On Ethics

Nawrte. Ethics has been without foundation since it was first entextualised graphemically ten thousand years ago. Half a million years before that it was merely biographical. Morality is base, automatic organism-level difference-maths, the source before even the youth of the flow of thought, and so half a billion years further before, plants fixed altruism, sharing root space with closer relatives, to their impersonal detriment.

Since all ethical axioms are arbitrary, and effects-calculation endings also, the greatest philosophers have not agreed, nor ever can. Words have no objective meanings, yet language thrives, and may be harsh or affectionate, constructive or destructive, as dictated by the multifactorial influences that so govern all action.

Phenotype is genotype plus environment, to a good approximation - twin height varies by 1.5cm on average. In the last 250 years, height has increased as much as in the previous glacial 250,000. The expression of the inter-subjective consensus language of morality, the narrative of humanity, similarly reflects the avalanche of socioeconomics.

Eudaimonia is in the ear of the audience, and one note cannot make harmony. Any felicific calculus will yield answers that vary with time and geography. There is not one apodictic force. Yet viewed from appropriate distance, the arrow of morality flies ever upwards, ignorant of the paradox of perspective.

The sad jar of atoms and the Spaniel of Destiny

Without God, 'nothing is permitted, and nothing prohibited', as Dostoyevsky more correctly puts it in Crime and Punishment, not the other one D'Souza hasn't read. Fictional characters may differ from their authors, although I would not be surprised to learn of such a cruciphile interviewing a teddy bear, thinking it Enid Blyton. But enough of argumentum ad author.

An action, a thought, and a feel, are the same thing, all actions. A dictionary is a frozen waterfall, words flowed before understanding. Some generosity in parsing is required. Nearly all life is invisible, but that word was made up earlier too. Pedantry stultifies.

Consciousness is an illusion in the generally understood sense. Who is deluded. To see this awake, I mean for a normal person, not a fractional self, or a multiple self, or a no-self - all of which are among us and well known - to see it awake, we are blessed with time, and the variable unfixed and fluid who, the whole that works fine at less than 100%. It requires no special skill, to cross-reference macro self-components, each in turn against another, and prove each false. The who is the whole stadium, parts of the crowd can look across at each other. You see it later in the persistence of envision, the mexican wave.

But that was an aside. Magic or machines it is. There are people who believe in ghosts, yes, but we needn't talk to them for long. Even they must admit machines can not-think better than humans can think. Let them play Humpty Dumpty with their words.

Futurology is simple, technology less predictable. Desire is known. The base and most powerful drives are short-coded once future-proof generalisations. This constitutes the soul of mankind. Rivers of thought, elaborate at estuary, are simple at source and can be read with a mirror, or maths and ESS. The percentages of billions of thoughts are available, not who, but how many. The global phenotype will express. The end of humanity is written in the base desire to survive.

Rocks do not live in a virtual reality, and refute it thus. We may not care about their well-being. People who don't see microwaves do live in a virtual reality. The inter-subjective consensus many-brained extended perception that is science sees microwaves, and though it can never be truly objective, it can work subjective magic, within physics. What will apes with magic do? Become as gods, we will answer our prayers. Savannah prayers. These are known. Savannah prayers to re-weave the rainbow. Like all good poets, we would seek to re-establish paradise lost.

By exaption, not design, immortality will be the death of us. Just as a confused person will tell you they wouldn't want to live in a virtual reality, the majority will always be against immortality. This is irrelevant. The same majority will always be pro medicine, and the machines will fix themselves completely, by exaption. Just as the confused person will tell you they prefer bodies, they will also be anti 'accidents'. Their hands can't feel, their noses can't smell, travel in bodies is popular, but for people who don't know where they are. These same people find broadening their horizons irresistible. And subjective reality is literally irresistible.

Thus minds will transfer to the new platform, the adjacent possible but decades away. Those who prefer to die, the better late than evers, may not influence future events. They discard their opinions.

By design, one could engineer x billion realities, such that each could achieve 'maximal well-being' - to piously parrot someone else. But evolution, not intelligent design, will prevail by democracy. Written further along the epitaph of humanity, is the base desire to communicate.

The incongruence of brains makes the buffering between skinless selfs precarious. Solvable in principle, it will not be by design. Lovers of humanity, as human lovers, desire to merge deeper than self. The integrity of thought requires discreteness as discretion. Self is lost in subsumption to the swarm.

Since birth, humanity has died nightly. Tomorrow there can be no resurrection, and none can mind.

Billy the Kidder

Naive econopoet, no not Milton Keynes, but Robert Owen, of Newtown nonetheless, mid-Wales - where the spireless dreamers are - famelessly built a model village, but at full-size, due to a dimensional reading error. I blame the draughtsmen. You can't trust the chessmen either.

