Saturday, 22 September 2018

"Providence" by Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows

H.P. Lovecraft
Alan Moore

'Providence' was initially published by Avatar Press from 2015 to 2016 as twelve comic books. The first novel contains four of the twelve in hardback version and is entitled 'Providence Act 1 Limited Edition.' The second and third are the same format with each containing four chapters before concluding with the third book. The second and third books are named as the first with 'Act 2' and Act 3' identifying their difference.

"The things once rearing and dwelling in this frightful masonry in the age of dinosaurs were not indeed dinosaurs, but far worse. Mere dinosaurs were new and almost brainless objects - but the builders of the city were wise and old, and had left certain traces in rocks even then laid down well-nigh a thousand million years - rocks laid down before the true life of earth had advanced beyond plastic groups of cells - rocks laid down before the true life of earth had existed at all. They were the makers and enslavers of that life and above all doubt the originals of the fiendish elder myths which things like the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Necronomicon affrightedly hint about. They were the great "Old Ones" that had filtered down from the stars when earth was young - the beings whose substance an alien evolution had shaped, and whose powers were such as this planet had never bred."

I was concerned before I started reading this graphic novel that I knew too little about H.P. Lovecraft.  After all, I had only read the one novella, 'At The Mountains of Madness' and was worried my knowledge insufficient. Since then, I have read more and found, much to my surprise and delight, a growing respect if not affection for his work. When I purchased the first book in this trilogy, I thought that all the references made by the author might pass me by leaving my experience less fulfilling. I needn't have worried. This superb book, written by Alan Moore and drawn by Jacen Burrows carries enough menace, delivered in slow gathering dread, to assuage all my fears, all my fears aside from those percolated within this trilogy.

Steven King declared H.P. Lovecraft as being the man who inspired him to write horror. That author and artist should combine their talents to conceive such a creeping horror in honour of Lovecraft is a source of joy to those who worship at the altar of the man from Rhodes Island yet in itself contains trepidation enough for it to stand alone. I found this incredibly executed work darker than Hades and far scarier than meeting Satan in a dim lit alleyway in Wapping. Not because it intellectualizes the process of writing a horror story in the fashion of Lovecraft but in spite of it. The way the story is told in such precise fashion with believable dialogue, a compelling narrative, a cast of characters both human and implacably inhuman, really is masterful.

"And to think that only the day before Danforth and I had actually looked upon fragments of their millennially fossilized substance - and that poor Lake and his party had seen their complete outlines - It is of course impossible for me to relate in proper order the stages by which we picked up what we know of that monstrous chapter of prehuman life. After the first shock of the certain revelation, we had to pause a while to recuperate, and it was fully three o 19clock before we got started on our actual tour of systematic research. The sculptures in the building we entered were of relatively late date - perhaps two million years ago-as checked up by geological, biological, and astronomical features - and embodied an art which would be called decadent in comparison with that of specimens we found in older buildings after crossing bridges under the glacial sheet. One edifice hewn from the solid rock seemed to go back forty or possibly even fifty million years - to the lower Eocene or upper Cretaceous - and contained bas-reliefs of an artistry surpassing anything else, with one tremendous exception, that we encountered. That was, we have since agreed, the oldest domestic structure we traversed."

This is a highly creative, incredibly conceived yet deeply disturbing feat of imagination. It is a work of fiction that has been rigorously researched but which manages to immerse the reader in a world dreadfully real as it presents monsters utterly maleficient.

As ever with Moore he writes the panels in such a way that the artist, still with a margin of flexibility, illustrates the narrative to follow the author's definition as closely as possible. This gives a seamless interconnectivity to the work that in itself affords an intimacy, a sense of purpose to the whole. Jacen Burrows artwork is remarkably good. His ability to convey such emotions on the faces of the characters that inhabit the books is little short of incredible.

So then, in the first book. It is 1919. The Great War has ended. Fascism is in the air, taut and tense. Sexuality, other than hetero, is frowned upon, worse than that, regarded as an abomination. This is the backdrop to the series for suspicion has always been pointed at Lovecraft that he was a closet gay. Personally, I really couldn't care less what his tastes were as they are really none of my business. Yet it could be argued, as Moore does, that his sexuality impacted on the stories he wrote. This interesting piece by R. Alain Everts on Lovecraft's sexuality...

