The question for me is this: how do I live with historical fact, the nightmare I have been born into? A product of Wilsonian idealism and the Monroe Doctrine. A witness, too slow, to the ultra-nationalist crimes of successive American presidents, particularly the incumbent. Why have I, so far, been spared? Because I have never been a part of a truly progressive social movement that strives for a just society free from corporate control - something that for the last seventy years the US 'government' has done a very good job of quashing. Historical fact will fuck you up. The US government has supported every motherfucking motherfucker in the world, always right up to the point that they were to be exposed to the West as cunts. Hussein. Gaddafi. And that Rumanian cunt whose name I can never spell. The litany of foul duplicity is real, and fuck me if the realization that democracy has never existed won't fuck you.

Fuck America. Usually I would qualify that by saying, "the government of America". No longer. Fuck the people of America. You fucking fat, ignorant slothful cunts. Fucking do something now or leave the fucking country and stop coming on with lame excuses as to why your still fucking there. Can't you see what's happening? Read some history books you fucking CUNTS.

Fuck all this shit

It's without pity that I view this world, and you.
Poor blinkered machine made of meat,
Squirting and dripping and stumbling foolish
through this quicksilver.
Scorn pour on this fucking life,
tilted from a time-worn ewer of jade.

It's without love that I view myself, this world, and you.
This trinity bound by disgust,
Lamenting and hoping and flaying pathless
Again to nothing.
Scorn pour on this life.

It's without reverence that I view all we have reaped.
I stammer and my chest heaves so,
Something has been taken from me from us
And until I know
Scorn pour on this life.


Fuck ya laters.
Over and out.

Run for the hills my pretties!

'Hirsute'. Fuck 'hirsute'. Why can't you just say 'hairy'?

After watching the base hypocrisy of the talking-heads blathering on about the conclusions of the Iraq Study Group I ran into the bathroom and puked violently. Truly a total pack of lying fucking cunts. How the fuck am I supposed to reconcile myself to the amorality of Government, Inc.? My sadness and melancholy of five years ago is curdling into anger. And not good anger. A kind of blind rage, a stupid little puppy who's eyes have not yet opened. Fucking hell, shall I write a poem?

Why do cunts like Pinochet always die before they can be quietly abused by their guards for years in prison? How long is a piece of string, and why is water wet?

In the latest National Geographic there are the most recent photos of Saturn and her rings. Pure mentalism.

Which reminds me, while in Tipperary a few months ago with a friend we were cracking up when we realised our depth of expression on encountering beauty:

(Upon walking out the cottage door at midnight to a sky blanketed with stars): "Fuck me!" "Christ". "Fucking wicked!"

(Upon cresting a hill on a sunny afternoon to see the plains of Tipperary spread below us): "Fucking gorgeous". "Kill me now". "Look at that fucker".

Another area in which I'm patently deficient at the moment is social interaction. For the most part I've been spending my days for the past few months alone in this house in the bush. (Jumps as he hears a noise, looks around feverishly). So I've become a bit of a spastic. Three lads came around the other day to, ahem, drop something off. I was like a little girl with friends around for the first time, such was the novelty. I don't even know the cunts!

Did you see the mugshots of Rip Torn, the man with the greatest name ever, after he was arrested for DUI? Go on my son! Proud. PROUD? Proud.

Go and have a Jin Shin Do massage. It will fucking freak you out. Jedi mind-games, know what I mean?

Sirrah!

"If you've ever seen an ivory-billed woodpecker I will eat my own head". Me.

A title is beyond me. How about 'inane shite'.

There's a pair of bald eagles nesting in the bay just down from my house. Two friends spent the weekend. We did mushrooms one afternoon and they went for a walk, where they saw the eagles dive-bombing a young duck, eventually tiring it enough so they could snag it up. I had stayed at home because when I went into the back yard the trees were fucking having a riot. Safer indoors.

The Japanese maple in the front yard is a rich ruby-red, the like of which I have never seen. God that fucking tree makes me happy. Canada in the autumn? Ablaze I tell you, ablaze with colour.

