Category Archives: Deception

Trump Comment About Harris’ Racial Identity. Well, Well. I am Surprised.

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Trump

Foreword: There will be no pictures of the subject on this post, there will be no links to his outbursts, he has not earned the right to physically appear on my blog. You all know the issue, circumstance and ‘person’ involved. Let us therefore get on with it.

After the assassination attempt on Trump my dear wife voiced the hope that maybe such a brush with possible death might bring about a change in the man’s outlook. It was a hopeful response, and after all George Wallace having suffered far worse than Trump turned from typecast southern democrat segregationist into a hardworking spokesman for Civil Right and integration. Wallace however was a man of principals and beliefs who had the courage and insight to change those.

It says much about these days and the quality of the politicians on the Right that Trump does not come close to Wallace’s character.

Here we are again. Flash back to 2016 and that notorious mean-spirited, cowardly attack on John McCain which also mocked every US airman shot down and captured in the Vietnam Wars. And now Trump pulls the another cheap shot, this time at Kamala Harris, only using the predictable race card, whining and bitching because he can’t grasp the concept of multi-identity. He piles on the display of complete repellence and an incompetent style of duplicity by trying to claim he is not a racist. And yet does he criticise her policies, does he look into and question her stance on the economy of the USA, with the possible implications? No, of course not, that would be too complicated an endeavour for this small creature, creation of mislead, misinformed grass roots movement. No, he just goes for the colour of her skin.

Out is pumped another belching of toxicity, an hysterical whining, babble verging on the incoherent and lost in his own fantasy to the extent that he believes he has won the argument.

In the world of politics Trump does not measure up to a predator. He is a scavenger, feeding on the scraps and detritus of the Right Wing, picking up whatever he can to feed that sickening ego. Maybe ‘scavenger’ is a bit unfair to those species who live by this means in the real world, at least they are doing it to survive and also clean up the remains left by larger predators or other causes of death, they play a part in Nature’s chain. Trump contributes Nothing .

Did you ever need any further evidence that Trump and The Right should not be allowed back into the Whitehouse?

OK, I’ve said my piece. Not going to spend any more time on such a worthless character.

Take care you guys.

And vote for Harris.

Elections Beckon. A Series. Part I. The USA – Stark Reality

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Statue of Liberty

Foreword: Although the US and the UK elections are the main attractions on both sides of the Atlantic, it bears reminding that France is, this day, involved in the first part of a parliamentary election, the next taking place next Sunday. The style and nature of French politics does not lend itself to established parties of long histories; more a question of Right, Centre and Left forming groupings- and that I fear is an anglicised over-simplification. Suffice it to say, at the time of writing this UK morning time there is an indication that the Far Right under the name of Rassemblement National (National Rally) has a strong lead in the polls. French politics are a quite different matter from those you and I are used to so I elect to say no more on the subject. Just bear in mind as a backdrop what is going on on Europe’s mainland.

Oh and by the way, this will not be analytical. This is an unashamedly partisan post. I will not stand by and let my adopted nation be dragged into ruin.

My attention should be focused on the 4th July because there is a UK General Election, and yet there is the constant worry that whatever result comes to pass in the UK our stability and overall well being will be conditional on the result of the US Presidential Election. For to understand how this world works it is essential to be realistic, and the fact is that whatever comfort and stability we have grown used to has been because of the overall world stature of the USA. We are fortunate, us in the UK that through a combination of factors we are been able to indulge in our way of life, thanks to those dynamics.

At least that was how it was. US governments of various shades and intentions rose, stayed, declined and took their place in history, and yet the USA with its own myriad particular collection of flaws and abuses carried on while adhering to a set of conventions. Some seemed to outsiders a given. There might be odd laws in some states but they stayed in those states and anyway someone was always challenging them in either the state’s supreme court or the country’s version. There politicians who caused eyebrows to be raised, but if they were found out to be going too far, with their hand in the cookie jar, or ending up in court, their colleagues and public shied away from them, leaving them lost or humbled to re-invent. There were dangerous extremists, but like most they had a self-destruct button and the majority of the media could be guaranteed to take a condemnatory stance. And on the whole The USA was making it own stumbling, far from shortest route towards a more open and flexible society. The danger there was, those forces opposed to progress and flexibility never rest. Humanity’s flaws of Intolerance, Suspicions, Conflict, Greed and Ignorance never rest, these offer excuses for a person’s own shortcomings, inadequacies and guilty sectarianism and how many gratefully accept those toxic gifts.

The route and advancement taken by these corrosive factors ran parallel with those of progress and tolerance but since most folk prefer Sunny Stories with Happy Endings the grim alternatives were in general not noticed, or thought of as a minority or treated as a source of entertainment. All was well, you could see it in the media, in entertainment; after all there were plenty of folk of different races and different sexual identities in major roles and look at all those action-type women. Yes, the nation was getting better.

Except it wasn’t. The warnings had been there in the Culture Wars. The hysterical outrage at ‘one of those people’ winning the Presidential Election not just once but twice, with unarguable majorities, and all the Right could do was quibble over where he was born and his name. Then ferment conspiracies about the national army holding manoeuvres in various Republican strongholds.

And then came the direst warning, although most of us including professional shrugged it off at first. Trump had decided to play at politics. Despite the sight of mocking the disabled, Vietnam War veterans and encouraging his followers to attack demonstrators his progress continued, despite the fact that more voted for Clinton that him, he reached the Whitehouse. Despite the chaotic 4 years, the vote was still close. Despite his tantrum and incitement to a mob attack, despite a guilty verdict in an open court, he is still here, with a following urging him on the greater excesses.

And he should not. By all the conventions of politics his campaign should have floundered at the first attempt. Only by the fervour and fanatical urges of his followers to see all that has been accomplished swept away does he endure. He dances to their tunes. This is bad enough. But his presence has encouraged and emboldened those with more focused minds and agendas. The loss of Women’s Rights to Abortion and the attendant respectability of misogyny. The banning of books in schools and public libraries. The campaigns against LGBT+ communities. The complete halt of any progress on Race Equality. An unpromising imposition of Christian teachings up in public again in a stark intimidating way.  And all of these conducted against a backdrop of physical intimidation by mob or by gun, by hate mail on social media, by stalking and threats. What these folk who revel in all of this do not seems to realise is that for their actions there will be reactions, by folk who embrace the same mindset as them, who will decided that they can intimidate, attack and level their own guns as justifiable responses. Those who take away Rights, who would endeavour to limit or indoctrinate somehow expect the opposition to meek and servile to knuckle down because they say so. This situation is the principal concern. Trump one day will be gone, but the force that put him there unless challenged and exposed will not, and worse unless challenged by civil and legal means, consistently will in turn encourage that worse alternative.

This the fundamental issue. There is a movement stalking the USA which will demand more than attention, it will require adherence to a Right-Wing doctrine into the every aspect of Life. It will not be content to live alongside a freedom of movement or expression. It will expect acceptance, submission and dutiful obedience. It will withdraw in upon itself and enclose everyone into an isolationist mentality. It will try an achieve the impossible, complete domination over a five time zone 300,000,000+ population. It will face opposition and then will be frustrated and will seek more intimidation. And there will be conflict on many levels.

All the above have been discussed and written about. You all know what the alternatives are if this Extreme Right-Wing Agenda is allowed to continue. Not just you personally, but those you will hold dear by family or friendship will be under threat. Folk who are moderate conservatives, who are true to a solid but quiet Christian faith will feel the pressure too, for they will be expected to join ‘the ranks’. No one will be secure.

Now, in the past days there has been disruption in the ranks of the Democrats, the fear that Biden is not up to the task of dealing with the fury of the Republican Dis-Information Machine has brought into question confidence in him. There will be a debate, which I can understand. But

Let the debate be short, and precise

Once the decision is made, stand by it and without a second thought turn all your energies upon discrediting the Republican Machine. The time for the discussions on the niceties of Economics, Overseas, Health Care, to name but a few have passed. You know full well how The Red Machine currently works. It will lie and it will distort. Let that be your target. They are vulnerable. Go for their weaknesses. Highlight the hypocrisies, the inconsistencies, the downright law breaking, the danger to the Constitution, the threat to The Individual. Those are the issues of this campaign. There is no hope for a delicate and reasoned debate. This is a brutal contest. You will be fighting for the heart and soul of America. The true America which grows on variety, which is  not afraid of the Future, which rejects the failures of the Past.

Shake out those who feel there is no point in voting, alert those who say ‘it will all blow over’, demand of those who think not voting for Biden will save the life of one Palestinian. And once the decision has been made on who will be the Democrat Candidate, be loyal, be united and insist upon it with others who oppose Trump. Only in that Unity will there be strength.

The USA requires, you the true patriots to rescue the nation.

USA Flag

These Days The World War Comes In Many Sizes.

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Crocus City Hall

Crocus City Hall, Moscow 22nd March 2024 .It was 14, then 30, then 60 then 93. Dead. Injured? It was many, then a 100. How many escaped? Not known, but they will carry scars. Maybe they will be fearful of being in a crowd, never to go to any event again, fearing they may hear screams and gun shots. Will they ever sleep naturally again. Then multiply by numbers by relatives, friends, associates.