"Sonia (Lovecraft's wife) told me that prior to their wedding, HPL purchased and read thoroughly all subject matter he could obtain regarding the marriage, sex and the duties of a husband in the connubial bed. He was perforce a conscientious lover. Possibly HPL obtained material and information from several of his friends—even possibly he might have obtained material from James Morton, who was quite well-known for his outspoken and liberal attitudes towards sex and who put such attitudes to good practise. His knowledge on sexual matters, especially sophisticated matters, was very broad—this researcher recalls reading some of Morton’s exquisite erotic poetry which was rather explicit, and also some handouts dittoed off around the early 1900s for a free love group that Morton dabbled in at one time. This information was also quite sophisticated, detailing the male and female sex anatomy and discussing the divers aspects of bringing pleasure to a woman during sexual intercourse—information that I am positive most of us today regard as common knowledge—or perhaps I am only hoping so."

There is a strong sexual undercurrent at play. H.P. Lovecraft appears as Robert Black who is the key protagonist. The opening scenes show a man tearing up a letter he has written to a lover. At this stage, we have no idea who the man is nor who the letter has been written to. Three panels depict the letter as it is ripped in half then we see the man's back as he casts the letter into the river (presumably the Hudson) below. Later, as Robert Black recollects an affair we only get glimpses of his lover's hand - smoking a cigarette, waving a plump, varnished camp genuflection.  Then the penny drops. Black's lover is a man, a cross-dresser. It is he who we see in the opening scenes. Robert Black is bisexual. Lovecraft was meant to be asexual or at least of having an aversion to sex. Is this Alan Moore playing games with us? Delicious games it has to be said. Is Moore suggesting Lovecraft's distaste for sexual congress was a form of sexual repression? Was Lovecraft possibly gay?

The slithering foreboding gathers a slow threat as Robert Black, a journalist, resigns his post to research a book he has long wanted to write. He travels east to New England on to Rhodes Island before arriving at his final destination - Providence.

The pace, as already mentioned, is stealthy, unsettling but never slow. Each panel takes you further down the road to some uncertain terror as yet unleashed. The tension builds accordingly. The fear, as it grows, is like that of walking up a dark path. The further you tread so the light diminishes, grows black as pitch so that you find yourself walking slower and slower as you cannot see properly yet still you think those shapes in front of you are real. 
The use of time flips is masterful. The back and forth between past and present increases the sense of oddness, the feeling of disconnection, that subtle separation from perceived reality that slides into one frame but then is missing in the next. 

This from Alan Moore...

"But what Providence is, is an attempt to write – at least, my attempt to write what I would consider to be a piece of ultimate Lovecraft fiction, in that it will be fiction, it will be a continuation of Neonomicon, it will in a sense be a prequel to that book, but it will also – slightly – be a sequel as well. It will be dealing with the world of Lovecraft’s American-based fiction."

The first book is creepy. The characters you meet distinctly odd. But the growing apprehension is cleverly ratcheted-up until each page turned has you anticipating something visually skin-crawlingly weird to manifest itself.  Faces are aquatic, fish like. Oddly shaped eyes, curious noses, broad mouths, These are faces unlike anything you've seen and yet are presented as dressed in the manner of the time the story is set in. The reader is led to think these are some sort of inbred sub-species or, more startling, something other. We encounter people with an odd look. Human but with a hint of something else. Underground tunnels stretching for miles. Mind-bending illusions

Many of the names we encounter are virtually alien to any English speaking person unless they are familiar with some of the outer regions of old America. Tobit, Zeke, Garland,  Ranphril, Thetty and so forth. These unusual names add to the feeling of Black being a visitor to the region he is visiting - an alien in his own homeland. An outsider amongst outsiders. 

There are also a number of dream sequences that conjure up an otherworldly presentiment. This seems at first unconnected with the narrative but is the reverse in fact. We find this concatenation flavours the tale with a suggestion of unlawful sex between genders. In the 1920's these sexual acts would have been illegal. These strange sexual encounters are littered throughout to books adding anxiety.

Chapter four concludes with a very uncomfortable sequence. Black meets Willard, the child of Leticia and her father's. Leticia appears to be a person with special needs. Although able to speak she exhibits a low intelligence. She tells Black of how she fell pregnant. Naturally, he seems horrified but then, as Leticia's father returns, so Black is led out to meet Willard. Seated with his back to Black, Willard looks to all intents and purposes to be a rather large man, a veritable giant of a man but he's not. Oh, he is large enough but tells Black he is six years old, six and a half to be exact.  Then Willard, who has been decidedly antagonistic toward Black, leaves. Just after Willard has departed so Leticia and her father return to find their guest, Robert Black. They led him away from the cabin Willard met Black in whereupon Leticia suggests' her son has gone to have his monthly nap. It is then Leticia spots the barn door is open with a pool of blood near the entrance. There is nothing there and yet she holds her hands up and chastises something that doesn't appear to be there.

