Wednesday, 28 December 2016

2016:- The gift that keeps on giving

What a year! And still time for Cliff! But Someone doesn't seem to want him. The list of vacuous narcissists of no to negative consequence just keeps on growing - it is the gift that keeps on giving. David Bowie gave us permission to be ourselves. Leonard Cohen gave us permission to be our big-nosed sulky selves. And George Michael attempted to reinvent the drive-thru. Each time, the world changed and would never be the same again. Although you can watch them on youtube when they were better. But who would you most like to see die next? Yes - it's your friends and colleagues who have suddenly become 5 yrs old, and that twat on the news who never knew fucknobody. But apart from them? Which celebrity would you most like to see next shuffling off into a hastily cobbled together crockofshite TV #tweet fest? Everyone will have their own personal favourite 'Top Ten', but I'll probably get bored halfway through....

1. That other one out of Status Quo.

Really, that other one out of Status Quo is not the only other one out of Status Quo, but with the B-listers dropping like flies, and the rest of the alphabet dying at over a million a week, there just aren't enough candles for everybody. Sneering snobs have attempted to diminish the musical achievements of this seminal band, but if it really were that easy to make a multitude of hit records sound the same, then every one would be it. Apart from that first one, which instead merely sounded like someone else.

2. Bob Geldof

A popular choice with tax and planning authorities everywhere, Bob's greatest achievements must surely include forgetting Midge Ure, and making Nigel Farage look the lesser wanker. His famously inspired ad lib 'Give us your fucking money' was in fact rehearsed over many years, but such was his professional delivery that even today it seems off the cuff, and people don't always appreciate the years of practise that go into every act behind the scenes.

3. Bob Monkhouse again

Shrewd observers of Bob Monkhouse will have noticed that he was never truly alive, merely a stacked nesting of fabricated GOSUB routines, all written out and colour coded in that famous book of him, but it was still fun to hear that he had died, albeit sadly only in 2003. Perhaps his greatest joke was the one about faking sincerity, but no it wasn't - that was merely a sinister confession. It was instead 'They laughed when I said I was going to be a comedian. They're not laughing now'. Although we can still say this without his actual physical presence, it still somehow seems a shame he can't die again.

4. Terry Wogan again, twice, to be sure, to be sure

You wouldn't think someone would steal money from Children in Need, but then you are not a sadly missed celebrity, and so can't spell steal 'small non-commercial fee'. It takes a consummate mastery of presentation to be able to do this while simultaneously reading off the autocue just how many lives this money would otherwise save - every little helps - and of course Terry 'would gladly have done it for nothing' if the freedom of information request had forced him to a quarter of a century earlier.

5. Simon Cowell

Even the most leathery cynic amongst us will feel it a tragedy that Simon's mother never lived to see him die. Very much an outward-looking man, Simon invented the talent show, the talent show, and the talent show, and who knows what he might invent next - there seems no start to his ability. Although already immortalised in dentistry, the flesh remains weak, and though these records will outlast him, one just can't help hoping he takes forever to die, a hollow, empty husk of a human, gazing at the reflection that must be so transparent to himself, watching his life slowly evaporate, all the time acutely, exquisitely, horrifically aware of the impending eternal vacuum he never really left.

Thursday, 22 December 2016

Poem for the day

Spring up, fair Arab! Heed the call,
The Autumn tweets the Tyrant's fall,
The Summer Sun sets in the West,
And Eastern Winter lays to rest
Thy leaves upon a crimson sand,
Thy scattered seeds by holy hand,
Know that thou suffered but in vain!
As poppies hang in daisy chain
Around the neck of Human, See!
The planting of thy future Tree.
Two blooms upon a desart land
May grow sincerest creed
That each themselves a flower Grand
And each the other weed
Yet all grow under the same Sun
And grew from the same Seed.

Saturday, 3 December 2016

'Ants who learn geometry' litotes mirror unzip

Executive pay has gone from a measly 50 x the average to 200 x. And this is because everyone is 4 x better off. If pay were capped to the previously dangerously Maoist 50 x, then everyone wouldn't be such a 4 x better off like they weren't before, as there is no connection. If encouraged to 400 x then we would be twice 4 x better off, and this is how progress is made towards a continuous virtuous circle. The more money hoovered up and hoarded, the more there is left to make the more money of the future, as Keynes could have said quicker if he'd spent less time feasting with panthers.