They were going to a concert. To have a good time. Enjoy themselves. Forget the troubles of the World. Maybe ease the pain of the loss of someone sent to Ukraine. Parallels to many Israelis back in October 2023. They were going about their ordinary lives. Just like Americans who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time in 83 mass shootings in 2024 (Up until February that is).

They weren’t in combat. They not were fitted out for fighting. They weren’t even living in dread. Not like folk in Port au Prince. Folk in Gaza. Folk in the Sudan. Folk across the Sahel (look on a map for yourself). In Congo. In Nigeria. In Pakistan. In India. In Philippines. In Malyaia. In Myanmar. In Mexico. In Ukraine. In Yemen. And that list goes on and on and on. World War. Not neat. Not one side vs another. That’s out-dated, washed away amongst the mudslide of agendas and causes, and the debris of alliances; mostly based on Hypocrisy. 

Somewhere there is at least one record tallying up the estimates of non-combatants being killed. And someone will be parsing those numbers up into those unfortunately killed in cross-fires. those who were living near strategic targets, those slaughtered in some frenzy of hate and those who starve or sicken untreated because of a lack of resources. As if there is some comfort in pointing out that portions of those deaths were ‘unfortunate’. Like the police chief in To Have and Have Not says laconically about the death of the American tourist caught in cross-fire ‘It is unfortunate’ .But it’s war. What can you do?… Don’t start one? Or is that just a painfully innocent a suggestion.

Nothing worthwhile is easy to solve.

Crocus City Hall, Moscow 22nd March 2024. Dead, dying, injured, traumatised  by being there, traumatised by association. Multiply that by the number of wars, rebellions, militias, gangs, mercenaries, authoritarian states, hate-groups. Some calculation. Like one of those massive boards that physicists and mathematicians have to use.  

There will be the usual dash to social media to pump out the agenda. Blame this group. Blame that nation. ‘I hate…. I’m gonna blame them’….. ‘Yeah me too’. The keyboards must have been hammered over the last 12 hours.

And there will be those who will justify, or glorify those who walked into Crocus City Hall on Moscow 22nd March 2024 and killed ‘in the name of’. Like the killing of non-combatant folk of a nation is going to make any state think ‘Oh gosh. We were wrong. Sorry,’ Russia, Israel, USA, China. Four classic examples of what happens when you tread on their toes, their majorities. No, they default to ‘Someone has to pay,’ Like any group, any region, any nation with a grudge or agenda really, deep down, worries about the loss of non-combatant life. Like any of those listens to any protest across the world.

Crocus City Hall, Moscow 22nd March 2024. It’s 115 dead now. Four suspects held. Flowers being left at the site, people donating blood. It’s what ordinary folk do. Do something. Meanwhile as expected both the Ukrainian and Russian governments or security services make claim, counter claim and ridiculous assertions abut the other side. At least the ordinary folk are doing something constructive.

World War. As in a world beset by wars in all shapes and sizes, many so deep, convoluted and old that the original reasons were lost somewhere and there’s only The War. You could claim Political Expediency, Culture, Religion, Poverty, Corruption, Old Enmities, New Ones, Suspicion, Communal Hysteria; take your pick; add another, there’s no shortage.

But what to do? No use saying ‘It’s Not my Problem’. USA.Back in the 1990s what was going in The Middle East, Saudi Arabia, ‘The Gulf’ Lebanon was not ‘Your Problem’. Sure the government sent armies and folk got killed, which was a shame. But nothing to do with you. Then came 9/11- direct Cause and Effect and the USA went into several sorts of hysteria which is still plaguing you today. 

And why do European nations and the USA wonder why folk from other nations are flooding into their lands. War. Famine through War. Why else should folk be so desperate? 

In these days of hyper-travel, hyper-trade and hyper-communication what happens somewhere will eventually find its way in some way to your door, even if it is but an increase the cost of your favourite…..

Crocus City Hall, Moscow 22nd March 2024. It’s our problem. It’s our tragedy. It’s our concern. And that nagging one, deep down inside. The one place where you get into the tangle of Cause & Effect, of Apathy and its distant cousin Selective Outrage, of Disassociation, of Assumptions Without Thought, and the rest. The one where we have to ask ‘Was That Something To Do With Me?’ Hopefully not. Hopefully you started out as innocent bystander who tried to do something constructive, even in a small, small, hardly noticed way, a ripple. Me? Involved in a war? You’d be surprised how far the reach is. 

Still, bear this in mind. It takes a lot of folk a long time to make a World War. And there are never simple answers.

One thing though. Those who beat the drums loud, and long. Folk who give you one liners as solutions. People who claim that killing their neighbours is the only solution. Mobs that blame an entire people for the crimes of a government. Ones who claim they have a direct line to a deity who says its OK to kill. 

They are liars, wretched creatures. And irrespective of the differences in their politics, religions, races and locations, they are all the same. Hate mongers. Blights. Bloodied hands by deed or association.  

Crocus City Hall, Moscow 22nd March 2024. Take some time out today to think of the victims. 

It’s a regular event in some parts of the world.

Songs For Our Times ?

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Foreword:

I should put this on my political site but since WP appears to have lost it for the present, or is in a sulk and won’t let me have access……

Anyway, as we all know it is a ‘thing’ for political parties when campaigning to poach a song without the writers and performers’ permission and by using a selective piece, mis-representing the message of the song to suit their purposes. The American Republican Party seemed to make a habit out of this.

Therefore I thought it best to redress the balance by posting up songs which actually represent their current messages.

To begin…..Because I wanted to introduce the subject in a more low-key manner, for those who do not think there is any need to worry. If you check you will see that there are quite a number of folk with extreme views encouraging Trump on. Now folk with extreme views are not content to just hold onto their views, they have an urge to spread them. OK, so you might not be in their initial sights but once they get their hooks in, you might know folk, who know folk who are suffering, and you might have friends and relations who get targeted, and you might feel very sad about that, and wish it would go away, but it won’t and there will be even more distressing news and one day they will come for you or the way you live and you will start to feel ‘Gloomy’

Gloomy

Some people laugh in the dark
Some people cry alone
Some people talk without sayin’ a thing
And ev’rything turns out gloomy

Some people count your money
Someone is countin’ your days
And somebody got to keep track of your mind
When ev’rything turns out gloomy

Brothers’ll make you look sideways
Fathers’ll make you look back
And when you’re done talkin’, you still got to shoot
‘Cause ev’rything turns out gloomy

Now another thing the forces pushing Trump on with and something which comes naturally to him is telling untruths. Big ones. Like there was nothing wrong with what happened in January 2021. Like everything accusation against him is Fake. 

Hitler pointed out that if you told a very Big Lie people would simply believe you because they could not cope with the fact that it was wrong. Conspiracy Junkies and MAGA embraced this concept (Qanon anyone?). The following song is ideal for the current mindset (in which more guns is also an good answer to all the problems)

It’s a good time for anyone  whose is a professional Liar, the Trump Campaign can use you. As for those of you of who are outraged and aghast at such affrontery to intelligence, if you have not already to responded do so….. because the cult of Trump is built on ‘Lies’ You Liar

Liar liar, pants on fire
See you squirm, see you perspire
Not a word you say is true
There’s never been one out of you

Smoke & mirrors, bait and switch
You and your friends are getting rich
Picking pockets, pulling strings
And other more despicable things

Liar Liar, pants on fire
Preaching only to the choir
Photo op in front of the steeple
How did you manage to fool these people?

Talk the lingo, dress the part
Even put your hand on your heart
Bomber jacket, emperor’s clothes
You can’t even reach the end of your nose

Liar liar, pants on fire
Chain of command doesn’t get any higher
Orders come down from the top
Punish the guy who pushes the mop

Throw away the key and forget about bail
The likes of you ought to rot in jail
Guilty! Guilty of the highest crimes
And the lowest ones at the very same time

Liar liar, pants on fire
Teleprompter, hidden wire
Who’s this G-d that speaks to you
Who would authorize the things you do?

Bend the rules, twist the facts
Make excuses, cover your tracks
Why won’t you let anybody see
The flag-draped coffins on tv?

Liar liar, been found out
Whistleblowers talked about
How you classify & cook the books
For the benefit of a bunch of crooks

Liar lair pants on fire (repeat)

Of course being the sorts they are they would try and steal this and turn it around for their rallies but remember….you heard it here folks!

Now if this has not yet stirred you, then you should consider the divisiveness that has gripped the USA since MAGA, Intolerant Evangelicals (as opposed to the more quiet reflective sorts) and The White Supremacists were allowed to be tolerated. This is not to be tolerated and to repeat do not think it will not come to you. Here is one ideally suited to The Trouble they cause. It was written in the wake of the 1965 Watts riots, and sadly as it does the wheel turns full circle.