Moore has long been a proponent of pure comics. By that, I mean a writer who scripts his work without thought balloons and who tends to leave pictorial panels without either dialogue or text.  This is a powerful way to set the scene but also adds a measured approach which adds drama and heightens tension. Burrows draws these panels supremely well. There is a part of the story where Robert Black is paying a visit to The Wheatley's farm. This is near the end of chapter four. The atmosphere this creates is similar to when watching a movie. Total silence replaces sound or, as in this case, word panels or speech balloons. This leaves you with a sense of trepidation, a feeling of something dreadful about to happen. You are being dragged by the nose to a situation that your imagination suggests is going to be frightfully scary. And it often is. 

After each strip, there follows a body of prose written by Moore. It is a clever conceit for it allows the thoughts of Robert Black to find a voice. These are presented as Robert Black's diary where he notes all that happens to him but attempts to dismiss events as his having a breakdown. With graphic art along with passages of prose next to each other creates a form of psychosis as pictures depict one reality only to have the textural present another. The reader becomes, not confused but a little uncertain if what they have seen is real or what has been written is.  This may be the case for there is a little ambiguity but insufficient for me not to accept what happens in the panels, all those creeping terrors, as real. 

Jacen Burrow art really excels. The use of space that allows the story to breathe, the facial expressions that add to the anxiety, the body language he judges so well, all invigorate Moore's script bringing the two arts to a natural symbiosis. Masters Moore and Burrows art flow together seamlessly so that the one is the other and the other the one. This gives a sense that the comic was both written and drawn by one individual. Quite remarkable.

Moore seems to use Robert Black as an avatar of Lovecraft. Black's sexuality, his encountering the strangeness found in New England, in Athol, Manchester and Providence. The odd people he meets and the even odder events are all propositions of how Lovecraft may have been and how he may have conceptualised his fictions. But the horror, for horror this is, never stops.

34849267'Act 3,' the final book, leads us to its dark conclusion. It holds an inevitability which we knew all along but were so caught up in the telling, the enjoyment of the tale, we simply put to the back of our minds preferring instead to be lead where writer and artist wanted us propelled. 

It remains dark, disquieting, ever ominous. You feel for Black as his mind is disrupted, dislocated and finally destroyed. Time and pace move faster. Tension mounts as the bizarre beget brackish, brutal behaviour. The spawn of what Black thought, hoped was all an illusion with him being delusional, was just a preparation for reality, in fact, the dawn of a new reality.

Decades pass with some ingenious art fading the past merging it with the present. Burrows outdoes himself.  Robert Black has gone along with his mind. Times shuffles through the centuries. From the 20's to the 40's onto the 60's and beyond. And as time races so the image of a bakelite disc being played, a bakelite disc of Al Jolson's "You Made Me Love" played over and over again as the years fall like Autumn leaves. The introduction of well-known figures such as Bill Burroughs adds not a touch of realism to the narrative but also provides an intelligent method for showing the passing of time. Burroughs first appearance is in 1954 with his final, laying in bed dead with a cat upon his chest, 1997.

As the story moves in the final chapter through the decades, "Providence" is neatly tied up with both "Neonomnicom" and "The Courtyard" so that "Providence" proves to be a prequel and sequel to the former stories. Suddenly, where those previous stories stood alone and were perfect in themselves, a whole new dimension is added to the three giving them a consistency, a continuity and depth of meaning missing before. In short,it ties things up neatly.

If this is to be Alan Moore's final curtain as far as writing for the comic medium then it is one hell-of-a-way to bow out. "Providence," along with "V for Vendetta,"  "Watchmen," "From Hell"  and the delicious "Lost Girls" is a magnificent piece of work. It equals those other acclaimed works and quite possibly outshines them. "Providence" will stand the test of time.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

Wednesday, 19 September 2018

"Savage the Warning Signs" by Lee Kwo

It is what it is. Language. Words like silver bullets wrapped in tin foil. Language traps the moment. Lee Kwo defies the principle. Lee Kwo declares words fail without the full recognition of their desire to place themselves in a straitjacket of wounded vocabulary. When we speak we use more than language. We use facial expressions. We use our hands, our eyes, our smiles and our frowns. In short, we use body language as much as we do words. Words fail. In the modern world, streamlined to disengage the mind as it manipulates the audience to its needs, words become corrupted. Advertising, religion the internet, all forged of the same intent, to subvert language to their purpose, to rule and control you.
It is what it is.