The unfortunate inhabitants of his rom-com pipedream, were fair paid, housed, fed, watered, teached, free-healthed, nurseryed, and free-electricked. But this was 1785. These days per capita GDP is astronomically higher. Still, he was quite good at sayings.

Now, quite often, secondary industry is dependent on primary industry. And sometimes tertiary depends on it as well. But from a bit further away. Happy plankton out of sight. Zones of affluence quintessentially contiguous with zones of deprivation bla bla you failed that Geography course bla. Where wasn't I? Oh yes, at the lectures. Wel, heddiw we are going to do tertiary philanthropy, with guest the first, transnational no-collar racketeer monopolist software pirate, Billy 'the kidder' Gates. Nawtre, Billy bach, I've always hated you - on instinct mainly - but now I've done the research and discovered just how truly disgusting you really are. A very warm welcome to Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun! -

BTK:- Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Give a man a fishing rod, and you've missed a sale. Force a man to buy your fishing rod and you're onto something -

REJ:- I thought that was Sir Allan Sucrose's -

BTK:- It may bear a superficial resemblance to the original memeware. Sue me.

REJ:- Wel, we've quite a charge list. Theft, racketeering, blackmail, genocide by omission, arson -

BTK:- arson?! -

REJ:- Ooops! - diawl twpsyn! - that's Nick Clegg. When he was a disaffected youth. -

BTK:- Sorry, I've not heard of him -

REJ:- Wel, don't bother. He'll be different by the time you've looked him up. Hmmm...Beth shall we dechrau with? -

BTK:- How about my charity work? The Bill and Bill's bird Gates foundation -

REJ:- I just looked it up! It says 'All lives have equal value'. I have just wee'd myself -

BTK:- ?

REJ:- Nawrte. So far you have redistributed 60 billion dollars, from the world, to yourself. -

BTK:- Look, I don't make the rules -

REJ:- Or follow them. Still, if you can buy-pass them like Al Capone -

BTK:- That is a terrible slur! He could only buy the mayor. I do countries -

REJ:- Who do you see in this mirror? -

BTK:- The Good Samaritan. He had money. There is no such thing as society -

REJ:- Thatcher's grandchildren would seem to agree. But some countries have proved difficult to blackmail, haven't they? -

BTK:- If you can't pay the fine, don't do the crime -

REJ:- I'm thinking of Brazil, Cuba, Equador, Venezuela, -

BTK:- You could do how my charity makes me money if you like. Might be a bit subtle -

REJ:- We may have different ideas about what is subtle. For instance, if I could, today, save ten million lives, just by pressing a button, but instead made a motherofpearl xbox and ponced about in a private jet showing it to people, what would that make me? -

BTK:- er...is it a saint?...

REJ:- No Billy. It's a ffwrch of the first order. Of uni-testicular Austrian proportions -

BTK:- I'm sorry, I don't speak Welsh -

REJ:- Trust me you don't want to. You're not anti-trust are you? -

BTK:- No one's going to check legalese, Richard. You know that -

REJ:- Shall we put something in for the IT geeks? Or just say yours is shit and there's better free stuff? -

BTK:- Not if I can help it -

REJ:- Something stinks to high heaven -

BTK:- Perhaps you should change the litter tray. It is quite full -

REJ:- Yes I think I'd rather do that than talk to you. The details are open source -

BTK:- We'll see about that. A crime on every desk -

REJ:- Wish Sioned would let me have a cat.

Pome for the day

Gossamer, gossamer, dreams of philosopher
Float on the wings of the mind like drosophila
Underpin underglass in a museum
Stolen away before people can see them
Rational explains the irrational way
Hopeless the quest for additional a
People are false from the hat to the chin
And nothing is gained from excising within.

Titanic bail-out

There's more sea! There's more sea!

Now we all believe in paying our debts. Especially business persons. And Bono. But should you pay someone else's? Certainly Jesus thought so - although he did make a bit of a fuss about his lost weekend, and suffering in this world is paid off in the next, so it doesn't count. And he forgot the miracle of turning off suffering - just bad luck he wasn't a Buddhist I suppose.

But some stories make sense. Nawrte, ble were ni? Oh yes. Should you be forced to pay someone else's debt? Wel, clearly no. It would be disgustingly immoral. What then about paying off more than someone else's debt? Wel, landlords think that's fine, and so does the IMF. Let's make like Quentin Crisp, and race to the bottom. Can we think of something worse? I once knew a landlord who bought fair-trade coffee -

* notasausage * -

Hmmm...must get a drum machine. Indeed. Wel, I was hoping Clarence would appear, but instead it's Keynes and that one that sounds like Haiku. Malheureusement, on dois poppez out to do some very un-lillylike toiling now, and so I'll add this brief REM statement - countries is boats, sea-level is global money, national economies are deckchair arrangers since sovereign nations have become subordinate to the globalised market. What a dull phrase.