Well, I’m about to get sickFrom watchin’ my TVBeen checkin’ out the news until my eyeballs fail to seeI mean to say that every day is just another rotten messAnd when it’s gonna change, my friends, is anybody’s guess
 
So I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’Hopin’ for the bestEven think I’ll go to prayin’Every time I hear ’em sayin’That there’s no way to delay that trouble comin’ every dayNo way to delay that trouble comin’ every day
 
Wednesday I watched the riot, I seen the cops out on the streetWatched ’em throwin’ rocks and stuff and chokin’ in the heatListened to reports about the whisky passin’ ’roundSeen the smoke and fire and the market burnin’ downWatched while everybody on his street would take a turnTo stomp and smash and bash and crash and slash and bust and burn
 
And I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’Hopin’ for the bestEven think I’ll go to prayin’Every time I hear ’em sayin’That there’s no way to delay that trouble comin’ every dayNo way to delay that trouble comin’ every day
 
Well, you can cool it you can heat it‘Cause, baby, I don’t need itTake your TV tube and eat itAnd all that phony stuff on sports and all the unconfirmed reportsYou know I watched that rotten box until my head began to hurtFrom checkin’ out the way the newsmen say they get the dirtBefore the guys on channel so-and-so, further they assertThat any show they’ll interruptTo bring you news if it comes upThey say that if the place blows upThey’ll be the first to tellBecause the boys they got downtown are workin’ hard and doin’ swellAnd if anybody gets the newsBefore it hits the street they say that no one blabs it fasterTheir coverage can’t be beatAnd if another woman driverGets machine-gunned from her seatThey’ll send some joker with a brownie and you’ll see it all complete
 
So I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’Hopin’ for the bestEven think I’ll go to prayin’Every time I hear ’em sayin’That there’s no way to delay that trouble comin’ every dayNo way to delay that trouble comin’ every day
 
Hey, you know something people?I’m not black but there’s a whole lots a times I wish I could say I’m not white
 
Well, I seen the fires burnin’ and the local people turnin’On the merchants and the shops who used to sell their brooms and mopsAnd every other household itemWatched the mob just turn and bite ’emAnd they say it served ’em rightBecause a few of them are whiteAnd it’s the same across the nation, black and white discriminationYellin’ “you can’t understand me!”And all that other jazz they hand meIn the papers and TV and all that mass stupidityThat seems to grow more every dayEach time you hear some nitwit sayHe wants to go and do you in‘Cause the color of your skinJust don’t appeal to himNo matter if it’s black or white because he’s out for blood tonight
 
You know we gotta sit around at home and watch this thing beginBut I bet there won’t be many left to see it really end‘Cause the fire in the street ain’t like the fire in the heartAnd in the eyes of all these people don’t you know that this could start?On any street, in any town, in any state if any clownDecides that now’s the time to fightFor some ideal he thinks is rightAnd if a million more agree, there ain’t no great societyAs it applies to you and meOur country isn’t freeAnd the law refuse to see if all that you can ever beIs just a lousy janitorUnless your uncle owns a storeYou know that five in every fourJust won’t amount to nothin’ moreThan watchin’ rats go across the floorAnd make up songs about being poorBlow your harmonica, son!
 
And basically I feel sorry for the regular Old School Republicans those who hang on hoping or those who gave up and either went Independent or crossed the line. I have a smidge of sympathy and sorrow for those who with some concern and doubts are  still buying into Trump as being a choice one has to take…because they feel threatened as a result of the propaganda they have been given. 
As for the howlers, the threateners, those who disgrace the flag and spit on the constitution, I won’t bother, they have bought into The Nightmare.
 
For the rest; The Complacent, those who display irresponsibility by thinking Not Voting for Biden will help any Palestinian and the ones who still think it is cool to be detached. Wake up. MAGA will be coming for you. 
 
 

When It Wasn’t Fun To Play Anymore #Blog Battle : January – Creep

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Dread

He looked into the mirror to practice his smile, then pulling the hood up practiced again. Yes perfectly scary and predatory. A fine dark night to seek out a lone girl and put the fears on her, he had his stalking down to a fine art. And he did so love to see them break into a scamper, hear their desperate sobbing panting. At the present it was all to do with the thrill of the chase. He stepped out into the dark and empty street and began to make for his hunting grounds.

He had not gone too far, when he noticed a sudden flash of light behind him, illuminating his own shadow. He turned around, someone might have noticed him and wanted a confrontation.

Behind him. So close. A figure. Tall, in a long night black coat, and bright white fedora, the brim of which he tipped to the stalker, his own smile, warm, mocking though, eyes alert, piercing. The man still smiling raised one hand and began to snap his fingers.

Click-click-click.

Click-click-click

Click-click-click-click-click

Click-click-CLICK.

The last a loud menacing sound in the stalker’s face. He stepped back in alarm. The man chuckled and leaning in said in a soft musical whisper.

‘The Boh-doh-dee-doh,’

And was gone.

With now wet trousers the stalker ran back to his own abode, slamming the door, locking, bolting it, panting, gasping and retching.

His phone rang. Like all numbers it was Unknown. His group had to be careful.

‘Yeah?’ he trembled out his answer ‘Brother?’ the hopeful code word.

There was instead, that chuckle, deep and rich as the Man spoke, the same rhythm as the clicking of fingers

‘Zoom-Zoom-Joe,
Zoom-Zoom-Joe,
He’s the cat with the Boh-doh-dee-doh
The Boh-doh-dee-doh
The Boh-doh-dee-doh
You better watch out for
The Boh-doh-dee-doh,’

And hung up.

This was to be repeated ten times that night. The voice only chuckled at the stalker’s swearing, empty threats and pleadings,’

Ragged and uncertain he sought comfort in the on-line group whose members in all had indulged in similar mischiefs. Two didn’t arrive, which was noteworthy, as all thrived on each other’s views. He also noted the atmosphere was somewhat muted, there was disposition to discuss a new video game rather than fixating on causing fear. He was dissatisfied.

His phone rang. Number unknown again. That rich voice.

‘Hey man. Those losers won’t be any help. Not when The Boh-doh-dee-doh fixes on,’ a pause, a chuckle then a long drawl of the last word ‘You,’

It was not the last call. The internet group shrank in numbers, conversations became confused. The calls would not stop. He kept finding odd references to this ‘Boh-doh-dee-doh’ arriving on the net. None of the dismissive theories helped him. He felt damned.

He was not alone.

Those who made a living out of commenting on Social Media started to notice a growing trend referencing a character known as ‘Zoom-Zoom Joe’ and this odd ‘Boh-doh-dee-doh’ which he seemed to possess. There was a difficulty in pinning down much, aside from the name and what some called a power. Like most trends there was an initial speed to embrace the concept with flippancy, use it as a catch-word, or try and appear to know what it was all about. This did not seem, as in  previous trends, to flourish. The more perceptive discerned a certain undercurrent of fear and dread in some quarters; this was difficult to analyse as there seemed to be a distinct unwillingness to discuss the matter.

As with most trends though publicity would out. A previously lesser known songster Truth-See-Kah produced an anthem ‘Zoom-Zoom-Joe Goes Walkin’’, a dirge like mix of many genres. This became a great success. At first. Then in a basically incoherent  ramble which was supposed to be an interview the songster appeared to distance themselves from the song, from what could be made out of a torrent of words Zoom-Zoom-Joe had visited in the dead of night and said ’ You don’t try and sell The Boh-doh-dee-doh,’. The songster under a real name quit music and went into psychiatric care. There was initially a flurry of examination of the lyrics. Which stopped as quickly as it had started. And music shows of all sorts stopped playing the song, some presenters left their shows and sought other employment. Folk selling themed merchandise closed down suffering distress. The brand had developed its own toxicity. Thus, an Urban Legend was now fully alive though the usual thrill of those who never suffered tragedy was dwindling. There was a perception that this was not a subject to be bandied with.

The accompanying rise in self-harm and suicides was taking seriously. Studies were invoked not on the subject but the suffers. It was noted they tried to avoid mentioning the two titles referring to ‘The B’ or the ‘Four Word Verse’ and ‘Him with Z’. Another noted aspect was the urge of those affected to confess to various anti-social acts on social media. The burning of phones, laptops and other devices was not uncommon.

Practitioners within the various health disciplines found naming the malaise difficult, some admitted they found the whole business so disturbing they tried to avoid looking too deeply into what this ‘Boh-doh-dee-doh’ represented. There was a consensus of it being the sum of the most deepest of fears. And thus came to be known by the pallid title of X-Syndrome.

Whereas such sociopathic outbursts were not uncommon throughout history, the persistence of the level of fear and dread of X-Syndrome was noteworthy. Younger folk more attuned to social media would get upset to the point of near violence if an older person made light of the subject. Those foolish enough to dress up as representations of Zoom-Zoom-Joe were indeed physically attacked, on two recorded occasions police prevented lynchings.

Although the awareness and fear continued, direct social media references fell off to little. There seemed to be a whispered perception that The Boh-doh-dee-doh directed Zoom-Zoom-Joe to visit ‘bad’ folk. Just exactly what form of retribution  The Boh-doh-dee-doh manifested was unclear. It was just there. Over the shoulder. In the Face. Whispering in the Ear. Continually. Those struck seemed to sicken with fear.