And now to technology: You peeped the new Lexus? The fucking thing will parallel park for you! I kid you the fuck not! The future is now! Keep your eye on bio-tech. Shit is wrong.

I had a dream the other night in which my mother's boyfriend, who I had to live with for years and hated intensely, was killing a baby seal by swinging it against a wall. What the fuck is our subconscious mind at? Fucking cheeky weird fucker. The twat is accountable to noone and should be reined in this instant. Book 'im Danno.

You don't know what my favourite time of day is, do you? I will fucking tell you. It is dusk. The gloaming. The house all quiet, apart from the sound of me throwing booze down my throat and sucking deeply on a spliff. And gently exclaiming "bollocks" and "fuck" every few minutes cuz I'm battered and don't know what the fuck I'm doing. What?

Did you see that Kenyan marathon winner who slipped under the winning tape and cracked his dome on the floor? What a fucking cunt!

Sirrah!

"Proud? PROUD. Proud". Rip Torn.

Everybody must get stoned

Yeah so anyways if you've ever received a large inheritance after the death of a loved one you know how fucking bittersweet it is. Yeah you can throw down mad cheddar on the big ass LCD TV, the xbox 360, furniture etc. You can go into the grocery store and just buy up all that shit. You can live for a few years not having to think about cash at all. It's all fresher than what's in a ziplock. But all shadowed of course by the absence of the departed. In death she supports me. Turn the clock back, take back this money and all this fucking stuff, and be in your kitchen pouring me a glass of red and talking drunken Irish shit. Jesus Christ grief can just fuck off.

This blog is exactly one year old in five days. A year?! Fuck me will someone turn off the fast-forward?

Here's something that will brighten your day - geoduck farming. Hold that thought.

As part of my sociological curiosity I've been watching N.American cable TV, eating Cheetos and caning beers while shouting "Fuck all y'all" at regular intervals to noone in particular. I bought a recliner by the way, which I can state with absolute confidence is the best chair in the world. Feet up, literally enfolded in the softness, ocean and mountains out the window to the left, 360 loaded up with Saints Row, big spliff, come on.

I haven't shaved in three months! Call the cops!

My bank balance is so weird. Never in my life have I had savings, or earnt any significant amounts. Now I see commercials for things and I'm like 'fuck me I could buy that'. It's all abstract though since I'm about as materialistic as a sadhu. And about as stoned.

What in fuck can I harp on about now. I know. Why is Jameson's my favourite whiskey and yet the most adept at transforming me into the most argumentative cocksucker that ever drew breath? (After a few shots) ....

You: I had a really busy day at work today.
Me: No you fucking well did not.
You: Pardon?
Me: Did you fuck!
You: What the fuck are you talking about?
Me: Busy my arse.
You: It was well hectic I'm telling you.
Me: You are fucking wrong.

Fucking hell I just had three cups of a fresh ground coffee called 'Kick Ass', the last one of which I 'enhanced' with a few gulps of said whiskey. As a consequence I feel I must run around the back yard roaring at the sky.

Not, that is, until I improve your life with this: Seahorses. Seahorses fucking rule.

Sirrah!

"Fuck the Panopticon". Me.

No sign of drizzle.

I hereby announce that a bit of wake and bake at 10.30am will fuck you up. Which, I hasten to remind you, is good. Very good. I raise an inquisitive eyebrow in your general direction.

One of the few things that blows my gauges is fucked-up product packaging. I noticed just before I left England that drinks' manufacturers were introducing those bottles with a tubed cap, so you have to hold it away from your mouth and squeeze the bottle to get anything out. Just like pro athletes do on the pitch, filling their mouths and then spitting violently, and then even spraying some over their heads. Fucking drama queen cunts. Did you see Beckham in England's last game of the world cup? What a fucking muppet. Anyway, those bottles are fucking shit, and the marketing dillon who started it needs a slap.

(Walking down the street, sees a friend). "Hey man, hizzle bizzle?"
"Oh it's good, yo, I'm making a lizzle of mizzle".
"Excellent. I've gotta go so I'll sizzle you lizzle".
"Bye".