The clever man invented the chip, so that money was one step away. And one step is hard for a human. Three would be incredible. Gadewch i ni weld how many steps to force-starve an African from here, and feel innocent, or even benevolent.

The diffusion of responsibility is the most dangerous of perceptional delusions, and anyone using a traded currency is playing at the table. How much money you are responsible for reflects how much you are responsible for. Yes.

Iesu Mawr!....It's those two I mentioned earlier! -

Haiku:- Actually I sound more like kayak I seem to remember now -

REJ:- Wel, I'll call you Rose anyway -

Keynes:- Hahaha! Mr. Pink! -

REJ:- And you can be Royale with cheese. Off you go -

Rose:- I think we should save up and build a dam. -

Royalewithcheese:- I think we should borrow and build a dam. -

REJ:- Splendigedig! Only the dam's 1% the height of the tide. Who said default is ok? Idi Amin's seismologist. -

*tumbleweed* -

REJ:- Hmmm....Wel, economics is boring, and we all know deregulation of global finance and the IT revolution has caused the flow of capital to rise from $80 billion a day in 1980, to $whatevertrillion today. Thus fucking long term investment etc bla. etc. Christ it is dismal.









*****one last drivel economics tome to read****

Poem for the day

Ah yes. Must open those letters. Hmmm...let's try this one marked 'B'. Oooh! It's a 1 and a 3. Nawrte, I'm riding my bicycle, as you had probably guessed from my bell - *ting!* - there it is again if you missed it earlier - and while I'm riding, I'm typing. I only hope my laptop doesn't run out of ink.

The gwynt is in my hair, the sky is 'tween my ears, and the graphics boys have done an ardderchog job with the scrolling, even keeping the sun at effective infinity. The trees are whispering by smoothly, and my route is alive! Lined with living, breathing, hoof-ed hedgerows, those fallen clouds, those bleatsome-cotton sages of the - Oooh! look out Emmanuel Jones! there's a split pair. Now what was that old country rhyme?....have to make it up quick....

If you see a lamb and ewe
Either side the road from you
And you're wondering what they'll do
It's lamb to ewe, ten times to two.

REJ:- But it's only half-past -

*ting!* *ting!!!* *BAA!!!* *Ooof!* *tng*

REJ:- Shepherd's delight. Wel, that's enough ethological rhyme for one day. Let's be back home and writing a pome for Sioned instead. That should shut her up about that job. Nawrte...hmmm....she likes the newyddion....ok, go the first -

A rioter in Clapham Junction
Had a todger that just wouldn't function
His wife went out looting
Ann Summers in Tooting....


...truncheon. Yes. No! That's a sosban for sure...what was the other thing they liked? Ah, of course, ponies. Go the second:-

A man with a pony and trap
Found a fossilised dinosau....

Diawl! think now, Jones bach...Aha! flowers! Da iawn. They always like flowers. Ok go the third:-

Fuschia bells, fuschia bells
Watching o'er embraceful dells
Sweet as so the air to sing
Chime delicious blossom ring

The bluebell bows, the cowbell cows
The fuschia hangs umbrella boughs
And reigns as if a frozen breeze
Was melted warm by summer ease
So softer than the resting seas
Caress sands silting Neptune's pleasure
Fuschia is my love, my treasure.

Hedonistic sustainability

Now if you have your own windmill, your electric is free. But if you have lots of windmills, economies of scale means your electric goes up. Yes. The teletubbification of Wales would seem then to be a mistake. Nothing is often the wisest thing to say, and always the greenest thing to do. Apart from composting yourself. But people prefer doing things, and the doctrine of intelligent laziness will never catch on. Somethingmustbedone. As Gandhi said 'Be the change you want to see in the world'. So, nappies on, and sitting comfortably thinking about salt, let's see who comes through the catflap today.

....er...it's a chihuahua. Now that is silly -

Chihuahua:- A Great Dane would be silly -

REJ:- Scooby don't. Nawrte boys, Malthus has been wrong every year since 1798. So the odds are he's going to be right soon. That's why I buy scratchcards -

Ch:- Correct. Things are hotting up, Richard, and the time is upon us. But let's look at alternative alternatives. Since the non-alternative alternatives are a bit old hat. -

REJ:- The ceiling's yours -

Ch:- Diolch. All this I have seen. First, smart bacteria, augmenting nano-gnats, will inject hyperphotosynthetic tattoos onto Australians. This will mean kangaroos can be burnt for fuel -

REJ:- That doesn't sound particularly green -

Ch:- Ha! I suspect you stumbled over my use of the word 'burnt' -

REJ:- Maybe, maybe not -

Ch:- You've no idea have you? -

REJ:- I might have -

Ch:- Have you? -

REJ:- No.