Executiving is a very difficult job, and we have some of the best executiving decisionists in the world, many times better than Norwegian ones, but not quite as many times better yet as American ones. Who cannot think of an American executivonist of the moment we would not be even more times better off with like they are in Detroit.

The UK's Premier League of executivonist special ones has seen our collective world cupitude increase from 1 to 0, and shows no sign of this trend dimproving in the new global competition. Life is unfair, and there should be some compensation for having Gareth Bale's face, but what is often forgotten is that the wealth created by the relative positioning of spheres, trickles down to prostitutes who resemble Wayne Rooney's grandmother, and goes on to fund a whole further supply chain of sundry industries that has helped make Manchester what it is today.

In the modern world, globalisation has meant that the earth now goes all the way around, and if we don't want foreign investment such as Mr Green's minus £1/2 billion, he informs us that we only have to say so. But the danger is that such luminaries might leave, and take their geography with them, likewise the world's largest foreign investor, the Sun.

Nothing is for free, least of all the Sun, moon and earth. Work - movement - external and internal, must be paid for. The tide won't turn by itself. Those who would tax the very tide, in Swansea or Cardiff say, by fantasy miracles of rare device, forget their position in the league, and the many times better results achieved by Cnuts everywhere. Sometimes there just isn't enough sea to go around, and we are all left in the doldrums.

In the free world, water always finds its level. 10 x higher are found the 10 x higher humans, with their 1 second 100 metres, and 1000 IQ s, and so on, all the way up the pyramid of wealth. Those who took the trouble to evolve their ancestors, have an inalienable right to the product of their brains, especially after they are dead. Thus the abstract capitalism has solved both production and distribution, and removed countless millions from the idiocy of leisure, with only the minimum of ghastly waste and horror, just as reflected in its real-world mirror, evolution.

In a classless meritocracy such as Britain, the distribution has been solved thus:-


- which is the most stable and productive distribution imaginable, and the only alternative to communist dictatorship. It is in fact inevitable, possibly even divine, and countries with different shapes and better outcomes, don't exist other than in reality, which can't be looked up on the internet. Any incremental shape-shifting towards better - the phoenix without the ashes - is impossible, since the current arrangement was supernaturally achieved without human interference. The puny laws of man are written on paper, thus permanent, and can't be rubbed out or written over in crayon without the express permission of fairies, thus the only choice is status quo or revolution, and certainly not any kind of macroeconomic guaranteed instant win fruit machine lever, such as a wealth tax, which could never be made permanent, at any angle of lever, or varied to regulate constant aggregate demand. Over any area of geography. Repeatedly post-hoc on the net without prescience. Apart from the whole world which must first pay off its many trillions of debt to invisible interplanetary lenders.

The area added to the inverted pyramid of piffle, globally, has quintrupled in the time population has doubled, making Malthus look a bit of a cock, like all such high priests recycling inherited scriptures of self-sacrifice. This is because everyone is now working 2 ½ days a day, scything away like a 150 minutes an hour Poldark, and nothing to do with the invention of combines. Indeed technology has never done any good at all, and no creation will ever out-perform its creator, as Fred Flintstone declared on the invention of the wheel. Such perversions are unnatural, and only encourage the unelected autocratic Strongman behind physics and war.

If geometric really were faster than arithmetic, then virtuous circles of green investment would yield a disastrous crash in the price of the fundamental economic fuel, making everything higher up the chain disastrously cheaper as well, and spoiling the race for nuclear, which the Sun already won without even the decency of trying. Endeavour would be reduced to competition between who could wear the silliest clothes, make up the silliest stories, and chant the most ridiculous things in the stupidest postures, and suchlike, just to pass the time, and this could never be popular with the religious, or other pantomime actors. This is clearly not what God wants us to do. Oh no it isn't -

The poor have always been with us, they're not something new like homosexuals, and you can't make them richer merely by giving them more money. In fact this is the worst thing to do - like feeding a horse - it only makes them less effective. A stable of fed and trained horses is something too horrific for any ethical vet to contemplate, and only makes for a slower average speed. Leaders wondering about Grand National Product, need only notice that starved, lame and unstabled horses - austerity horses - are the fastest, and the best people to be in charge are always the biggest horseshitters in history.