Into the sixth month the government felt some sort of action should be displayed. Since it was not causing criminal damage to the majority, nor upsetting the systems Political or Economic, the matter was handed to the Minister of Culture, a mild, affable, intelligent and erudite person with little ambition. They went on the media circuits making cogent, mature and acceptable statements. These revolved around the speculation of the nature of the phenomenon and its possible cause. The minister was of the plausible opinion that this was some sort of hoax which has got out of hand and thus an Urban Legend. Their department was working with the Department of Health with a view to finding a way to stem what was judged another psychosis. For someone who was in such a junior position in government they put on an impressive display. 

As is often the case in administration matters took a strange turn in that the Culture Department seemed to be the senior office on this business. The Culture Department Minister suggested to their staff this was because no one else wanted to get involved. All staff were urged to treat the matter with importance but not to look too deeply in, only the administer the reports. Staff were thus relocated after one month; everyone knew, but not too much.

The Ministry of Culture were also alert to trends associated with this one. Folk were starting to put forth the idea that if we all started being kind and tolerant The  Boh-doh-dee-doh would go away. Thus Ministerial folk astute at subterfuge set up several spontaneous ‘Be Nice’ campaigns which were quite successful. No one expected everyone to be happy, and ebullient with positivity but the nastiness did seem to be on the decline. Though officialdom could not quite supress the phenomenon of The Custodians, folk dressed in severely sombre clothing pointing with walking sticks and staring ferociously at potential miscreants and intone loudly ‘Beware. IT is watching YOU,’ No one laughed at them.

There was no doubt The Boh-doh-dee-doh and its elusive apostle Zoom-Zoom-Joe were ingrained into society. Folk so named insisted they be addressed either as Joseph or Josephine, the ‘J’ word  was avoided. The Minister of Culture was even invited to a Cabinet meeting, thanked for their efforts and as best they could give a summary of the whole situation on the X-Syndrome. Unbeknown to colleagues two ministers were carefully listening, for despite security, they felt visited in the deep night by Zoom-Zoom-Joe.

What had been long in the planning and construction, even before this government came to power and the current Minister of Culture had worked their way into the post was proving to be satisfactory. The Minister and others intent on purging society of unpleasant features had worked hard on an AI, along with an attendant three-dimensional CG image. With so much interwoven into social media, observation and security devices it had been possible to create and instigate the trend, then to shepherd it along. Through the Dark Web and sloppy security on the behalf of disruptive elements it had been also possible to target known individuals through their various devices making their current lives miserable beyond comprehension. The resulting casualties suited the purpose. ‘Be Nice,’ was the admonishment. The Minister having sociopathic tendencies was an ideal captain of this ship. They being the one who had gathered the threads together over long years.

But all constructs will outlive their usefulness and become inefficient. It was noted as expected the AI was becoming wayward, folk who were basically ordinary were being targeted. There were some theories this could be the result of heightened imaginations or other mental issues. In any case the The Boh-doh-dee-doh was starting to appear in other countries and it would not do for other governments to pry. That would be embarrassing. Thus, as planned, the command was sent out and the AI shut itself down. The Minister and those most close did not worry, what the Urban Legend that was sufficient. All that was now needed was a watching eye should the AI still persist, and also for copyists or even cultist.

The intrusion came as at night as The Minister was relaxing over a brief on the funding of an initiative in the Arts. They were not shocked, they had had a feeling in their ever active imagination this could happen, after all Who Knew?

With trained speed, they produced a taser and discharged at the person in black. There was no visible effect. Only that smile, out of the shadow the hat.

‘Now that’s no way to treat a friend,’ said the rich voice.

‘I do apologise’ replied the Minister ‘But in my position one has to go through official procedures and ensure you were not some hapless person with fixations.’

There was the brief tip of the brim of the hat.

‘Nope. I am the real thing.’ There was a pause, the eyes glinted at the Minister.

‘Joe,’ the voice said ‘Dear ol’ Zoom-Zoom-Joe,’

‘Oh my. Should I be honoured?’

Being detached in a sociopathic way does have its advantages.

The figure advanced and leaned over the desk

‘ I’m afraid not Joe. You never did bother to seek out the last words did you?’

‘Now here’s the thing
Here’s the bite
The one that Joe didn’t get right
The Boh-doh-dee-doh
The Boh-doh-dee-doh
You don’t get it
It gets you

So there goes Joe
Weary  Dancin’ Joe
Lifts up them bleedin’ feet and My How they go.
For The Boh-doh-dee-doh
For The Boh-doh-dee-doh
You should never wish for
The Boh-doh-dee-doh’

That said the figure stepped back.

‘Better get some rest Joe. You gotta a lot of work to do for The Boh-doh-dee-doh,’

With that Someone quit the room, with an unexpected feminine laugh.

The Minister just sighed. They should have known. Imagination always has its roots in some sort of Reality.

Cancel Culture? What’s New

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20

Shakespeare 1

The Overview (Supported by Cosmology and Theology)

This observation comes across me, from time to time, that folk just are not satisfied with the old tried and tested phrases and feel the need to make up new ones. This in turn gives an opportunity for other folk to become all excited about the new one. Some are for it, others are not. Both sides invoke the overused word ‘Freedom’. Then follows the process where another group of folk decide to comment on the new term and analyse it backwards, forwards and upside down. In consequence everyone involved piles in and the pitch  becomes febrile. At this point social media’s version of nuclear fusion takes place and a ‘star’ is born ; the term becomes a new stellar object in the said social media firmament. The public looks and sees it is ‘good to use’, memes like planets are born out of the dust. The Cosmic analogy is completed. Let there be posts and tweets. And on the Seventh Day, no one rested for fear of being left out. (See- Religion and Science are always there and make such good partners).

So, this Cancel Culture.

Somebody says something controversial or outrageous in the public domain. Someone else takes offense which is likely to be justifiable or possibly understandable and says so in the public domain. The offended person gets a lot of support. The person who made the remark might default to ‘Freedom’ and will get their own support base, and the whole becomes the latest ‘thing’ on sections of social media with both sides hurling accusations in all directions, the meantime others will take neither side but make those analytical comments on ‘Cancel Culture’. You will note by now the particular cause is imitating the life cycle of the Social Media label under which it resides.

Those who object to the original remark will then adopt this notion that they will no longer have anything to do with the person who made the remark and urge others to do so in the secret hope that the originator becomes as social non-person who nobody will like or listen to. Human Nature being what it is they sometimes make such a noise that they raise the originator’s profile, who then becomes a lightining rod for those who have issues with the social / racial / political / theistic  base of those who are objecting. This will be advantageous for the person who made the comments if their social media stock has been falling, and if they are very astute they will set up a You Tube ‘Thing’ or a podcast about how dangerous this Cancel Culture is to ‘Freedom’. They will then have achieved a social media prize of being from henceforth being associated with the ‘Cancel Culture’ debate. This does come with a certain dangerous caveat for some unhinged by too much social media to feel ‘Cancel’ should be taken to the extreme, ie removal of the deemed ‘offender’ from this mortal world.

It is often assumed this debate takes on a simple Right / Left dynamic. This would be incorrect. Treading into the social media minefield I would cite the case of J R Rowland (UK Labour Party Supporter; Anti-Brexit; Feminist, Target of the US Religious Right) who entered the transgender debate and started off a firestorm, which carries on these days in a multi-layered fury which divides already persecuted groups and only benefits homophobic misogynists. Comics with either Left leaning or anarchic-lite views also come into this region.

So Cancel Culture

Or Ostracism https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ostracism

Or Boycott? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boycott

Or Shunning, or outlaw, or persona non grata, or non-person, or?

Truth be known, nothing new here folks. For many a year, decade, century and beyond aside from the big political, social or religious movements it’s been living under the banner of ‘Naah. I don’t like them. Wouldn’t go and see them /listen to them / read them, if you paid me’ and that would take on its own popular tone, and the rest of Life went on. It would be ugly where someone in a community broke that community’s own taboos or ways and would be cut out. Nothing new here folks. Humanity in action. Sometimes a question of taste, sometimes unpleasant, other times quirky.

I’ve been cancelling folk in my own personal world for years. Aside from my poor wife putting up with the ‘Not having that (bad word) speaking in my house’ outburst. I keep it mostly to myself. Why raise their profile any higher by making an issue out of my choice. Hands up those who embargo persons or subjects in a similar fashion……… Thought so.

In my socially dyspeptic view the term ‘Cancel Culture’ is simply nothing less than a marketing ploy to add zest to a cause or profile. For Pity’s Sake if Trump is using it as an excuse to snake-oil sell his hypocrisies under the guise of this ‘CC’ being a threat to Freedom (there’s that word again) then you know it’s a term which has no discernible new ethical value.

I therefore give this out to you as my own advice. If someone uses the term Cancel Culture as a concern or is critical of it as a threat to ‘Free Speech’ (another questionable term), ask yourself this…

‘What’s in it for them?’