Ch:- In the future, the word 'burnt' means 'incorporated into over-unity cyber-hamster-balls'. But 'burnt' is shorter. -

REJ:- Even language will be more efficient! -

Ch:- Yes. Now the overunitycyberhamsterballs will raise the solar net-wire into space - wireless of course -

REJ:- Lighter that way -

Ch:- And the solar radiation will be refocussed on the betattooed Australians. You see how it all fits together, Gaia-style? -

REJ:- What happens when you run out of kangaroos? -

Ch:- Well, you move on to Arabs and camels. And adjust the net-wire. -

REJ:- Hmmmm...ok, what's next? -

Ch:- We drill baby drill, deep into the earth. But first we build a chimney into space. More of a lift really. Built by -

REJ:- Smart bacteria -

Ch:- Yes. And the half-vegetable people.

REJ:- Wel, they'll get bored out in the sun all day. What happens when the earth's empty though? -

Ch:- Way ahead of you. That's what it means to be a futurologist. Neuronanogenosuper fish are evolved up a gradient to desalinate the oceans. And spit it onto the Sahara, a bit like those spitting fish. Hang on a mo, I think they'll fly as well. -

REJ:- Jolly good -

Ch:- Yes. The Sahara will bloom, fix the CO2, and create ideal habitat for Kanga-camels. Yes, that's it -

REJ:- No flying cars then? -

Ch:- We're doing the future. Canada will be turned into wire by eletransmutation, and the empty core of the earth filled with a coil. The magnetic poles will be raised on scaffolding, I know a good firm, and I've forgotten how a dynamo works. But in the future people will know. And probably do something like that. I'm not Faraday, I'm a chihuahua. -

REJ:- Anything else? -

Ch:- Smart lions, with smart bacteria on their tongues, will lick cows and turn methane into water. There might be some intermediate steps there, but nothing to trouble a biochemist of the future. I feel sure -

REJ:- What about neuroxeno-luminescent jelly-mice?

Ch:- Well, the rule of the future is you can make more than you can imagine. That's until the further future, when you can imagine more than you can make. Although you'll no longer be you. You'll be something else.

REJ:- I hope I don't make it.

Poem for the day

Nawrte. I've conceived. The experiment is that telephones can't be invented. You'd only hear an imperfect copy later, and no one would be fooled by that. Let's see if the pizza arrives.

Wel, heddiw we have what I like to call, a schizophrenic confessional. It's me pretending to be someone else, pretending to be insane, but not very well. We may as well give him a name - just pick two odd Welsh ones. That's him. Take it away, him that is not me!

HTINM:- Diolch. Here is my pome. What is a sign of a healthy noodle.

Three cats, a dog, and a strawberry fool
All hitched a ride on a five-legged mule
And off they went to the magical school
Where bees teach honey and fan the class cool
On a platform hexagonal floating in gruel.

The lessons were long and the summer was short
He added up all of the things they'd be taught
With particular heed to irregular thought
And the time it takes felines to contemplate nought
Though some claimed it pointless, vast fleas were there caught.

The fleas fed the birds as they leapt in the sky
And the ground fed the trees as it breathed with a sigh
And we all ask the bees when we want to know why
So the dog and the strawberry felt they should try
But the cats dwelt on nothing that money can't buy.

If only the spiders attended as well
For a spider's an ant with a self-diving bell
And our only known conduit twixt heaven and hell
The octofoot psychopomp crawling to tell
With a feardom personified tolling the knell.

So what does this mean? is the question you ask
That self-betterment's always an onerous task
And most frightening of all is behind of the mask
Where the mind in its nakedness shocks from the cask
And reality's made as unreal as damask.

REJ:- The pizza has arrived!

The Wasteland

Cludgie-anagram T.S.Eliot famously measured his life in spoons. But is there more to life than cutlery? It's a difficult answer. So let us, with a gladsome mind, move on to late-night shopping. Late-night shopping. I'll never understand it. But maybe reflex ejaculations from our finest thinkers - Starkey aside, since I need at least one hand behind my back to bother - can explain. And if I just randomly magick them in and out, it will be far less effort to write. I find them boring too.

Wel, everyone wants to appear first. We could order them by cliche I suppose, or we could go for a linear narrative, with a repetitive stealth-refrain under the thinkdar, or we could be made of electrons, and take the path of least resistance. I've never been in such an excited state, so subject to spin.

So, any order it is. I'll correct them later I yawnise.

Archbishop of Beardbury:- *Wrrrriiiiing!!!*

REJ:- Lovely Welsh Rrrrrrrrs, I use my tongue -

AOB:- Sharia is more hands-on. -

REJ:- Straighter than Ernie Wise -

AOB:- Two men in a bed. I think lots about that -

REJ:- Nawrte, sense now boys bach. Is there any way, any way at all, any possible justification, any possible excuse, any etc, that you should be paid £400 a day? -

AOB:- The hat's heavy -

REJ:- Hmmmm...

AOB:- The stick's unwieldy -

REJ:- er...

AOB:- You've worked it out on a five-day week. I only do Sundays -

REJ:- How much is the rent? -

AOB:- Fuck off.

