Something Wicked This Way Comes! It's Chrimbo!

Something wicked this way comes! The Jolly Fat Man cometh! Dark foreboding popped round last night and chapped my door. Dread waved to me in the street. The sound of jingling grows louder!Time is merciless - Christmas is upon us!

Now, those of you out there who regularly perambulate the labyrinthine backstreets, skulk furtively along the  twisted alleyways or sift the brimming gutters of the Tinternet-Super-Highway may recognise that it's usually round about now that the S t O N e  d H o L y b L o g g E R posts a wearisome and jaded paragraph or two berating the tawdry assault on the senses, the gaudy spendathon  that Chrimbo has mutated into in the hands of our corporate masters! This year will be no different!

For there have been no Damascene moments of Revelation since last the malevolent Christmas pixies were badgering me to join in the fun! That skinny little runt, our Stoned Holy Bro' of Yore, Hank Williams, may have Seen the Light but I sure as hell ain't! Mr. Williams, it must be pointed out, was an Alabama boy steeped in Pentecostalism and soaked in the kinda spirit available in bottles!

Meanwhile, there have been no late night visitations to the Stoned Holy Bed Chamber by spirits, no excursions to Chrimbos past, present or future. That Scrooge geezer may have seen the error of his ways but the S t O N E D h O L y B L o g g e R is the same crabbit, auld misery guts as ever he was! I will most definitely not be sending any rosy cheeked little scamp on an errand to buy the biggest turkey in the shop!

Roy Wood may well have wished that 'It Could Be Christmas Every Day' but if that were to actually happen the suicide rate would rocket, I wager! Droves of exhausted consumers and spiritually corrupted shoppers would be throwing themselves merrily from the upper tiers of the shopping malls! But how infantile a thing to wish for in the first place. If it was Chrimbo every day then it wouldn't be 'special', would it?  It would merely be yet another dull, lifeless inch on the empty road to nowhere we are all treading! Anyway, it has to pointed out that Mr. Wood liked a bottle of vodka for breakfast everyday and had a large silver star painted on his forehead, so his views on anything must surely be suspect!

But the Chrimbo juggernaut rumbles on. Crushing good taste beneath its merciless wheels. Flattening the dawdling hedgehogs of reserve and modesty as they attempt to cross the Chrimbo highway! On and on it thunders with it's stinking exhaust pipe spewing forth a noxious mix of choking gases which burn the lungs, leave a bitter taste in the mouth and empty your bank account! In its wake it leaves an alcohol drenched trail of bitterness and loneliness that leads all the way to the landfill. And it's the landfill site where all the collected crackpot wackiness and assorted ridiculous religious guff that form the Chrimbo ether in the minds of fools who are easily parted from their paltry wages manifest themselves and are formed into actual stuff. And what stuff!!  A towering, festering mountain of the ersatz and kitsch, the shoddy and fake, unasked for and unrequired! What better monument to Chrimbo's black, cynical heart than a monumental midden of worthless plastic shit....and no matter how much you polish shit, it never looks clean!!

B'jaysus, I need to cheer up! Time to self-medicate, I feel. Pass the Egg-Nog, Henry!! See youz all when it's over....meanwhile there will no quarter given, no clemency offered! It's everyone for themselves! It's not often the S t O n e d H O L y b L o G G e r  gets to compare himself with Beyoncé but we are both 'Survivors'!!

Toxic Emissions & Tragic Erections!!

Perchance, in one of these Parallel Universes that we are informed could be out there, I am currently in the company of a voluptuous lady with corkscrew curls who rehabilitates orphaned dolphins and we are planning our 'togetherness ceremony' in the Maldives! Or, perchance in another my musical strivings have, not only been recognised, but validated too and I am currently recording my fifteenth studio album - a celebration of the 13th Floor Elevators using only baroque instrumentation!

Sadly, in the miserable, Pile-Of-Keek Universe I actually get to drag my sorry Stoned Holy Derriere around in, neither of the above are true! Consequently, I am forced to do other things to escape the Hellhound on ma Trail. And so it was I found myself reading the newspaper. For one such as the S T O n E d h o L y b L o g g e R and his sense of moral repugnance and righteous indignation with so much of the sorrowful doings of much of his brethren, this is always a mistake! Spare me the cack-psychology ; of course I know I do it deliberately! In the want of something real in my failed pop-slop life I have no option but to touch the burning coals or stir up some gut-churning bout of dyspepsia to distract me from my own lamentable failure to prosper in the world!

And thus it was I read of one Gideon George Osbourne, our soullessly dogmatic and mathematically inept Chancellor of the Exchequer. A man, who, it must be seen, has 'done no' too bad' in this world! Of course, he did have a rather privileged headstart on the rest of us...but Daddy must be so proud!

But, Oh, Brave New World, that has such people in it!! Just where do you start with a disgusting little shadow of a man like Osborne?! "Britain' according to this pitifully malformed excuse for a human being 'has got its mojo back" after bombing Syria!!