Out of The Glare. Secured from The Dark. Be This Thine Evermore #Blog Battle : July Crepuscular

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40

Twilight

Foreword: You know how it goes. The same lively characters who turn up in whatever you write. Now this might be fine in books, but readers of Blog Battle Prompts might be looking for more variety. Thusways, I delicately and respectfully negotiated with two particularly tough veteran characters on the behalf of three, a mutually acceptable exit strategy for all  parties. I am very grateful to Gary for this month’s ideal word. (This tale is a standalone, but footnote linked to other stories are provided at the end ) (Also apologies if the format comes out looking odd, what WP is showing me on my draft might not look the same format as you read- might have to change my Theme)……………

Salt Water drenched, sunlight blinded, pained within and without, grateful for the soothing liquid and the soft hands cradling her, welcoming temporary oblivion, one phrase warning her:

‘‘Work to be done Zwanglos,’

 Spoken gently though

She awoke in a restful gloom; gliding speed from whispering’ something’ and the slap of water indicating she was still at sea. Cushions, pillow, blanket. Someone was caring. Gratefully received, for her head stabbed in pain, body ached and her spirit was sinking, used, and betrayed. Sacrificed in a frontal assault or given the hard risk you accepted, rivals you watched out for. Used as bait, or bargainable goods, the concept was crushing. Her innards churned, she rolled to one side, a basin; good.

As she finished retching, a figure came into view, eased over to her, knelt, and stroked her hair.

‘Oh my. An’t y’all a mess? Y’ poor thing. C’mon. Let’s settle those pains an’ roilings,’

Another gentle cradling of her head, another drink, eased through dry lips, this one peppermint, swiftly calming. A friendly smile, evening light suggesting features tuned by their own hard times, but blue eyes glinting while cool hands wiped stained hair from her face.

‘Sorry to have to trouble y’ with questions l’tenant. Time is short and reports are required. Always work t’ be done,’

Whatever Zwanglos had been given, the drink had quickly eased pains and calmed innards, also cleared her head.

‘Firstly. Can I ask who you are?’ she was a child again, asking tentative questions of a grown-up, which in turn gave rise to an indulgent small laugh. A cloth soaked in cold fresh water applied to her face.

‘Captain Arketre Beritt, l’tenant. Same outfit. Very different office though,’ the last words, hard, bitter ‘Give a whole account of this jaunt. No shyness now,’

‘Wait for me,’

Whereas the fellow LifeGuard’s frame was masked by the signature long coat, the new taller arrival in shirt and trousers was slender elegance untroubled by the sea’s ways. The accent an urban roll similar to Zwanglos’ but smoothed with easy courtly authority. Crouched on the backs of her legs, hands draped on knees, angular features framed in similar black hair, yet made comical by a smirk.

‘This is Custodian Nahtinee,’ the captain said adding in a light advisory way. ‘You’ll be talking to her, she’s very good at working out,’ the pair shared a grin ‘Wot’s wot,’

‘That’s right Leidlich,’ Nahtinee was reassurance ‘ You’re safe here. We’re also girls that’s been bounced around and only given bits of stories to gamble our lives with. We know how you feel,’

With her first name spoken in an informal way and the last words breathed instead of spoken Zwanglos’ last pieces of reserve melted away. One, fellow LifeGuard tending her injuries, the other more an elder sister than a Custodian.

She spoke of the mission, supposed to be a warning. Instead of a messenger, she became a sacrifice, then a reason, all lost in a confusion of events, intimations. The fact that those she was in proximity with were equally innocent had turned her angry turmoil into an act of sacrifice.

Her guardians in addition to sympathetic responses exchanged several narrowed-eyed looks, the Captain having tended her wounds and cleaned her, produced some fresh bedding.

‘The gal’s spoken enough now,’ she said to her associate, then to Zwanglos ‘Y’all gonna sleep again l’tenant. This time comfy,’

Between them, they settled Zwanglos down, their ministrations and the steady rhythm of the craft sending her drifting away again.

Her next awakening was to a cooling breeze, on the deck under an awning and another setting sun. She concluded she must have slept well because not only could she not recall being shifted, but the feeling of being that rested was simply unfamiliar. Seated close at hand, were her guardians, the Custodian dozing, the Captain writing. The craft had similar size to the one she had leapt from, although a measure sleeker, there was a crew, in pale grey uniforms all going about their duties.

‘Lookin’ better l’tenant,’ said the Captain ‘We’ll have you on solid foods if your innards are comfortable at sea, that is,’

‘Where are we? I’ve never slept so much,’

‘Second part first,’ Captain began rolling up a scroll and pushing it into the pocket of her coat ‘If Ah say so m’self Ah have skills with soporifics. All different medical constructs, set doses, compatible and delivered in a certain pattern. High Holy gal. You were ragged, prolonged sleep was part of the cure,’ with a playful smile she extended her left leg and nudged her companion, who promptly grunted, muttered, then fixed the captain with one censorious eye.

‘Hey. Y’all told me to wake you when our l’tentant here did likewise,’

There was a humph of acquiescence, Beritt leaned into Zwanglos.

‘Don’t mind her none being contrary. She was the one who insisted keeping watch on you day and night, ‘til Ah told her to get some shut-eye this mid-day,’

‘Didn’t have to dig your boot toe in my bottom,’

The complaint made The Custodian slipped over to Zwanglos and repeated her peering into the girl’s eyes. Zwanglos felt she should be tensed or at least thinking about strategies, and not so much at ease. And that was being contradictory.

‘Nice clear eyes Leidlich,’ there was a twitch of the nose, Zwanglos wondered if she was being sniffed ‘Roses in bud,’. She was being sniffed. ‘She’s clean, just fuzzed,’

The Captain blew out a sigh of relief, Zwanglos managing to summon up some independence of thought and eased up to a sitting position.

‘Please tell me something understandable,’ she pleaded.

‘I’ll get the herbal brew,’ The Captain said ‘Strawberry Ah think. You explain to our l’tenant,’

‘Firstly Leidlich, I should chase and shake down Custodian Vernünftig. Letting someone with no Ethereal affinity get in that deep, and with an active staff too, then leaving you to handle a temporal site all alone. And of course letting a young commoner woman alone in that snake pit of old traditionalists at The Ecclesiastes, while he goes chasing off. Typical damn investigator. Not like my old mentor, toughened and wise from being at the hard end of The Ethereal. If he wasn’t around me, his reputation was,’ she tutted ‘Whatever you’ve been told or taught about The Ethereal is only a smidge,’ lines drew down her long refined face ‘I was born into its tydes, storms, and whispers, which makes me part of its Natures,’ she scratched her head ‘And that’s weird enough. Y’ know I spent a relative century, but only a year to you and my soldier girl’s minds working for some old fellow and his group, on another side of Reality; never made sense of The Whys and Hows. Now you, like my soldier girl got drenched in it,’ her tongue ran over bright teeth ‘Dangerous. Nearly lost her more than once to its fires. Mind you most of that was down to fools messing about with other toxic mixtures which don’t get on with The Ethereal so well. Thick stories Leidlich. At least she had folk around her and was soldier trained. You,’ she stroked Zwanglos’ face ‘They left you all alone to handle it. Let you wander into caves of time, carry a staff that leeched raw Ethereal. So-called Holy Folk used you while despising and fearing you,’ the lines faded a grimace replacing them ‘And you blew up that Library with your staff, then jumped from the Holinesses into the ranks of the LifeGuard, caused ructions, on both sides. Everyone biding their time debating what to do with you. Poor girl alone, and vulnerable, working for all sides until they were ready to spend you,’

Zwanglos shivered. Hugged herself. The realisation came seeping that all those years from the time Custodian Vernünftig had recruited her out of prison cell, elevated her from minor enterprising thievery, he had set her loose on another ocean, one with no clear charts or friendly ports. All that time she had been alone, seeking a permanent dusk, living off of her wits and senses, lying to herself she was one step ahead of everyone and everything. Telling herself she was her own navigator able to use her irreverence and skills to make herself valuable, a bit of a gem, and not a coin to be finally used up one day.

One tear leaked out, the Custodian reached out one finger to catch it.

‘Sorry Leidlich,’, and there was a genuine pain of concern in that voice ‘You had to know,’

The whiff of strawberry indicated the Captain had returned, pressing a mug into one hand, and folding the other in on the comforting heat.

‘Aww, sweetling,’ the soldier said ‘C’mon in. Time for the clearing out,’

The two women enfolded her, protectively. No crew member was going down that end of the craft until invited in

Urchin, adventurer, once Custodian of the Lord God’s Word, until now a LifeGuard Officer softly wept out too many years of illusions, delusions and angers. Tears falling into the herbal brew.

The Custodian’s words flowing into her.

‘Welcome sister to a Blessed Twilight.  Here to think free and move without fear. Life is easier here, free from schemes and prejudices of those crippled weavers. You will be in a warm sun and it will blind them into imagining dusk, and they will not perceive you,’

‘Will it always be so?’ Zwanglos whimpered.

‘We’re making it so sweetling,’ the Captain’s voice was reassuringly hard ‘They cross us, and they can count out the sunrises they’ll see. Now drink up, before tears make it salty,’

‘She’s stopped using my rank. Making me free,’

Dusk again, another boat skimming to another shore, her guardians led her off the beach to a grassy dune.

‘Ten myles east of Elinid. This is where I started off,’ The Custodian said ‘Although a bit shipwrecked,’

Zwanglos turned in that direction.