REJ:- As a hangover ensures a continuous steady improvement in circumstance, so we have our next enguestulation. And if it's not Mr. Potato head with his angry eyes, then I'm Geert Wilders -

Pat Condell:- I think it's religion. Muslims mostly. Desert god. I'm very brave. Wibble, wibble -

REJ:- Be some sore wrists in the morning! -

PC:- Blessed are the peacemakers. That's me. Peace. -

REJ:- Sioned says I musn't say twat. Or Norwegian fan. Hmmm....I suppose that does sound rude too. Ok, who's our next verbal bulimic? -

David Eton:- Let's be absolutely tanned. This is criminality. This is not like taking drugs at Eton. -

REJ:- It's funny reading Orde -

DE:- The lieback has begun. My punishment was exclusion from society. Suspension from Eton. For a bit. I Kill Libyans. But why do some people find violence exciting? They are, quite wankly, sick. -

REJ:- We should track them down -

DE:- Tuscany's nice.

REJ:- 340 dead coons in 12 years and no cops jailed. Right, lets not play the race card. Keep your mind above your navel. Ok who's next to vomit? -

Nick Griffin:- The colour-coding system has been completely messed up. You can't tell who the goodies and baddies are until they open their mouths -

REJ:- Yes, I just noticed -

NG:- And -

REJ:- No, you're only worth one line. And that was like tennis against Hawking. Shall we crank it up a bit? -

NG:- Keep it simple. Supreme persons aren't so quick -

REJ:- Wel, for reasons of spatio-temporal constraints, and boredom, lets have one anyMP -

OneanyMP:- The problem is the three R's. Reading, 'Riting, 'Rithmetic, and 'Respec'. Some of these people can't even count. We need better sums in our schools -

REJ:- If £3.50 gets you 6 months, what does £20,000 get you? -

OneanyMP:- A duckhouse.

REJ:- As Hazel Blears says, we must apply the full farce of the law. But let's ignore her, and go instead to Boris Hairbrush -

BH:- Thankyou. Yes. Good point. Yes. Well you're always trying to make me look silly. Yes. Good point. Sticks. Yes. -

REJ:- Now Boris, I feel you may be the last of the easy targets before we do something deeper, so maybe you could say something silly, and blame it on me -

BH:- Yes. Good point. I understand. I don't like eggs. Now I think we need to hear a little bit less about economics. Looting is never about economics. Look at how many libraries were looted -

REJ:- No libraries -

BH:- Good point, well done. Yes. But - Can I talk to some volunteers? Are you a volunteer? This is the true Blitz spirit. When burglaries went up. Although you may have bought into the myth. Good point. etc. -

REJ:- Bedknobs and broomsticks. Wel, baseball-bat sales are up 5000%. Hang on a mo, I've become an intrepid reporter. Like Tintin. -

*earpiece!...find me a muslim....I've got the 2 day old fire in a loop....*

REJ:- Better do as I'm told. Like an economic-determinist. Not that that's plausible. -

REJTintin:- Helo, Mr. Muslim. Now I underknow your son was killed last night. You must be very angry. Look at these flames -

MrM:- No, I'm just sad. I think the violence should stop -

REJT:- But, your son was brutally killed. You must be calling for Jihad, like it says on the TV:-

Mr.M:- I'm sorry, but I refuse to integrate -

*earpiece! Get a proper Mooooslim or I'm fired*

REJT:- There aren't any. Hundreds can do this, and there are millions of moooooslims here. What a hack. I blame the parent company.

*Tintin to the crab aux pinces d'or!*

REJ:- Wel, we could take some vox pops, or we could deny anecdata. It would be worth it for a play on words. People could feel clever. Let's do the vox pops tomorrow, as I'm finding it tedious. Instead for now, let's have an expert on shoppingology, Dr. Adverts de Spaz:-

Dr.AdS:- Enchante! -

REJ:- Nawrte, Dr.Adverts de Spaz, many people find it puzzling that many people don't find it puzzling that intrinsically valueless bollocks-tat can have such a high value. In the minds of Spazzes. Like you. -

Dr.AdS:- And me. You'll have to start the refrain soon if you want to call it such. Anyway, Pavlov is dead.

*drrrrrriiiiiing! Beepity beep!*

Dr.AdS:- Excuse me. That's my new Twatphone. Tetra-phonic touch-tool. Would you like me to extol the virtues of my extended-phenotypical glintzy-magpie tinsel-bauble that have somehow become my own virtues, in my own mind, and that I feel an urge to proclaim, in your own too? -

REJ:- Not really. When I vomit on my keyboard I don't ask for the clap. -

Dr.AdS:- Yes but this is me. I don't have anything else. My job is to convince you that you don't either -

REJ:- It is very shiny -

Dr.AdS:- Do you want it? Do you want it Sir? Do you want it? There's a bird fingering it. Do you want it? Do you want it Sir? -

REJ:- Fast cars. Now before the deepity stuff, lets have Dr.Bendi. To say something silly. Just because he's feeling left out. And some not-joiners-in have felt so left out they've typed for days.

