishnets with holes in just didn't do it for us any longer, time to  move on.

We couldn't afford state of the art Tonik mohair suits as callow student boys but Gabicci Italian polo shirts  were accessible and a puff of your mum's hairspray could fix your college boy haircut into a nice backcomb mod boy look.

Monday, 24 July 2017

Extremism and Hyper-Reactionaryism

\/()43 |_|K19, Going Postal
Illustrative example of personality traits

\/()43's man-in-the-pub theory of life, the left and the right

In my previous unreconstructed rant, I took the unwilling reader though the formation of life out of the primordial soup all the way to the reason lefies see the world as one big happy family (in spite of ample evidence to the contrary) and why they see the right as sociopathic when in reality all the right want to do is regulate socially disgusting behaviour. At that time, though I didn't spell it out, I was mostly talking about the moderate left and right.

In order to understand extremism, we must first take a look at the nature of personality spaces. This is a bit maths-y, but don't worry, we will soon get to the real, concrete details of the extremists and what they're like. Then we'll do hyper-reactionaryism if I remember to add that bit before clicking "send".

Postcard from Belgrade

Sunday, 23 July 2017

Victoriana 2

Tachybaptus, Going Postal

Chapter 2

As Victoriana passed back through the garden gate, a terrified scream rent the air. 
She rushed up the steps and entered the house to hear another squeal of horror which seemed to emanate from the nursery, towards which room her father and mother were hurrying, followed by one or two of the braver domestics armed with brooms and dusters and whatever else they had to hand. Her father was carrying a ancient umbrella with a carved eagle’s head, with which he thrust open the door whence the screams were crescendoing. What a sight met their eyes – Nanny Prewitt was wobbling dangerously as she stood on a chair clutching her skirts around her.

Postcard from Way-Els