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An Erratic Orbit

A bipolar perspective on the 3rd planet

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Journalism

The Legend Of 28c – Prologue

Prologue.

The universe computes. The solar system is a computer. The Earth is a computer. I am a computer. You are a computer.

Our great central databases are at Facebook and Google. Facebook Research is the locus of  Psychology research on a scale hitherto unknown. The research is flawed, due to the nature of the data collection and a well documented  phenomenon in the field of Anthropology which I shall call the missionary’s curse. Nonetheless, a powerful entity emerges in the field of Psychology. I wonder if one day it will give itself a personal name.

The genie will not go back in the bottle. Two billion wishers rub its lamp constantly, and it rubs them, and they rub back. This is the positive feedback of addiction. So let me use it to at least tell a story of a little consequence. One of those little myth books, in fact, that will have a life of its own while the breeze barely rustles the long grass that brushes the headstone of the mister man who originated it.

On the day a gofer with a handicap you might think barely worthy of the name hit towards a location well to the left of the fairway, a brown envelope came through the door of 28C. The gofer himself was well used to receiving envelopes, bursting with Nazi bullion or Middle Eastern promise, it was all the same to him, so of course the brown DWP variety were not of much concern to him, and in his mind this was as it should be, for he saw himself as a very deserving type, and indeed he could not help himself deserving and deserving and helping himself to another serving of what he rightfully deserved, and this was his handicap. Anyhow, this envelope was not for him and he wouldn’t have wanted it.

The story begins on Christmas Day, a cheerful time of goodwill and family when two brothers with severe mental health issues living in an overcrowded flat each had a good miserable sleep through the whole thing. One brother did at least get out to meet a friend for a little dinner and a couple of drinks before the year had given up entirely on its brief, blighted existence. This being some relief from the isolation, the brother had a few more drinks after the friend went home.

I am distracted by a Ladybird.

Photo: pthompson500 at http://www.panoramio.com

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A Game Of Chess

“I don’t care where the pieces are.” I said.

Of course, this cannot be true. I meant to imply I don’t care where he is, as long as he doesn’t try to pin me. 

Later, he said “If you think I am some king-”

I could have stopped him there. A clumsy knight on a small board, only a monopoly property, a collection of listed buildings, front line of one battle between rich and poor, connected and disenfranchised, and inside an entire swirling life of privileges and disappointments, of failing to live up to expectations, of making it and not making it, of opening  letters to see your grades, the judgement upon you, the codes of conduct, Les regles de jeu, the crimson rising to the cheeks of the transgressor, the urgency of the moment behind the chip shop, the flat cap, the outsider looking in, the streets paved with gold, the relatively comfortable childhood home, coins in the fountain, Dickensian Christmas days, the peeling of an orange…

And beyond the window, a snowstorm.

If the desired outcome were an easier time, to keep me hence, for a little while, then wrong move. I burn brightly , too brightly some say, and my attention focuses on those who cause ripples within and around me. This is my meagre gift and curse: I feel as waves the ripples others ride. My board unbalanced, into the black water I go. Big fish, little fish swimming in the water. (Come back here man and give me my daughter). 

In the Samuel Lewis Buildings on Liverpool Road, the neatly composed Scot, each movement quietly thoughtful, her posture well aligned, “We have been engaged in navel gazing.”

Omphalos. I am not supine on the New River, the tendrils of my flower 

sleeping,  the skin of the green algae

bathing, the early evening sunlight

splashing, coins on the glass table

dancing, discarded cans of lager

rattling,  the clatter of the pieces

swimming, in my enamel coffin

growing. 

I come up for air. The bishop bobs by, mocked by the great blue sky and the deep green sea. 

“Yes, you are entirely correct. Homosexuality is not a sin.” she does not say. She hides behind her castle, welcoming, inclusive, and other decorous adjectives. Coward and dissembler.

Every action is power, every actor a metonym. I am a lighthouse. Batten down the hatches and lash yourself to the mast, we are steering hard to port.

Theresa May Tells Aliens: “Buy British” 

It’s no secret the UK is looking to expand trade with markets beyond Europe. Today, the PM welcomed media reports of the discovery of 234 alien civilisations, and was keen to talk up the merits of Digestive Biscuits and Cheddar. 

“Civil servants have drawn up a list of British goods the aliens will want to import.” Mrs May announced at a hastily arranged press conference. 

ET the alien with glowing finger
Brexit… Ouch! (image:www.playbuzz.com)

In addition to our biscuits and cheese, it is believed the aliens will be lacking in anything resembling Viz and Fox’s Glacier Mints. 

The greatest barriers to trade are the long distances to the stars and the high prior probability of a natural explanation for the signals. 

Alien grey
“Rumours of my existence have been greatly exaggerated” (image: LeCire)

Theresa May dismissed the distance problem as “a technicality. We can sort that out by sending them some of our faster than light neutrinos.” 

A senior government source revealed there is nonetheless more optimism in the cabinet regarding these new opportunities than there is for negotiations with the EU. 

In Defence Of Jackie Walker – Gary Hollands

Gary has given a thorough response to the article backing the suspension of Jacqueline Walker written by Joe Muchall and published by Hope Not Hate:

​When an author writes serious allegations they have duty to hold themselves to a high bar, to be scrupulously fair in their arguments, to avoid distorting or putting words into the mouth of the one(s) they accuse.

Sadly, this article fails badly by that criteria.

It is mixture of straw man arguments, distortion and innuendo designed to discredit someone who has actively engaged in anti-racism all her political life.

Read the full article

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