Hard
to keep up with foreign sorrow. Our thoughts and prayers, as good
dwellers in the land of moral cliche, are infinitely elastic
but I am temporarily suspending my thoughts and prayers
for the Ebola victims, their heroic British carers - that nurse bloke,
isn't he just magic, Pope oughta make him a saint, if you ask me, if
he's a catholic, even if he's not - and their political
leaders and transferring them to the family, friends and team-mates of
that cricketer, the one who surprisingly had his head smashed-in
by a cricket ball, Oh and at the same time I must remember to include in
my thoughts and
prayers the poor cunt who threw the ball at his head in the first place. Who'da thought it, eh, a speeding projectile hitting someone on the head and killing them|?
I mean, I was thinking about and praying my arse off for Ebola victims
for just the longest time and I could still find some
kneeling-time for world cricket but with those people killed and
traumatised in the Cafe Lindt, down under, I had to kinda reach for the
newly imperative baton of sanctimonious futility which Prayer was passing me and start all over
again, thinking and praying like a good 'un, only not, obviously, for
the Raghead bastard who did it. And anyway, even if I was to have acted
like a proper Christian and not just a smarmy fucking hypocrite, if I'd
prayed for the deranged wog it wouldna worked because he was a fucking
muslim, no point praying for those Godless, heathenbastard fuckpigs, is
there, not with what they believe in, the God of Isaac and Abraham, I
mean, what kinda Godshit is that, Abraham?
Well,
I say I was praying for the victims of Cafe Lindt, and I was, at least
I was until those eight Aussie kids, was it eight, were killed the
following day and then Fuck me, Jesus, I hadda re-prioritise my whole
prayer schedule all over again. And that was before, back here, in the
land of the prayerful and thoughtful television news-watcher, that copper got topped in Liverpool and the
Chief Scouse Constable asked for prayers not just for this dead bloke
and his family and his mates but for the whole fucking police family.
Not sure if it was the Chief Constable or the head of the local police
lodge, the latter being the senior man it was probably him led the call
for rozzer-prayer. It's like it says at the top, seems like every time
you turn around there's another hard-luck story that you're gonna hear.
I
was reading somewhere about news saturation, about it resulting in a
condition described as Learned Helplessness. There is so much shit,
yet there is none of it which we can influence in the slightest fashion;
what is the point in knowing of it? As it comes in, from whoever deems
it newsworthy, hundred grand a year newsreaders emote their empty heads
off and I would, too, for that money, Christ, I'd rend my clothers,
tear my hair, weep and fucking wail and wear sackcloth and ashes for a
couple of hours a day in return for two grand a week. But I can't do it
for nothing, acting.
And
I don't actually care about the massacred, rich Pakistani children,
probably, in the scheme of things, better the children of the rich get
killed than the poor little fuckers crawling over the rubbish dumps. I
could
say that I cared but I don't, I simply don't. Oh, I can think myself
into others' horrors as well as the next man; all those people being
minced alive as the WTC towers collapsed in free fall, must've been
fucking awful for them; most of them, those that weren't shitting
themselves and biting their own flesh, would have thought that somehow
they'd be rescued, wouldn't have expected the fucking things just to
collapse and that would have been a bit of a mercy, not knowing,
expecting Bruce Willis to fly in and helicoper them all to safety,
yodelling WhoopeeKiYay Motherfuckers, but even so, as the floors started
to fall away under them and the beams and concrete started smashing
into them it would have been a desperate, shit-spurting horrorshow. Aw, fuck, I dowanna die with my pants all fulla my own shit. Doesn't matter son, yer getting minced-up so small nobody'll ever know. They just gonna give yer relations a box with some rubble and dust and bitsa mince.
And
the kids in Peshawar, they'd have been confused and terrified; the
pain, the smell, the blood and shit; the noisy, angry men, shouting at
them, shooting them, killing them; the ghastly realisation that their own
grown-ups could not save them from other grown-ups; poor little
bastards. But I don't care about it. It was a world away. And if I did
choose to feign caring then, tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, Sorrow's
emmisaries would visit other victims in other lands, demanding again my
thoughts, my prayers. skymadeupnewsandfilth have us so filled now with
horror, mayhem and endless slaughter that, like Macbeth, we are become, for our own trembling sanity, innured to it all. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death.