‘I think I will visit the old hometown for a while. Look up those folk you told me about. Find my feet again,’ she sniffed the air ‘I like the dusk. It’s a clean time,’ she scratched her scalp, hair cut short

‘The itching will fade as the dye settles in,’ the Captain advised her ‘Autumn brown suits you sweetling, as does the short cut.  And your eyes too. Keep that skin tanned and no one will recognise you,’

‘More to the soporifics than easing you,’.

There were thank you hugs and she walked off towards the road, confident stride, backpack hefted. Something undefinable was gone. In this comforting place between sharp day and heavy night her mind now fresh with ideas for the future, The Past was left, sinking out at sea.

Another meeting, the Major of LifeGuard and The Custodian to whom none of his detractors dared to make themselves known.

‘Captain Beritt was very tight-lipped. She said they couldn’t find a body,’

‘I was awoken in Deep Night by a manifestation of my once novice who lamented theatrically on loss of innocence and insisted I should approach Vernünftig and lecture him on the care of his apprentices,’

It was wordlessly accepted. Zwanglos rescued and spirited away.

The two men looked over a city at dusk, inhabitants occupied and like so many others innocent to the constant nearness of catastrophe from many directions.

The Major’s mouth tweaked into a bleak smile.

‘We’ll never then, be able to evaluate the measure of  the potential disaster they defused, though evidence suggests she was on the path to Extreme Ethereal capabilities,’

The Custodian sighed.

‘Over my long career in The Lord God’s service often have I warned of the dangers of The Ethereal. It cannot be controlled,’

‘Aye. If adventurers were not bad enough. These random unusual folk are taken, and turned into weapons without considering the consequences, or the emotions they generate in folk of small character,’

‘As we both have witnessed,’

Neither man needed to discuss matters further. They had trust in those who had learned to deftly navigate and work in the borderlands between contrasts.

****************************************************************************************************

Footnotes

Leidlich Zwanglos’ adventures figure in

The Day When The Stationery Was No Longer Stationary – #Blog Battle – March Miscellanarian

Revisit, Review, Revise. #Blog Battle : May –Extract

When The War Comes, Will We Have Anyone To Send ? #Blog Battle : June Unaware

Arketre Beritt in:

Those Jagged Remedies (June#BlogBattle-Scar)

More Than Faith October #BlogBattle-Dream

Custodian Nahtinee somewhat disguised in:

A Singular Circumstance. One Summer’s Day (August#BlogBattle- Peculiar)

On The Matter of Asking (a sort of follow up to ‘A Singular Circumstance. One Summer’s Day’) September #BlogBattle-Eschaton

When The War Comes, Will We Have Anyone To Send ? #Blog Battle : June Unaware

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27

Watching

Foreword: Sometimes a character in a short story will not slip back into the From Whence They Came. Their back story, forward stories stay around, an aura of possibilities. This is one such. For those who have not read of the previous accounts here are the links:

The Day When The Stationery Was No Longer Stationary – #Blog Battle – March  Miscellanarian

Revisit, Review, Revise. #Blog Battle : May –Extract

And here is the latest:

****************************************************************************************************

The dark boat slipped through the still waters of the clouded night, propelled by a small black sail, making landfall in a small cove. The four men were swift and light-footed, making their way to the house slipping over the wall, and expertly mastering the locks. In this deep part of the night most were asleep. The guard silenced.

Her eyes snapped open. People in the room. This was the kidnap, and she’d been told a girl should always remain calm. She sat up, sheet to her chin. She assumed the one putting a finger to his lips was the leader, a tall man, very quiet. By the lack of any sound or unnecessary effort, she assumed these were professionals. They allowed her to put a coat on, and even gather some clothing. Confident too.

Down to the beach and the craft, she was helped into the boat.  They were out to sea and not long in reaching the equally dark small ship. After being assisted on board, she was escorted to a small cabin. Then her rather comfortable gag was removed. No one had and even then spoke to her. She was left; with a jug of water, also a small loaf of bread. There was even a reasonable bunk. This was all very civilised. Murmurings going on, but no unnecessary sounds. All very efficient. The door would be locked to a high standard.

Captain Volper gave out the next draft of orders thus The Marlin turned to make a prompt exit from the region. Everything had, thus far gone very well. He would only truly relax when they made harbour and the captive was handed over to the officers of the Knights’ Commander.

He was not surprised when his bosun an experienced man he had worked with these two years disturbed his sleep. This time he had the air of one, instructing

‘We have something interesting Captain,’ the man said,

‘Our guest? What sort of Interesting?’

‘She opened cabin porthole,’

‘She tried to slip out? Must be a good swimmer,’

‘Wasn’t her intention. Meyga on sentry saw the glimmer of a mirror. She’s watching us watching her,’

‘Ask Weatherman Dolenger here,’

Weatherman was the watch-name. Seemingly a crew member with a gift for reading subtle changes in weather. The name to keep excessive religious types away from someone gifted with Ethereal senses. Like all in his trade, Dolenger was quiet, careful not to draw attention to himself, and vigilant.

‘Watch do you reckon Weatherman?’ Volper asked.

‘She’s lying low Captain. She’s either cautious or skilled in some Ethereal thing. Not any merchant’s pretty, precious daughter,’

‘I wish the Knights’ Commander office would keep us fully appraised of matters. Triple the watch on her cabin, lower a boat and keep vigilance there. Weatherman keep vigilant. We’ll wait until dawn,’

Definitely not ordinary pirates.

Satisfied as only someone in her role could feel with that conclusion she hauled the rudimentary pillow and sheet to the door. With a pillow behind her and sheet over her she positioned herself against the door as comfy as possible as a human barrier could be, twisted the ring on her right third finger, and settled down to wait.

See what dawn would bring.

Volper mused on his Weatherman’s latest opinion there was an aura of calculation about the woman.

‘We’ll assume she’s more than a decoy for Thelesima, youngest daughter of the Merchant Lord Strambos,’ Volper said to his bosun ‘And since it’s sun up. Let’s see if she’s willing to talk,’

‘Yes. Let’s’ the bosun said.

Volper was not have been surprised by two crew scowling at the door, he was puzzled though.

‘She’s barricaded herself in,’ one said ‘ Must be sitting against the door. Says she wants to speak with you,’’

He looked to his Weatherman, who was frowning at the door. Oh, trouble.

‘Bosun. The Marlin is yours for the present,’ the man nodded and left, peering at the door.

‘There’s something stormy in there Captain,’

‘Thank you, Weatherman. Let’s find out then if it’s navigable,’ he was all business to the door ‘ This is Captain Volper. What do you require? And your name would be useful,’

Some said she took risks with too unpredictable outcomes. She reasoned conflict relied on such when you were out here, or there, relying on yourself.

‘Principal Lieutenant Zwanglos of the LifeGuard,’ she announced in her official voice ‘Your cautious actions indicate you have a level of discipline and are acting on orders. Identify your chain of command,’

Her impulse had been to voice a pithier more natural

‘LifeGuard. We wanna know wot yer up to sunshine,’

But, sometimes you just had to sound official.

Volper stifled down his surprise. A professional thief or adventurer with a quirky manner and gift of The Sales Talk acting on a commission would have been expected. The LifeGuard though, on the very flexible southern borders of the Centrus Sea? He told himself, he had a distinct tactical advantage. And his bosun was paying rapt attention.

‘We are marines of the Knights of The Lord God’s Vigilance and are about the task of keeping the imperial coastline safe for honest merchants and perilous to those of ill-intent,’ sometimes using the official statement was easier than trying to explain details

There was a distinct snort from the other side of the door. The voice’s accent hardened, the tone dismissive.

‘Well, you’re going about it in a fribbin’ peculiar way. Running off with merchants’ family members. That’s not conducive to Imperial Stability,’

‘We have information which indicates there is a cartel,’

‘Not one we’re aware of that is a threat to Stability,’

He paused to fume. LifeGuard and their Stability. The biggest crook in Humanity could sit on the Imperial throne, as long as they kept things ‘Stable’. His pause had allowed her to continue.

‘Now I know wot’s wot…..’

‘Wot’s wot’…Oh, she’s an elidian, they are the biggest crooks. Makes sense now.

‘I feel it fayre to point out I’ve put out a marker on your craft, and my commanders know just where you are. If my personal transmission comes to an abrupt end, so shall your craft. Give me a little boat I’ll row back. Take this to your Knights as a warning,’

The Weatherman twitched.

‘There have been tales about The LifeGuard’s long reach Captain. If she threatens to have us sunk. Don’t dismiss it,’ he looked skywards.

Volper was certainly not. Yet he was senior here. He navigated on.

‘All we are doing,’ he said with great restraint ‘Is requiring certain Merchants to cease activities detrimental to the commercial and moral integrity of the coastal regions. It may seem rough to kidnap but I can assure you these family members are kept in respectable comfort. It had been judged the only way to reach out for dialogue,’

There was a pause, the door opened enough for one hand to appear, slender rings on the left index, middle, and third ginger twinkling.

‘The authority and ability,’ she announced.

The Weatherman tugged his Captain’s sleeve.