Leaving aside the ridiculous idea that this fucking abortion thinks he can, or could ever, speak for Britain, someone needs to tell him that Britain is an abstract noun and doesn't actually exist...except in the minds of men. Men like him! Men like him, emotionally wounded in childhood. Men like him who were schooled by a crippling and deforming lack of love and affection. Men like him who are sociopaths and don't know how to feel, don't know how to empathise, can't begin to imagine what it must be like for death and terror to fall out of the sky and destroy your family, your home, your community. your world, your life!! No, Mr. Osborne, Britain does not, cannot possibly have, a mojo, or anyfuckingthing else for that matter, because Britain is a WORD!! A word used by grotesque little creeps like YOU and those like you to aggrandise the sordid little schemes and constructs they fill their time with. Why, oh why, can these twisted, failed human mutants simply not FUCK OFF and leave the rest of us alone??!! Why can't Osborne take his wallpaper millions and piss off to somewhere in the world where he can debase himself?  He must, after all, have some seriously debased sexual fantasies swirling around in the oozing putrescence that passes for a brain inside his skull seeing as he's so clearly turned on by the thoughts of Britain's big powerful bombs doing damage in Syria! You can perfectly imagine the shrivelled little Osborne root stirring itself into life at the thought of those bombs dropping. British bombs! Precision bombs! His bombs! Mojo bombs...oh, yeah, baby!!

And, another thing, where the fuck does this nauseating walking turd of a man get off using words like 'mojo', anyway?!  Let's get this straight, it would not have mattered what words he used because what he said was despicable, hateful, pompous, glib & perverted....but to use the language of voodoo and the blues??!! Puh-leeeze!! It sent a distinctly icy shiver down the Stoned Holy Spinebone! The language of Lightning Hopkins & Muddy Waters does not fit easily into the mouth of some Eton educated posh boy glorying in death & destruction!! Mr.Osborne, I'll wager, couldn't tell you what a mojo was in a month of Sundays....or the time it takes a plane to cover the distance between Britain and Syria!

Enough! Man, this vitriol is eating me up....ah need the healing power of Blues to lift my weary, troubled soul! Maybeez ah'll go down to Louisiana and get myself a Mojo-Hand...gonna put some Black Cat Bone and some John the Conquer Root into my Trick-Bag.......douse the lot in Van Van Oil.....got me some Graveyard Dirt and some Goofer Dust.... and now ahm gonna start pushin' pins into a little wax maquette of Gideon George Osborne!!!

Tidings of Comfort & Joy? Not Likely!!

'Snow is falling all around me. children playing, having fun.' These, the heartwarming if not intellectually stimulating, triflings sung way back in '85 by Shakin' Stevens, one time Elvis imitator and purveyor of  Pop-Slop....& long before the SToNedhOLybLOgGEr
finally bowed to bitter reality and, realising that
Pop Stardom would never be mine, settled down to life as a splenetic Punk Rock Dog casting a skeptical n sneering eye on the Inanities & Insanities of Evolution's Human Experiment! But let us shoogle free of Self Pity's Iron Hold, at least for now, for this is Christmas 2015, and it isn't snow that's falling but BOMBS!! British bombs falling on Syria! Children will most assuredly NOT be playing nor having fun!

Such was the depth of our democratically unelected leader, Mr. Cameron's concern for those poor Syrian people that planes were dispatched with almost indecent haste the moment the votes were in! Our Thunderous Instruments of Terror must have been in readiness on the runway, for soon they had 'Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth', payloads heavy, the sound of M.P's cheering in their wake!!

Once the only thing moving across the skies above the Middle East was that fabled 'star of wonder, star of night'.....what would those Oriental Kings think today if casting their gaze heavenwards?  British jets coming not with Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh but Death, Misery & Destruction! It's lucky Joseph and Mary were looking for shelter when they were ; any young couple today looking for somewhere for the heavily pregnant wife to rest and pop out a babe in swaddling would find not only the manger and stable but the whole damn town reduced to rubble!

One must wonder how a man, who, not even a month ago, hung his head low in mock solemnity to show us all how he valued the lives sacrificed in two world wars, is now champing at the bit to send today's young men off to do or die. Though the Stoned Holy Memory Banks are by no means fully functional, due, it must be admitted, more to the ravages of time than any deterioration brought on by years of Rawkinrollin' excess, I can see the pudding faced, sanctimonious little shit now, standing at the Cenotaph with his poppy proudly displayed, his appropriately sullen expression showing us all how he, unlike that impious Corbyn fellow, fully understood what all those unimaginable lives had been lost over and the loss and anguish experienced by their families!!

Britain's youngest ever M.P, Mhairi Black, tweeted how she would "never forget the noise of some Labour and Tories cheering together at the idea of bombs falling." The same Parliament, it must be remembered, that also cheered the outbreak of the 1st World War. And yet, from our vantage point of almost a hundred years since the meaningless, mechanised slaughter of millions finally came to an end, I think most people would struggle to tell you what it was all about!  Perhaps, long years hence, when  Mr. Cameron himself and his vainglorious bullshit have long since departed this world and few are around to remember just how much of a puffed up, self-important, self-aggrandising little prick he was, Miss Black can cast a world weary eye back to these very days we find ourselves living through and try to explain what the hell was going on to incredulous students of history!

