Knock Out!


Here are some words from an article typed by a dickhead …

“regressive left”
“lofty liberal ideals espoused by such leftists and their sordid output”
“regressive leftist denouncers of “Islamophobia””
“regressive leftists”
“regressive leftists”
“turncoat pseudo-liberals”
“progressive journalists”
“regressive leftists”
“regressive leftist attacks”
“So-called progressives”
“those who mouth liberal shibboleths”

A “theme” emerges.

The article was typed by one Jeffrey Taylorin defence ofAyaan Hirsi Ali, a woman who, as Taylor notes, ”suffered genital mutilation, donned the hijab and joined the Muslim Brotherhood, escaped a forced marriage and fled Africa for Holland, mastered Dutch and earned a graduate degree from a prestigious university, abandoned Islam after the 9/11 attacks awakened her intellectually, got herself elected to the Dutch parliament, publicly denounced the abuse suffered by immigrant Muslim women in Holland, wrote the screenplay for a short film about misogyny in Islam (for which its director, Theo van Gogh

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Field Marshal Horatio Herbert Kitchener 8: What Happened? None of Your Bloody Business.

Cover up.

First World War Hidden History

Marwick Head on a quiet evening. In a force 9 gale it is a death-trap.

On 5 June 1916, at 7.45 pm GMT, an urgent telegraph was sent from Birsay Post Office to Kirkwall and Stromness. It read ‘Battle cruiser seems in distress between Marwick Head and the Brough of Birsay.’ Twenty minutes later the words ‘vessel down’ followed. [1] The cruiser was about a mile and a half from shore in tempestuous swells but clearly visible to the naval watching-post on land. Marwick Head is a jagged coastal fortress of cliffs and unwelcoming rocks. If there is such a place as the perfect ambush point for a ship such that the chances of survival are minimal, then it’s Marwick Head. The escort vessels, having failed to keep pace with the faster cruiser in such awful weather, had been ordered back to Scapa Flow. [2] There were witnesses. Joe Angus, a gunner in the Orkney Territorial Forces shore patrol [3] saw a great cloud of…

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I’m in, but let’s learn from this poisonous EU campaign: we must organise 


The World Turned Upside Down

I will be voting remain today, but mentally speaking, and most of the time, I’ve been completely disengaged from this referendum. It’s one that’s been fought almost entirely on the terrain of the right and their friends in the press. Some people have tried to inject some rational arguments and socialist politics into the campaign, but it’s been drowned by the white noise of anti-immigrant rhetoric – very little of which has any logical basis, and therefore almost impossible to fight, especially without an emotional pull of our own. Not only is this a referendum not of our choosing, but it has been designed not to allow alternative voices: you’re either “taking control” of Britain’s borders or you’re saving Britain for big capital.
It is a sign of our weakness that the left have been drowned out – and we should reflect on that. Since 2004, we’ve left the terrain…

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Flanders and Swan on Pretencious Smut


Beastrabban\'s Weblog

Okay, I put up a piece a few minutes, which used Tom Lehrer’s satirical song ‘Smut’ to attack the moral panic about pornography on the Net. I share the same fears as the people worried about the exposure of children to porn and other unsuitable material. However, I’m also afraid that these perfectly natural, perfectly decent fears are being used to justify a broader campaign of censoring anything of which the Right disapproves, even if it has little or nothing to do with the sex.

The other side of this issue, is that a lot of intellectual and cultural pseuds have promoted some real rubbish as being high art or great literature, when it’s just basically filth. This pretty much describes, in my opinion, nearly everything ever produced by Damian Hirst and Tracy Emin and many of the rest of the Young British Artists, as promoted by the Turner Prize…

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A Whistlestop Tour Of F**king Up Everything

Spot On. History will see you as a chronicler of the age.

Cooking on a Bootstrap


I found a notebook a while ago – still unpacking boxes in the little flat I moved into in July – with a few scribbled songs and poems in that I wrote when I was unemployed and life was, well, pretty crap. Hungry, cold, miserable, angry, crap. This was a huge punch in the guts to rediscover, especially as on a facing page were the benefit calculations the Government website said I should be receiving as a single parent to a then-two-year-old, compared to the payments that were actually going in (or not, due to delays, suspensions, recalculations, etc.) I wrote to stay sane, I wrote to purge, I wrote to rage, I wrote to communicate, I wrote because sometimes it feels like the only thing I can do.

This morning I was alerted to a blog post, about me, that can only be described as a horribly gaslighting piece…

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Hit it well.


Malcolm seems a pleasant man, happy in his work.

We only want what’s best for Malcolm.

Malcolm has a nice smile. A nice smile in a symmetrical face.


Malcolm likes to speak.
And he loves to be spoken to.

Malcolm is the Prime Minister of Australia.

Turnbull. Malcolm Turnbull.

On February 8, 2016, Malcolm announced …

“$4 million each for the Little Scientists and Let’s Count programs as part of the National Innovation and Science Agenda. 350,000 more pre-schoolers will now have access to these programs which will help to inspire Australia’s next generation of innovators and entrepreneurs.”

On February 4, 2016, it was reported

“Up to 350 positions at Australia’s Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) will be made redundant, with its climate research divisions to bear the brunt of the job losses.”

Because … “Successive federal funding cuts, including a $115m reduction in the…

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Nicely Put.


Do you own books? Do you buy them? Do you read them?

I have a suggestion for you.

Throw them out. Throw them out now.

Construct for yourself a wondrous and fearsome pyre so that you may purge your life of these vainglorious conceits, these words. Clean your mind.

Is there art on your walls? Originals, prints, posters?

Turn them to face your walls, and gaze on them no longer.

Dispose of your music, vinyl records, your compact discs. Delete your iTunes.  Throw out your devices. All of them. Films? Those too. Out, out. Your television, your radio. Everything. Out.

Objets d’art? Jewellery? Curios? To hell with them all.

Do you eat from plates, with cutlery, do you drink from glassware, do you sit on chairs or sofas, do you sleep on a bed?

Stop this now.

Visit no cinemas, no…

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