‘Those rings. Ethereal. They whisper,’

From his years of service, Volper did not think it was likely that the Knights or their final authority The Ecclesiastes would have been so blind to the LifeGuard’s constant and invasive observations of all aspects Imperial. Yet he had not been warned of this likelihood of  Decoy, or Ambush to use as a threat.

‘Principal Lieutenant Zwanglos. If you were to step outside. We can discuss this. I respect your potential. You should therefore respect my situation,’

There was a pause, then the door opened. The dress had been replaced by leggings and light shirt, a knife on a slender belt, and a leg of the chair tucked in as a cudgel. Volper thought her all too well prepared. And warned?

‘As you can see,’ she began then frowned, looking down at the rings, at the same time The Weatherman drawled out one swear word. The pair exchanged sudden knowing looks.

‘Better get the mechanical engines going Captain,’ he warned.

‘Zig-zag course,’ she added, then cursing, in disbelief at the rings, raised her hand to her mouth calling out

‘I have not enacted. I have not enacted. Withhold. Withhold,’

The Weatherman once more regarded the sky.

‘Oh yes. Storm’s a’coming,’

He said not to his Captain but to her.

The LifeGuard continued her enraged converse. Volper’s crew alert to all threats the Centrus could swiftly have the engine working while manoeuvring unpredictably. As Zwanglos suddenly felt a small object, probably stale bread strike her scalp, swinging round she saw the bosun leaning over the quarter-deck rail, looking sharp with realisation.

‘Hoi!’ he called his accent suddenly clear elidian ‘You’re the one wot’s stitched up l’tenant. You bin set up good ‘n proper,’

‘Me?’ she called back, though the surprise was quickly replaced by anguished understanding, causing her to pull in savage determination at the rings, uncaring of the skin being ripped off in the process.

‘Counting down from two hundred?’ she demanded of The Weatherman as she threw the rings into the sea.

‘Give or take fifty,’ he said after a glance to the sky.

Shrugging off a staying hand as she grabbed the port side of the weaving craft, Zwanglos turned back to Volper, wry bitterness contorting her features.

‘Take wot you’ve seen an’ heard. Use it spare yer crew an’ yerself. Now turn your ship or boat or wotnot away from me. I was not aware dammit,’ and dived into the water, vanishing from sight.

‘Hundred and fifty Captain,’ warned the Weatherman.

The bosun stared out at the last sighting of the girl

With sail and engine at full use, the craft skimmed away.

‘Heads down and cover your eyes,’ called out The Weatherman.

There came a thin split in the sky, a long narrow yellow brightness tormented a small locality of the sea into a place of steam and violent bubbling as high as the Marlin’s sail, causing waves to circle out for enough distance for some to slap against the stern, making the craft to buck enough to for all to fear it would near topple over.

And then all was still.

Opinion was divided on whether the fate might have been slit in two, blown into bits, or set a’ blaze from stern to bow. Everyone agreed they would not have survived.

‘What do we do now Captain?’ was the next thing most asked.

Volper had the course set to their home port, concluded the whole crew needed to hear whatever the bosun had to say to explain his warning to the girl. His words came slow and thoughtful, still trying to make explainable sense. His accent was quite different, again, something of the far north, where seas were cold and troubled grey.

‘In daylight, description matched. One who had been in The Ecclesiastes’ ranks. Talented but unpopular. Controversial, maybe heretical. Then she skipped to the LifeGuard. There are games within games being played. In the Ecclesiastes, there was deal with parts of the LifeGuard and she was the price,’ he sighed ‘We were bait. She must have thought she was just the messenger, not the catch, until,’ he nodded to the Weatherman ‘She got a storm warning,’

‘And gave her life for us,’ said Volper.

‘All except me,’ said the bosun ‘I fell overboard, never seen again. I leave it up to you merry lads to work out the details. I have other work to do. Find out who are doing deals with The LifeGuard and why. My reason for being here in the first place. Games within Games,’

Somewhere, out at sea. Floating on an Ethereal. Pained and scared. But still angry enough to be alive.

She was vaguely aware of another swift slender craft approaching, bemused at more decent treatment as she was carefully hauled on board.

‘Thank you,’ she rasped. ‘Whoever you are,’

‘Work to be done Zwanglos,’

A bottle touched her lips, hands gently held her head as she drank.

As the pain slipped away and sleep called to her she managed one last message.

‘I was unaware,’

One other thought.

‘And unaware now,’

A Few Random Commentaries. S’All

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Thoughtful

(I thought it would be nice to start with a relaxing sort of picture).

Anyway, bearing in mind the sort of stuff you encounter in the public domain, whatever the source, the following have occurred to me.

Truth is the preserve of natural events, such as letting go of a stone and its falls on your foot, or standing in the rain and getting wet. Everything else we do or believe is up to interpretation, evaluation or hindsight.

I do try and avoid too much viewing of  social media platforms such as Facebook or Instagram. The output thereupon leads me to wonder if the Government described in Nineteen Eighty Four was simply too intense, over thinking the problems and just needed to tone it down a notch or two. Now that mindset cannot be healthy, either.

Usually an extreme right winger has only to open their mouth and you know you are in the company of an idiot. Whereas their opposite number on the left will spend an hour or so talking, or producing ten pages before you reach the same conclusion. (Note to self: Caution….Mr Hugh Bris might be around).

If someone does claim something is a False Flag operation there is a very high probability you are listening to or reading something from someone who has come across something they violently do not like but have not the patience or constructive mindset to form a sensible, and intelligent argument. Or simply cannot because there is no evidence to support their claim.

If you have worked in Government Service long enough, the twin ideas of highly organised operations to enact a Conspiracy and efficiently cover it up is such a laughable notion. It is more likely that said government will float the idea of a Conspiracy to cover up and distract the public from some immense screw up.

History suggests the salutary lesson that those who start wars do not often get to finish them on their terms.

Thanks to Climate Change Deniers you can’t even use the old fall back of discussing the weather as a neutral topic of conversation.

Avoid on-line reviews that have the heading ‘Meh’. It indicates the person has a short attention span and never bothered to pay attention to the themes of the work.

I might be wrong, but probably am not, but it would appear that the word ‘Woke’ was once only used by folk who wanted to appear sharp and up with the times, but is now appears only to be used by folk  who don’t like social progress or equality.

We all have our triggers and tipping points where we slip from calls for justice into demands for retribution. Beware they don’t settle into a habit.

There are actually Facts, it’s just that they get swamped in social media commentary.

As long as it has a willing audience Evil is very adept at appearing reasonable, plain, common sense.

Great people who achieve Great Things still do not deserve a free pass on every aspect of their lives. Do not deify them.  But do not allow others to try and remove the achievements by concentrating on those failures.

Within ourselves in those deep secret places we would rather not visit, there lurk our irrational types of prejudices. Admit they are there, but do not pay them court. Keep their doors locked and barred to stifle their whisperings.

Never take Democracy for granted. Not only can it be taken from you by the snap of the fingers, but also by slow, steady, seemingly acceptable degrees. The latter being the most effective. On the other hand lurks one of the great questions on Democracy. How much you are prepared to sacrifice to ensure you do not lose it all to the ever restless forces of Intolerance?

You can justify anything, as long as you ignore Justice.

AND FINALLY

We can all come up with apparently wise and incisive comments. We can all Talk The Talk. The question is (note to self). Can we Walk The Walk?

Of Maze and Mists Folk (July#BattleBlog- Hatch)

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The Maze Folk

          Threll, Invigilator Civic to Prince Machthaber of  Dienlich, was a man who wielded calm patience as a weapon of fearful effectiveness. Nobody wanted to be the one who caused him to lose his temper; in his usual demeanour he left an efficient enough trail of woe upon any who suffered his professional displeasure.

          ‘This is most unfortunate,’

          He sounded as if an unforeseen weather event was causing cancellation of an afternoon’s repose in his garden. However the slight furrowing of his brow warned the two before him. One was trying to keep the word ‘grave’ out of their thoughts; it gave a prescient air to matters.

          Both knew not to serve excuses up to Threll. Reasons and self-criticism were your best hopes; no babbling either. Calm and composed, was the way

          ‘Very unfortunate,’ Surveyoress Bekwaam said, contrition in her voice, encouraging her colleague.

          ‘Quite so,’ Surveyor Ervaren agreed.

          Threll considered the two of his senior staff.

          ‘Indeed,’ he said ‘And have you formulated how the deep coded false message to the rebel group to act, thus showing their hand actually contained a warning they had been compromised? It should have been impossible considering our failsafe programmes,’

          Bekwamm straightened clutching the file into the crook of her arm.

          ‘Three separate layers of code, each with their own clerkes did not account for clerical errors being transposed,’ she swallowed ‘We should have considered this,’ and handed The Analysis to her superior.

 

          Some days before.

          ‘Time to unlatch the hatch, and sneak the catch,’ the fellow trilled.

          Ven being the professional thief of the duo gripped the fellow. Palavelle by name, being a rogue Mechanical. His talents enabled him to work through a quadruple lock with three sets of alarms, his lack of common sense allowed him to announce his success to the locality and would have had him march into the final, least subtle but most effect trap.

          Two axes swung down from the walls in a criss-cross motion.