Dr.B:- Whoop! Whoop! This is how it is. Yes. Whoop. A feel is a reveal. Yes. A revelation. You can't help your reveals in advance unless you know you can. Whoop etc. Actions are feels travelling back to homeostasis. Convoluted. All in the balance. Now my hierarchical inference machine - that's him - says it with scales. Lower in the hierarchy must be greater weighting to overcome higher thoughts. Higher thoughts are post-hoc dulls. The bigger the flame beneath one scale, the bigger the flame 'neath the other must be. Ted Haggard.

REJ:- Wel, let's meet some normal people. They are the experts on abnormal people. Let's ask them all how much they plunder/earn from their own community. And see if they will admit it, or plead 'none-of-your-business'. - as if they knew it, but were ashamed.

1stnormalperson:- None-of-your-business. Anyway, I worked hard for it. Just look at me. I could run a marathon with a hod of bricks on my back. Look how hard I've worked.

REJ:- An intellectual, I think. What price ideas? -

1np:- None-of-your-business. These people are animals. Destroying their own businesses. That are none-of-their-business -

REJ:- No point if no one gets it. Let's try a lower gear -

2ndNormalperson:- These people have everything. So there is no excuse. Look at Somalia. There is no excuse for my middle class depression. Feels real though -

REJ:- Perhaps a big fire would make a clearer point. Albeit inarticulate -

BigFire:- Hello. I am a bigfire. See my fingers dance! You find me exciting don't you? -

REJ:- No, I'm far above that. Not! Lol. I'm down with the kids! -

Entrepreneur:- Hello. I own ten houses, and three were burnt down. I think I should have their housing benefit cut so I learn about theft.

REJ:- If you gotta ask, you'll never know -

3rdNormalperson:- I'm going to pick up on what you said earlier. I blame the parents. Now, we haven't made the parents. That's a crucial point. Children do. Years are long aren't they? The problem is in the home. Homes are nothing to do with economics. But if the childrens were paid £50grand a year and given two houses at least, they wouldn't fiddle their expenses. -

REJ:- Louis Armstrong -

4thnormalperson:- I just don't understand it. And if I really don't, then it won't happen again. Can we swap them for Norwegian kids? -

REJ:- Whatever.

Pome for the day

Savage noble Iago Prytherch, has manifested in here ntly to enpoemfy, in his disgusting whiney-grating North Walean accent - a bit like scouse, for some reason that is unclear to anyone. But I think it's safe to dismiss him. I'd rather be a wog than a gog. Actually, I'd rather be a dog. I could drink out of toilets and be happy. Unfortunately, he says he won't go until he's said it. But they're not addictive.

How nice to be a flutter-by
With compound brain and fractured eye
And ne'er the flit to wonder why
But just respond to stimuli
How nice indeed, not nice at all
But not for long before the fall.

The wind is like the sea but thin
The flutter-by is thicker in
Its arms command the desert djinn
And waves upon the lands of sin
Now every being surely knows
The flutter-by will come to blows.

So flotsam on the ocean fears
Pass through this vale of telomeres.

REJ:- Perhaps 20Mg more.

Monumental

REJ:- Dear Powys County Council. It has been a long struggle -

Paperclip!:- Hello! It looks like you're trying to write a psychopathic manifesto. Would you -

REJ:- I will in a minute you little -

Paperclip!:- Would you like to play monopoly? -

REJ:- SIONED! There's something wrong with ffenestrations nawdeg pump again! -

SIONED:- What do you want me to do? -

REJ:- I want you to fix the operating system. That's an IT term. -

SIONED:- Ok go to Start -

REJ:- Start -

SIONED:- My computer -

REJ:- My computer -

SIONED:- Dull fucker in mirror -

REJ:- I wonder if I can break the fourth wall in 2D. I can. Mirror neurons on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? Snow right. Now the digital age is upon us. 6 billion base pairs in a locust. I prefer Vinyl. Sioned has been improbably Mcafee'd away and instead I've downloaded Mr. Prysor ap Plasma, he of the committee for the erection of public monuments. Prysor ap Plasma! Croeso i that real place but with one letter mutated! -

PAP:- Diolch.

REJ:- Wel you've kissed the Blarney stone -

PAP:- The locals wee on it -

REJ:- Don't believe everything you hear. Just the exciting things -

PAP:- Was there some reason you downloaded me? Or were you just browsing and got distracted? -

REJ:- I have free will and take responsibility for my pixels -

PAP:- And so you should. Because thought-crimes are action-crimes and you can be jailed for it. And rightly so. Symboltastic. Now the power of symbols cannot be denied. While you accept people are vampires, great caution must be exorcised in the erection of symbols. -

REJ:- The glorious undead -

PAP:- They did not undie in vain -

REJ:- Except when they did.