Here, within the paperback cover, are tracer shells lighting up the sodium dawn. A war is begun. Words flutterfly. The obscure communication used by the many meets a challenge of intent and purpose. Here within the pages leafed by feral fingers eager to break the synthetic fabrication. The world hinges on words yet words, as we see daily when expressed by mentally unstable world leaders, can present one of a hundred different layers of meaning. Lies and truths. Truth and lies. Fabrications. It is what it is. The world trembles afraid. Communication is useless when no one listens. When they listen to the words the words they are hear are digital constructs.

This book is surgical. It cuts to the heart of the matter. It is precise and is loaded. It seeks sanity where insanity walks. It seeks meaning where the meaningless parades by on stockinged heels and nubile stilettos as the whores of words. 💋. At 127 pages this book of prose poetry is short. A blessing I feel as previous works by this author have been long. Not that being long is bad but the challenges set here are better met with a transitory approach to meet and greet atomic sentence structures.

"The Infinite Self Ridicules Life/ Is Zen-like. Seeing through the illusion of life. The delusional existence of the post-industrial age. The age of now but not in the now, not in the present. The drug-addled escape offers little in the way of freedom as it pours cold comfort down the toilet. Reveals society running to the gas chambers of escapism. Laudanum high. Stoked up with an overload of atrocities. 

"Valentine told me how he feels, If all the world were under his heels" 

A high school mass murderer hides in the technological underworld that threatens to suck us all into its chill grip. An empire of delusion for the delusional. Satellites in space beaming down hollow frames of captured city life. A CTV on every corner. New words adle the meaning.

Jacques Prevel. A French poet. Done and dead. Died 1951. Born at the beginning of the mess we're in mid-1915. It is to Prevel that this books hoary finger points as by way of influence, as by way of its raison d'etre - "It will be essential to work until the end of times, to find again the Gesture and the Word." 

Lee Kwo has been writing for 45 years. He started writing poetry at 14 years of and wrote his first novel at 18 in 1970 called "The Enigma of Being." Using the Burroughs cut-up method and heavily influenced by Camus and Sartre. This book, "Savage the Warning Signs" was first published in 2003 and is well worth a read.

It is what it is.

Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

Monday, 17 September 2018

Life With the Lump 4

Well, two of the five teeth were removed last Friday. Never a pleasant task having your teeth extracted but better they go than having radiotherapy infect teeth with fillings which could so easily compromise my jaw bone. All in all, as unpleasant experiences go, it wasn't that bad. I went to the hospital with a friend, Doreen, who kindly waited for me as I underwent surgery. It was only a local anaesthetic so I was still able to drive and do an afternoons work. I was to have the other three removed today but the dentist said the gap between the two operations was too close so rescheduled the procedure until this coming Friday, the 21st. Hell in a bucket, I now have to learn to chew on my front teeth. I will look like a gerbil.

Image result for PEG InsertionI have received further appointments relevant to the process. On the same day, I have the oral surgery  I will first visit the phlebotomy department to have a blood test. Among the many investigations being taken are a bone profile, routine clotting, phosphate, coagulation, a full blood count, random glucose, magnesium and urea and electrolytes for my kidneys. the whole nine yards it would seem. This blood test had to be taken 2 to 4 days prior to my PEG insertion. As the likelihood of my being able to swallow, let alone eat food, is pretty remote, I have to have a tube inserted to enable me to have food pumped in. I will be reverting to babyhood as all my foods will be liquidized. Yum. Before that though is the mask I spoke of in the last post. I attend that appointment at 8.30 in the morning on the 25th. I can't remember now how long the session will last. Then the PEG insertion is for 11 AM on the 27th. It will last maybe a couple of hours and I have to have someone take me there and collect me. As everyone will be working I think I might speak to Macmillan as I believe they can help. After this, the following day, I am at the Diabetic clinic as I need help in understanding how to control my sugar levels and still have mush pumped into me. Then, on the 4th October at 1300 hours I go for my Treatment Preassessment which lasts 2 hours. And then we get down to serious business. At 8.30 on the 8th October I begin the treatment for which I have to allow 6 hours and then, as I at this moment understand it, I will be back to the hospital for every weekday for six weeks.