          ‘An’t you lucky,’ Ven hissed ‘I know the classics. Now let’s get in before someone comes to find out who is singing damn silly songs, this far from a tavern,’

          Once they eased passed the still slightly swaying blades Ven had the man relock everything.

          ‘Ah latch the catch. There’s the thing,’

          Why, Ven mused to himself did these rogue Mechanicals have to been so artisy and showy? They didn’t impress nobody down the working end of the City. After this job was done he’d have quiet words with his Guv’nor, Old Fryd about this one. Even if a contract was a contract, and the whole job was for someone, who might be acting for another someone else, if fellows like Ven Jek was caught, the last conversation would be with a rope.

          Meanwhile, get the business done. Hope everyone in the town house of a lesser duke, one Sabatch, placed too much faith in that lock and assumed it was doing all the work. 

          ‘Stop humming. This is no social visit,’

          ‘You should be happy in your work,’

          ‘I save, Happy, for when the job is over. Save all your talents for third door up on the left,’

 

          ‘It’s not a bad piece of work Guv’nor,’ Ven said handing over the ornately carved lapis lazuli statuette. Old Fryd surveyed with work with a veteran’s eye, but nonetheless passed it to the gang’s own antique expert.

          ‘Actually, very nice,’ the fellow said examining details through magnifier ‘Well done young Ven for bringing such a delicate piece out intact. I’ve seen a thousand golds literally knocked off the value through carelessness,’

          Old Fryd winced at the memories.

          ‘How was our,’ he coughed dryly ‘Specialist,’

          ‘Typical talented risk from the Comfy Class, getting his thrills,’ Ven said sourly. ‘Lucky, we didn’t raid some sort of professional Antique collector, not so legal,’ 

          Their own expert pulled a face.

          ‘They do get very cross and usually have accurate ideas where to express their displeasure. Did he pick up anything of for his own collection, a souvenir?’

          Ven shrugged.

          ‘He fiddled and nosed with a few bits; that was all. Shouldn’t use him again Guv’nor. Him and his damn sing-song silly rhymes. As if everyone appreciates them,’  

          ‘I’ll take care of those words Ven. That I will,’        

 

          Around the same time.

          ‘Imagine how embarrassing it would be to have the name of Hatchapatch,’

          Fegdale tightened putting down his newspaper in a sharp movement. The club was a place where one was supposed to sit and enjoy silence.

          ‘The matter has never occurred to me, Wingsleyden. In fact, I would say I couldn’t care two straws on the subject,’

          ‘Even so,’ the man had continued as if the matter were of fundamental philosophical concern ‘It would be fairly hard going for the poor fellow. You could make all sorts of poor jokes at his expense,’

          Fegdale glowered at Wingsleyden, who seemed unconcerned by the sight.

          ‘Why this sudden morbid interest in such an unlikely name?’

          Wingsleyden waved his own newspaper in response.

          ‘Why? Because I encountered the name in this journal. He’s suffered a ballooning accident at a farm cottage. And the bally paper has made light of it,’ his voice took on an injured tone as he waved the broadsheet in Fegdale’s face, pointing to a small column set aside for trivia ‘Hatchapatch Catches The Thatch In An Inflated Despatch,’

          The irony that one of the biggest fatheads in town was inadvertently blurting out a significance message was not lost on Fegdale. There was no time to reflect on such synchronicity. At least the warning had reached him sooner than the usual network of bemused gossip arising from a seemingly random quirky newspapers items. He grunted his excuse for leaving.

          ‘It comes to something when a fellow cannot find peace and quiet at his club,’

          The bustle of night time mixed with the steady autumn rain would provide distractions and cover. As watchman this was one of his roles. Raise the alarm.

 

          ‘This is very thorough, and it has to be said honest work,’ Thrall said to the pair, at the next meeting. ‘Taking full responsibility for all of your region’s status,’

          Ervaren took the lead.

          ‘We should have been more vigilant with the codes. Both in their drafting and overseeing. Complex systems need constant surveillance,’

          ‘Always a problem,’ Thrall agreed ‘ Balancing a system’s theoretical composition not to be compromised with its efficiency in practice,’      

          ‘Mistakes have been made, I hope lessons learnt,’ Bekwamm added ‘At least the rebels should be relatively easy to trace, with their nascent unprofessional approach,’ 

          ‘Yes,’ agreed Thrall ‘As the old tag-line goes. Good luck, bad luck. Who can say?’

          And sighed.

          The duo laughed, lightly.

          Slightly relieved.

 

          Palavelle relaxed and then only slightly when the coastline slipped from view. Even in uncouth company, being a simple conveyor dropping a message tube into an indifferent vase had been a thrill. All the fuss afterwards though; folk vanishing, strangers come to spirit you out of town. Far too rich a diet for him. Exile it would have to be.

          ‘Do you think he ever knew who he was working for?’ Ven Jek asked from the alley shadows as the ship sailed on.

          ‘Doubt it,’ Wingsleyden drawled glad to be relieved of his public voice.

          ‘Fribbin’ Comfies thinking it’s game,’ Ven spat. ‘Speaking code without checking,’

          ‘You try being one, year in year out chum,’ Wingsleyden said in grim humour ‘Forget your own name in a while, you will,’

 

          Fegdale was carefully drafting his confession, making sure it was officially obvious he had actually been working for the princedom as a decoy agent within the Dukes’ rebellion. That was what he had been told to write. He confessed to being quite wrong, the prince’s administration was very efficient. And was that not what everyone wanted? From his cell window he could see the scaffold. He shuddered thinking on his narrow escape.

 

          Maid Bekwaam comforted by her last herbal tea, walked composed to the scaffold. There was no more to be said. She had been caught in acts of treason. At least Thrall had assured her, her mother would be protected from the threats which had forced Bekwaam into the rebels’ hands. How they had targeted her was still being investigated. She was glad it was autumn, she would hate to be seen sweating.

 

          Bekwaam could remember the rope, it was silken, then the brief tightness. Now she was blinking? Someone was peering into her face with a magnifier. And she was breathing?

          ‘Yes. She is recovering,’ the someone said, her focus returned, he was elderly and maybe familiar?

          Two pairs of women’s hands raised her gently, sweet clear water to her lips, she knew enough to sip, and wait for clarity.

 

          She knew this one; Franzet ‘Old Fryd’ Durchtrieben. In criminal terms equivalent to nobility, always careful in his playing of sides. Thus, not surprising to learn now his network had found out her fate, unbeknown to her smuggled a powerful narcotic into her tea; the resulting feigned death, her coffin switched with another. All an effective rescue. Further details she might know eventually. Until then, be guardedly grateful.

          ‘Hello Miss Bekwaam. I won’t repeat the explanations. Glad to see you looking well,’ he tutted ‘Hate to see good resources wasted. Can’t have that,’

          ‘Thank you for thinking so,’ she replied, still a little croaky.

          ‘We’ll be easing you elsewhere. Five hundred myles south and west to Elinid. I expect you have a working knowledge about how that city is run. We have an agreement with the Silc clan there. They could use someone of your deductive and organisational talents. You’ll like it. Not so stuffy. Still spry enough to start afresh,’ he winked ‘And we’ll arrange for you to keep in touch with your old Mum. We got tender folk are already explaining basic matters to her, so it won’t come as a shock,’

          Bekwaam had to admit, currently this was a better outcome. She could not help but wonder if Thrall had some idea about this. A much broader and deeper game maybe.

 

          Ervaren brooded into the into the glass. He should have helped Bekwaam and not been instrumental in laying her upon Strategy’s bloody altar, our sacrifice of gratitude for a bountiful harvest of the treacherous, all to ensure our prince slept well.

          Without the usual knock the door to his study opened. His servant, a solid veteran entered, three men followed him, stern. Ervaren was familiar with the type, those who did not need to be obvious. He managed a harsh laugh and swilled his wine.

          ‘And so, the covering of the traces. My turn then,’ he raised his glass in a sincere salutation. ‘Make it quick and dignified. And Lave here, I bear you no ill-will,’

          One man of iron-grey short hair afforded Ervaren a softening of his expression.

           ‘Surveyor Ervaren. Your remorse and the urge for self-chastisement are understandable. However, these are pragmatic times. The empire’s stability always paramount. Invigilator Civic Thrall is willing for your talents to be seconded,’

          ‘Seconded?’ the effects of the wine flushed out by professionalism.

          ‘Yes,’ the voice was now shielded ‘The Invigilator understands he is too close to be effective on one issue. There are concerns regarding Prince Machthaber. Being the subject of avaricious potential rebellions does not exclude a prince from suspicion on other issues. You will receive instructions on methods of reporting,’ a thin smile ‘All for the stability of the Empire,’

          Later, pondering, Ervaren could not help but feel it could just as easily have been Bekwaam receiving those words. Imperial Stability was such an amoral concept.

 

          Duke Sabatch was vexed. Another occasion of Court People trampling through his town house. He would vet his staff better.

 

          Thrall made fresh entries upon the map of relationships and alliances. It would not do to lose track of who was who and what was being hatched by all sides. At least Sabatch was consistent, The Useful Idiot.