PAP:- Now as everybody knows, the population of Britain dies every year -

REJ:- They must be fed up -

PAP:- But temporal constraints make it difficult to organise which to feel sad about in what order -

REJ:- If only someone could tell us -

PAP:- Perhaps stones can. I'm joking of course. They can. Now short-cuts to base emotions are always helpful -

REJ:- Yes, superstimuli give the clearest thoughts -

PAP:- Correct. We need only look at Austrians protecting stones but killing people -

REJ:- I feel big hats may be important too -

PAP:- Yes, plastic flowers even more so.

REJ:- Really? plastic flowers? -

PAP:- If they're the right colour. People are not bulls, Richard, they're not colour-blind. Apart from the ones that are -

REJ:- I'm sure that meant something -

PAP:- Tell me the secret of man's red fire -

REJ:- What are you? Some kind of ape?! -

PAP:- No, a fallen angel. Let's get back to the masons. Anyone who forgets plagiarism is doomed to repeat it -

REJ:- Wel I've heard of Americaland, since my teachers told me Madog discovered it.

PAP:- That's correct. It hadn't been there before.

REJ:- And I heard it was a melting pot. Where Indians were melted -

PAP:- Don't call them that. Imagine how that would feel. Worse than melting -

REJ:- I thought trivialising it would make them feel better -

PAP:- You must be more careful, since signals depend on their receivers -

REJ:- Are the receivers mutable? -

PAP:- Oh yes, remotely even. And they've left themselves open source.

REJ:- I'm afraid my attention span is driven by a return to homeostasis watt steam governor in molecular form, tuned to frivolous, and I've just seen a squirrel -

PAP:- That's ok, I can ressurrect you with a cross.

REJ:- I doubt you could. Who's putting up a cross, the dull fuckers! -

PAP:- Some civil engineers in earth-land -

REJ:- Well I have a strong feeling about this one way or the other. Steel is magnetic.

PAP:- Metaphorically, yes. It can talk too. But what should it say? -

REJ:- I'm not sure. Would it not depend on the hearers? -

PAP:- Of course, but knowing what the hearers hear, what should it say? -

REJ:- Well if no one hears it -

PAP:- Look who gathers around to hear it.

REJ:- Look at it! Look at its silly tail!

Aberfan and the sins of man.

London, 2012. No! I haven't perfected the time travelling yet, no. Maybe I will in the future, and then I can do it now. Indeed some of me can't even manage 60 minutes an hour. I'm always a little bit behind, but mainly in synch with my predators. So that's all da iawn. Yes. But it's the Olympics it is, and Iesu Mawr!, we are certainly not bored of it already. Legacy. That's what it's all about isn't it? It is the highest honour, for our English friends across the border, to have successfully won the most deprived place in europe competition, narrowly edging out the snail-chasing, goose-torturing, plongeurs down and out in the black economy of gay Parr-ee. That, and someone pressing the wrong button and losing his bribe at the voting.

Wel now boys bach, Sioned has left early today as there is an important debate down the Merched y Wawr, on the topical motion 'Is having no legs an unfair advantage in running?'. It's going to take a while apparently and so I've popped out - *pop!* - there it was....and *pop!*....that's me back in, - at Aberfan, scene of an horrific disaster to be talked about globally with all the clarity and perspective of the intertexts.

With me for my background to the story, is candle-in-the-dark Dr. Dafydd ap wetpants, Professor of Women's thoughtology at University of Cymru college, Llanbedr-pont-Steffan. Where they do the important humanities. Like what Grayling does but a tenth of the price. Or you could stay at home and do the OU. Dr. ap Wetpants! Neis i weld chi....i weld chi...neis!!! -

Dr. ap W.:- Bore da.

REJ:- Gem da, gem da. Gadewch i ni have a gweld at the old scoreboard! -

Dr. ap W:- ?

REJ:- Cuddly tegan! hahaha! or as they say, lol. I was being Sir Bruce Forsyth, but in Welsh.

Dr. ap W:- Why? -

REJ:- I don't know. But there must be some explanation for him.

Dr. ap W:- In my paper on the connotive and denotive semiotics of 'The Generation Game', I espoused the -

REJ:- Half past two. Nawrte, the history of the minings. Sioned says that in the olden days, when everything was in black and white, girls used to be miners. She's a twpsyn isn't she yes? -

Dr. ap W:- No, I'm afraid it is you who are the twpsyn as you put it. They did indeed used to be miners. Although it was very hot work underground, and they did it topless. -

REJ:- What do you mean, topless? -

Dr.ap W:- Well, with their charlies out.

REJ:- Are you sure? -

Dr. ap W:- Yes, I'm certain. Have a look at this photogram -

REJ:- it's well thumbed -

Dr. ap W:- Such is the nature of thorough research.