Such are the Prime Minister's appalling hypocrisies, that in little short of a month he will once again be in sombre mood as he marks the birth of a child in the Middle East.  Phrases such  as 'Joy On Earth' & 'Goodwill to All Men' shall tumble cosily from his mouth. They shall be of nothing! They shall be counterfeit! They shall be but a meaningless rote repeated parrot fashion by an empty headed, heartless, insincere bullshitter! The garbage doubletalk of a political chiseller and fraud!!

Perhaps 'Mr. Ca-Moron' could listen to Shakin' Stevens again to finally understand that Christmas is "the season for Love & Understanding...Merry Christmas Everyone!"  If a dodgy Elvis impersonator from Cardiff gets it, you'd think the privileged son of a stockbroker, who had the best education this rotten ship H.M.S Britannia can offer lavished on him at great expense, could do likewise!!

Let the last words go to neither Cameron or, indeed, Shaky but our Stoned Holy Roller gone before us, Brother Jimi Hendrix. A true Message of Love for any Christmas but poignantly, it seems, for this one especially ;

"When the Power of Love

Overcomes the Love of Power,

the World will know Peace!"

Hallelujah, Sweet Brother, Jimi!!

  

Save a Seat For Me, I'll Soon Be There!

The mercury inside the thermometer is dropping fast and the milliners and vendors of gloves and scarves know their tills will soon be ringing. Piss-cutting squalls are blawin' doon the damaged streets and lashing the grey tenements which crowd round StonedHoly HQ. Hard times ahead. I predict a Winter of Discontent! You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows!!

Yes, Winter approaches and it's gonna get cold. Especially so if you exist at the ragged, arse-end of society where the Politics of Alienation really bite! Where the Dogmas espoused by political elites about 'wealth generators' and 'trickle down effects' are spoken in a language you can't comprehend. Where the High Priests of the Cult of the Individual never go to see the true price of their Crippling Fetish. These are the places the 'Great and the Good' - or as I know them, the woeful, sociopathic, sorry-arsed excuses for human beings who play out the Pantomime of Power - never go ; the places their smug and deceitful, hollow, empty words can never acknowledge ; the places their 'intelligence', fostered by years at expensive and privileged schools, colleges and universities, can't penetrate and are unknowable to them ; the places their cankerous, malformed hearts never go out to, where their unseeing, visionless eyes look and yet see nothing, the places their stunted, rigid and spiritless minds can never even begin to imagine.

These are the spaces inhabited by those human beings who, unlike them, were not born into lives of pre-ordained position ; were not prepared and schooled for entitlement ; were not succoured by wealth and connections reaching back generations. These are the lives lived by those unfortunate enough not to have school ties and old boy networks aiding and abetting their predestined rise to heights long since prepared for them. The pillows long since fluffed up, the sherry long since decanted and brought to room temperature! No cliques, no camps, no cabals or coteries, no circles or cronies opening doors and whispering passwords for these losers of life's lottery. No Bullingdon Club larks for these destitute souls. No need ever to stick their prick in a pig's mouth, for they were never gonna get where that kind of camaraderie gets you!

These are the people who society has discarded. The people who have nothing and have nothing to do but to sit on pavements with their hand out. The people, yes, YOU & I both, walk past everyday! Maybe if it was just one person we could help them up....but it's hundreds, thousands, an army! Every street. Every town. Every city. We are left impotent by our inability to offer something. We become immured. We can't be reached or touched behind the walls we build round ourselves. We become inured, desensitised to walking past people and doing nothing! We invent our own narratives or blindly parrot the ones concocted for us - junkies, cheats, phoneys, scroungers, foreigners.

I can't fucking take it anymore!!! Not only am I affronted that it is I who is made to be the one feeling guilty for doing nothing but I am simply seething with resentment that it is I who has to step over people and not the corrupt, disgusting bunch of cunts n creeps in the lofty ivory towers and gated security bubbles ; not the bloated moneygrubbers who skulk the rotten corridors of power ; not the swaggering, callous fat-cats who sit in the boardrooms which top their towering palaces of steel and glass. It is I who has to actually walk past real people and not the people who created this sorry fucking dehumanising mess!! It is they who NEED more than anyone to actually SEE the real human cost of their grotesque, anachronistic, soulless game! It is they who simply MUST  look into the eyes of people their stunted, sick, diseased platitudes and orthodoxies have beaten down. It is they who SHOULD be made to countenance what they have actually created!! It is they whose perverse paraphilias have stripped these people of nearly everything!....But maybe the real reason I am more and more unsettled by the extent of Hobo Town is the realisation that I soon may be there!!

Brothers & Sisters, this World is off kilter...When Will It Be Righted?? Who the hell knows the answer to that one.....but Ah know the answer to one thing if Ah know anything....and that is that it's LOVE that's gonna get us there where we can start to putting things aright. The Healing Must Begin!

Here Endeth the Sermon!

Love Spreads......so Keep On Spreading!