I shan't moan nor whinge about the PEG as one of the students I used to drive, a pretty girl by the name of Ruby has one and she is simply AMAZING. I'm a big boy so won't let a mere girl beat me even if it is the lovely Ruby!

I am told that the process of radiotherapy can make a chap's willy wilt. Well, I shall just have to tie a rubber band around it and shout Geronimo. You can see that I am a bloke who knows how to have fun.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

Saturday, 15 September 2018

After The Goldrush

This article first appeared on the now-defunct New London Writers blog but remains relevant today.

Insanity breeds fear - fear of the other, fear of change, fear of taking responsibility for your actions. The weak seek out the strong, leaders they perceive as capable of leading the masses unless of course, the masses start taking control of events by realising that they too are strong and that those who lead them only lead them again and again down the same path.

History repeats itself like a stale burp.1929. Laissez-faire capitalism collapses for the 44th time taking the West and the rest of the world into a depression, a depression unlike anything witnessed before. This leads to the rise of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party which in turn brings on the Second World War. Humanity was teetering on the brink.1947. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, having read Maynard Keynes and sick to the back teeth with free for all capitalism, strikes out with a new plan, a new method for capitalism to adopt. It is called interventionism, a system whereby the creators of the machine run the machine rather than allowing the machine to run them. It was by no means utopian, but at least it made sense. From 1947 through to 1979, productivity is up, the rich get richer as do the poor. Again, not perfect by a long chalk but better than what followed.1979.  In the UK  Margaret Thatcher comes to power, Britain's first female Prime Minister. You'd think a blow had been struck for women's liberation, but it was not the blow women had hoped for. Rather than support equality of any kind, least of all among the sexes, Mrs T, reads 'The Road to Serfdom' by Frederick Hayek a book which espouses laissez-faire capitalism, promotes free-trade as the only way to free up business for big business and builds big bucks for billionaires bent on bankrolling themselves.1981. Ronald Reagan becomes the 40th President of the United States of America. He too has read Frederick Hayek; he too subscribes to the same method of managing a nation's economy. His watchword was the obscene phrase 'trickle down.' The wealth makers make millions while the millions make muck.

We have been captive to laissez-faire capitalism for the past 38 years. In that time productivity has gone down. Britain, the 7th largest manufacturer in the world, is no longer interested in manufacturing, preferring to be a service nation with London as the epicentre of British wealth - another of Margaret Thatcher's creations. The rich have grown obscenely rich and the poor obscenely poor.  Laissez-faire capitalism has one purpose and one purpose only - making those with much have much more and those with little, have a lot less.

2008 is considered by many economists to have been the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression of 1929.

2017. January. Donald Trump becomes the 45th President of the United States of America. The man is, thankfully, an opportunist rather than a fascist and does not have the disordered passions of Hitler. Hitler, no matter how powerful his military, did not have anything like the great power that Trump wields. With nuclear war once again a threat to humanity, and with the doomsday clock set at two and half minutes to midnight, and with environmental disaster a mere half a lifetime away, things are not looking good.

2018. September. Is Bedlam still open for business? Is there a hospital for the insane in New York? There is a man in desperate need of help, a man so far over his head with the waters rising that he may drown us all and a woman never voted into office leading a nation that claims to be democratic down the road to ruin.

Laissez-faire capitalism feeds the very wealthy leaving the rest to chew the cud. It is a system whereby the elite gain while the majority feel the pain. A polite word for it is neoliberalism. We have had 38 years of neoliberalism in the West. I cannot think of any single President or Prime Minister who hasn't pursued neoliberal policies. From Regan through to Clinton, Bush, and Blair, Barak Obama, (the great beacon of hope) and now,  the unelected Theresa May who flounders in the mire of a Brexit exit.

The Conservative Party has long been divided against itself, much like the Labour party. The Thatcherite flank clings like barnacles to the underbelly of a boat, forever harnessing its leaders to a failed ideology. They should split, and those of the far right join UKIP. Of course, UKIP is a busted flush having done the task they set out to achieve. The Liberals are Social Democrats in name only having little or no real forward thrust. They are like a barrel of drunks still teetering around following Nick Clegg's shameful about-face regarding student fees and are in no way are social or very democratic. The Greens are growing, but oh, so slowly, their vision of forging a progressive alliance has merit but seems to be met with a frosty attitude from Labour who in turn are forging ahead for the first time in years, but have their own spectral enclave - the Blairites -
holding them back. 