REJ:- Indeed. But did this not cause any interfractions? -

Dr. ap W:- These were simpler times, Richard, and simpler people. More innocent, childlike really. It wasn't their fault - they didn't know any better -

REJ:- Primitive indeed -

Dr. ap W:- And with all that coal dust, they even looked like darkies -

REJ:- Like on the Discovery channel! -

Dr. ap W:- Exactly, Richard. Jugs out everywhere, and no one responding correctly. It was only when Queen Victoria signed the 'Devil's Dumplings' act of 1862, that men began to have appropriate naughty thoughts. About Women's jubblies.

REJ:- What kind of thoughts? -

Dr. ap W:- Disgusting ones. You couldn't imagine -

REJ:- I could try -

Dr. ap W:- No. It would be offensive. In thirty years of studying Wimmin's thoughtology -

REJ:- *click!...delete history!* -

Dr. ap W:- That's better. Now the naughty thoughts is not there -

REJ:- 2 years too late -

Dr. ap W:- Well suppress them now. It makes for better behaviour. In my study 'Naughty thoughts is not real, and there aren't birds who has them', I successfully -

REJ:- Twenty to six. Nawrte, back to the mining. So the topless tunnellers got banned? -

Dr. ap W:- Yes. It was a disaster not happening to wait. There then followed the Church of England General Synod's ruling of 19somethingelse, led by His very Reverend Sidney of James on the objectification of onanistic orbs -

REJ:- Goodness! -

Dr. ap W:- No, badness. Previously, girl's globes had been fictional non-objects, that could pass through walls. etc. But now, as objects, a further problem arose. Namely, that of keeping them in their proper place.

REJ:- You just keep talking and I'll miss the contradictions -

Dr. ap W:- An urgent solution was required. In 19whateverwhen, Sir Wankfirmly de Shaft patented the 'Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder', and so liberated ladies' arms such that they could throw tennis balls badly -

REJ:- They must have been grateful. Not having to lop one off like an Amazonian archer -

Dr. ap W:- You'd think so. But some got womb-hysteria and later set fire to their hooter-holsters -

REJ:- It's a harder subject than I thought -

Dr. ap W:- The hardest. And yet the most important. But try telling that to NASA. The sapphic field trip to Venus I had been planning has all but been ruled out. Lesbianism has dried up. It's official.

REJ:- Well I'm bored already. Have we done Wimmin's history yet? -

Dr. ap W:- Herstory. No we haven't. They got the vote and stopped bad male things like war, and then they stopped worrying about their appearance. Which had been for the males. It was all won at great cost though, and they lost the privilege of white men and child-slaves to go down the mines. And to die on the frontline. And to top themselves at 4:1. And to be disproportionately physically attacked. But they did win on pay. And kept the ubiquitous andchildren suffix that means their deaths are more important. Sort of twice the value of a disposable man. That one's too common to notice though.

REJ:- Did they? - win on pay? I missed the next bit as it was too insidious.

Dr.ap W:- Yes. They're now paid on average as much as short men -

REJ:- Wel, Wel. I suppose they are a bit like short men aren't they? But with norks. Chwarae teg to market forces. They sort things out. But, remembering where we are, we must mention the horrific disaster that sent shockwaves around the world wherever people had nothing to do -

Dr. ap W:- You are refering of course to the Aberfan disaster -

REJ:- Yes -

Dr.ap W: - Well the way to a man's stomach is through his mouth. Or up his arse. Or just cut in. But the way to a mine is down a shaft. I said shaft.

REJ:- Go on -

Dr. ap W:- Not long ago, a terrible thing happened. In a shaft.

REJ:- Please don't use threatening words -

Dr. ap W:- What do you mean?

REJ:- It's parsed over. I realised I did the parsing. But tell of the terrible thing -

Dr. ap W:- Well a terrible thing happened. A gayer was in the lift with a man. A big burly gayer. You know what they're like -

REJ:- Just after one thing -

Dr. ap W:- Yes. But this one was a poet -

REJ:- difficult -

Dr. ap W:- Indeed. And he said 'Drop your drawers, the coffee's yours' -

REJ:- the smooth-talking bastard -

DR. ap W:- And the man said 'No thanks'.

REJ:- Well I can't sleep. What happened next?

Dr. ap W:- Some typing happened.

REJ:- I feel gay-raped -

Dr. ap W:- Your personal dull feeling is important. You can't control it as you are a weak and feeble man. Perhaps you are a cartoon stereotype, and wish to be treated as such. Maybe a mouse could lead you to jumping on a chair and shouting 'Thomas, thomas!'.

REJ:- Well I've been potentially raped at least, surely? -

Dr. ap W:- Well no, you're not involved at all. But don't you feel excited?

REJ:- No.

Dr. ap W:- Willies.