But even should we want it so, there's
nothing special about this atrocity,
no matter what skymadeupnewsandfilth piously says. Uncle Sam does it
all the time, for Freedom, y'unnerstand, gotta kill them nigger
children, because God put our great republic here to do that very
thing. Never was a holier, righteouser, more freedom-lovin' nation of slave masters than the Yew-nited States;
shit, sonny, ain't you never hearda Merkan Exceptionalarityism? All in
a day's work for the US AirCorp, murdering some nigger kids; what, pray, Emily, Dermot and JonSox, is different about the Talimen doing it?
And
not just Uncle Sam; our last government and opposition are
Macbeth-steeped in blood, not the blood of noble conflict, but the blood
of atrocious warcrime, of civilian-targeted firebombings, of drive-by
shooting; they must hear the torture-shrieks of Abu Graib and Camp
Guantanamo, Miliband major and Jack Torture, the agonised cries which
they have tried so hard, on behalf of their American masters, to stifle; by comparison, the Taliban engage in child's play.
From
the haughty, greedy whores, Tony and Imelda, to grubby spear carriers
in the parliamentary ranks, there is no Tory or Labour member who can plead innocence of atrocity far graver than those perpetrated by - whatever you want to call them - Mujahadein, Taliban, Baa'thist, Sunni or Shi'ite, the Ragheads, whom we must now obediently excoriate anew.
Former British minister, war criminal and common crook, Geoff Hoon, could speak to us of atrocity.
Hoon on being biombed to democracy. From wikipedia
Shortly after the US/UK led invasion of Iraq began in 2003, following
an admission by the Ministry of Defence that Britain had dropped 50
airborne cluster bombs in the south of Iraq and left behind up to 800
unexploded bomblets, it was put to Hoon in a Radio 4 interview that an
Iraqi mother of a child killed by these cluster bombs
would not thank the British army. He replied "One day they might." Hoon
continued "I accept that in the short term the consequences are
terrible. No one minimises those and I'm not seeking to do so," he said.
"But what I am saying is that this is a country that has been
brutalised for decades by this appalling regime and that the restoration
of that country to its own people, the possibility of their deciding
for themselves their future ... and indeed the way in which they go
about their lives, ultimately, yes, that will be a better place for
people in Iraq."[8]
Hoon was condemned by an international delegation of European MPs for
evading questions about Britain's co-operation with the CIA's so-called
'extraordinary rendition' programme.[11] Hoon, then Minister for Europe, was being quizzed in the wake of Dick Marty's Council of Europe report which found extensive involvement of European countries, including Britain, in the US kidnapping and torture programme.
Hoon and C4 Dispatches lobbyist investigation
Hoon was one of the MPs named in the 2010 sting operation on political lobbying by the Channel 4 Dispatches
programme. Hoon told an undercover reporter that he wanted to translate
his knowledge and contacts into something that "frankly makes money".[21] On 22 March 2010 it was announced he had been suspended from the Parliamentary Labour Party, alongside Patricia Hewitt and Stephen Byers.[22]
For
a war crimnal of Hoon's untroubled conscience and dark
accomplishments, being supended from a party he was anyway leaving does
not even amount to a smack on the greedy wrist.
Hoon
and most of his erstwhile colleagues are responsible for a global
cataclysm of warcrimes, atrocities, human rights violations, for a
massive bilking, by GlobaCorp, of trillions of tax dollars and pounds,
for setting alight the Middle East and South East Asia, for making
millions refugee and for the killing and maiming of hundreds of
thousand. At the end of his crime spree, Hoon whined that, now, the
right thing, the responsible thing for him to do was make some money.
For his family.
Filth like Geoff Hoon make the Taliban look like juvenile delinquents; worse, he is cause to their effect.
Lest we forget quite how rancid was NewLabour, its every last parliamentary, constituency and union member, here's Geoff, setting the record straight.