The electorate is sick of being led by the nose, of being lied to, deceived, watching their income and earnings erode, but worst of all having their civil liberties casually removed, their National Health Service destroyed, and their defences depleted. Britain is virtually defenceless, and Trident is little more than a penis with erectile dysfunction. It may look big, but it is totally impotent.

The thought of living in an equitable society has enormous appeal. I'd rather be part of a nation whose democratic principles and environmental policies are not linked to our imperial past, not shackled to the Imperial designs of the USA, but to a viable future democracy, like the one currently enjoyed by Norway or Denmark.  The joke is, even though no one's laughing,  there is little or no hope of that.

Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

Wednesday, 12 September 2018

BREXIT - Ever Had the Feeling You've Been Cheated?

Originally posted on the sadly now-defunct New London Writers.

I have to say right from the off, I voted to stay in Europe. Yes, I am one of those who saw mutual and great benefits for Britain in the EU and not out of it. That said, I am also a Democrat and as such have to abide by those principles or face the charge of being called a hypocrite. As much as I may and do dislike the way the vote went, we lost, that is the remain side lost, not by a huge margin, it has to be said but large enough. Yes, lies and great exaggerations played a part in terrifying those susceptible to the belief Europe controls us rather than the USA who controls the whole of the western world. Yet on the whims of fancy that by leaving the EU all immigration would cease and our tiny nation become fortress Britain the UK voted to go. Post haste, forthwith, as of now (or then as the case has proven not to be).  What makes me wonder now is the clear skullduggery taking place under the leadership of Theresa May. Are we in, are we out, is this really the hokey cokey? Why is it taking so long for us to leave? Personally, I believe that the general electorate, especially those passionate for us to leave sharpish like, have been hoodwinked.

Currently, Mrs May is succeeding, or so we are told, in negotiating a transitional period whereby Britain, before formally leaving the EU, stay put whilst appearing to have left yet still enjoying all the benefits of being in the club they are determined, eventually, when the time is right, if the Brexiteers haven't all passed away or grown listless or as bored of the whole thing as the rest of us, to part company with. Is this not a case of having one's cake and having someone else eat it? Surely this whole scheme is being engineered on a two-fold plan. Firstly so that British business can have a few years breathing space before the awful axe cuts away all financial advantages. Secondly in the hopes that as time passes and that other J.C, you know the one they'd like to crucify for having principles rather than the one they did crucify for the very same reasons, become's P.M and grants the vote to sixteen-year-olds who, having a great deal more common sense than their common all garden older generational superiors, demand another referendum because the situation by then has changed and what was perceived as good sense appears dated, empirically wrong and just a little absurd. This notion of having time to adjust is little more than a metaphor for having time to forget. Time in which to reflect on what was thought as a jolly good idea being seen for what it really is - a jolly bad one.

Don't forget, should this 'implementation' scheme be accepted that the UK will pay into the EU budget for another two years. This surely is what that delectable doughnut Nigel Farage was dead against? This also means, having 'won' a battle the like of which such a victory hasn't been seen since Agincourt, the defeat of the Spanish Armada or perhaps the Battle of Britain, we end up, during this intervening period, being regulated, adjudicated and bloody well taxed the same as before our monumental triumph but without having a voice to cry 'leg before wicket!' No representation. No influence.

Yes, I see it now, Theresa May upon her white charger delivering justice and prosperity to the nation she leads. But hold up, leave it out,  turn it up. Won't this legendary charge of the 'blight brigade' merely best serve him who is waiting his turn, bidding his time, that left of centre socialist, the man who has ensured that 40% of Brits would now favour him and his reformed Labour Party to that of this hokum Conservative mob - Mister Jeremy Corbyn? After all, Mrs May is hardly the doyen of Brexit but worse, she is hardly the doyen of the Tory Party let alone those who voted one way only to find the one way they are being led by the nose down is a way far worse than that what they voted for.

Indeed, the truth, the reality of the situation is not delivering Brexit to the Brexiteers but rather in pacifying those desiring its immediate initiation into believing that a two-year leaving deal is best for all. For as time ticks, the clock, which waits so patiently on its stupefying passage, so those who voted to leave are met with a maturing electorate who will by then have started to think, as the delaying tactic works, that being in the EU isn't such an evil, it isn't really that bad in fact it's rather good so why leave? This, of course, might trigger yet another tedious referendum which those younger people, growing older, feeling able to vote to remain.

Ladies and gentleman of Brexit. You are being conned.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

Follow by Email



A Utility Fish Shed Blog

A Utility Fish Shed Blog