It'a damn shame that Snoop Dogg's '-izzle-speak' fell out of favour so quickly. I like simplistic stupidity. It was originally a gang thing in LA I think. Someone probably told him to tell everybody to stop using it or he'd get shot in the face.

Talking of being shot in the face, have you seen the state of Mickey Rourke? What the Christ has he done to himself?

Okay, let's get to the meat of this thing: Steve Irwin was a bit of a knob, really, wasn't he? His death is very sad, don't get me wrong. I read somewhere someone saying they would have liked to go drinking with him. Fuck me, you're welcome to each other and you can leave me the fuck out of it. Drinking with him would have been fucking awful. And he supported John Howard. As I say though, very sad.

It is an incredible morning here, sunshine and a clear freshness in the air. I am not a cunt, therefore instead of sitting here typing like a complete one, I am off out to revel in it. I have spoken.

Sirrah!

"I wouldn't know a snowy egret if I was pissing on one". Jack Nicholson

Breakfast and a pint and everyting's aariight

I must say that mass circulation newspapers the world over, those myth-dealing witless fucks, are fucking cunts. How the fuck do you see life as a staffer at Fox News, the Sun newspaper, at the bbc? Those letters don't deserve capitalisation these days. You fucking lab rat you. Fuck cnn. Amanpour should fuck off with her diplomat or whatever the high-ranking fuck he is husband and then fuck off some more. Wolf Blitzer? Situation Room? Come near me and I will fucking do you harm my son. It's like screaming, "STOP IT!!" at a dirty raging storm while standing on a high vicious bluff above the crushing rage of waves....

...and trying to piss into it and make a difference.

I've just got the new landline installed, and bought a new phone. I fucking love the phone because the cunts' screen is golden lumescent brown like a gadget from 'The Empire Strikes Back'. 'Avin' it.

Jenny Agutter in 'Logan's Run'. Fucking hell.

Fuck that. 'Walkabout'.

Oh yes aye.

Yeah so anyway my girl is doing yoga in the meditation room, my dog is sleeping under the wisteria just outside the back door, the sun is shining, I be hitting the Stella and just getting mashed up on the bud, the petroglyphs I can go see whenever the fuck I want at low tide, and the world rules the world. I hugged a tree yesterday that was a sapling when Marco Polo was fucking shit up. And if you deride me using the term 'tree-hugging cunt' I will concur just before I relieve you of your life by jabbing you in the throat or something.

Absolutely fuck all. Don't you just love the way I tend to preface each paragraph with a bold statement of it's subject?

Couple of lines even, for those cunts paying attention.

'The War on Terror'. 'Islamic Fascism'. 'Terrorist'. You peddle these terms you stupid fucking cunt and I anticipate with pleasure the bitter inescapable anguish that will consume you as you approach death, agonized and twitching with shame. If I could I'd pay to watch, uneducated death-merchant fuck. Christ Almighty the mass media fucks me off.

West coast eggs benedict. Fucking lush.

Getting some funny reactions sometimes to my English accent here in Canadia. Some woman sang a song with a band in the pub, and as they finished we were just leaving. The song was great, so as I passed her I shouted, "FUCKING WICKED!" She shat herself.

A pox on all SUV drivers! Fuck me this country's full of 'em. I'd get some of those stickers that say 'You SUV-driving cunt you' and slap them on but it would be a round the clock vocation, so fuckit. Honestly, the size of the fucking things. What the fuck?

Yesterday afternoon I sat in the back garden and sucked on a cone and listened as my Navajo neighbour had a pow-wow or did a rain dance or something. His strange chanting in the distance had induced in me a calm spirituality. He was probably intoning something like, "Why don't you all fuck off you bunch of white cunts and leave me be".

I notice Tony Blair is suggesting that mothers and young families should be monitored so that the state can intervene if the youngsters start getting out of line. What in the sweet name of Jesus is that fucking cunt on about? Punch me in the face fuck's sake.

Sirrah!

"Little kids need Ritalin hit me with a full tin of gin and I'm a kid again". MC Doom.