As there is more money than there ever was, and ever is, and ever and ever amen etc, - wars and meteors aside - it seems silly to make even yet more, quicker, by the daunting and arduous expedient of slightly squashing the pyramid. This would only even be possible if maths existed, and who's to say it does for sure. Although a 3 year old with building blocks would find it trivial, when fully rendered through an economical supercomputer, it looks a lot harder, and this is worth paying a fortune for, especially if it was wrong the last time. But it is undeniable that an unfortunate side-effect would be that society would also become better, by all intersubjective consensus definitions of the word, by all objective social and moral measures imaginable.

A long time ago, in the cradle of civilisation, a pitiful slavedom of simple and bewildered infantilised peasantry were kept in check by the predictions and proclamations of fraudulent priests and pharaohs. But nothing evolves faster than humans, and the scales of justice soon tipped the balance in favour of the far more numerous Librans everywhere. As a rational animal, the best economic models depend on this inevitable expression of rational self-interest, reflected in the collapse and destruction of every civilisation in history so far.

The law of non-contradiction is famously both right and wrong, depending on what level you look at, until a circular truism is noticed at the bottom. Binary propositions in search of such varying truth yield the most productive arguments, and may keep the group-selectionists going for a while, while we wait for someone to point out that all maths is extending tautologies of x=x, as they do every century. The differing schools of thought that make up philosophy, show that they've really done very well indeed, apart from in understanding the paper they've written on, which folding up and moving, is unlikely to affect any thought equations. The lack of a causal nexus may be deduced from a series of if...then statements held in Time, which humans are ideally wired to appreciate, and thus the Sun may not rise because deduced was not spelled caused. If 1 = one then maths could be written in words, or even French, and things would be clearer, but such wish-thinking is pointless, and the silliest way to proceed.

The cleverest economists have beards, apart from when they don't, and very intricate sums are required to show that 12 year olds should work 15 hrs a day to fund genetically unfortunate imbeciles in palaces. If only the Pope knew this. Engels, and his detractors, so understood balance of trade, that they both managed to get it wrong, swapsies being equal, rip-offs being rip-offs, and time-variable prices making time-variable sums. The balance of trade shows the volume, if you add both sides, and the quest for autonomy and self-sufficiency remains fundamentally impossible, although the earth managed it billions of years ago, without thinking at all.

As Karl spent an awfully tedious while explaining, it is difficult to own property if someone else does, but that shouldn't stop one trying. The best arrangement is to have house prices rising for people who own houses, and house prices falling for people who don't. To make a commodity price rise and fall simultaneously, in the same market, is one of the most notable successes of modern economics. Although transparently ridiculous to a retarded termite, after suitably strenuous education, the emergence of bat-caped academagicians has heralded the revelation that the price of a finite resource will tend towards infinite, and the best thing to do is to pay as much as possible for land that is already there, just in case it otherwise disappears. Sacrificing children to the Sun is something completely different, from a more primitive and embarrassing time.

On planets transitioning to abiological labour - every job a cog in the machine - efficiency = redundancy, in cycles, until they find other things to do, the possibilities of movement being infinite. Transcending such physics is surely one of humanity's greatest achievements to date. Non-physical humans can't be pulled around willy-nilly by invisible forces like so many iron filings. The good news is that this means they can never be forced into destructive behaviour contradictory to their own interests, like war or environmental catastrophe. A sterile planet would end all suffering, but unfortunately, this most final solution of all is unlikely without reality, and the same non-existent forces that, if not so tragically obviously absent, could just as easily arrange the filings constructively, in symbiotic alignment, across the face of the earth, as surely as the sunrise.


REJ:- Yes that twister diagram is perfect, wealth% in 10% popn blocks. The Wizard of Oz hides behind the curtain of numbers, and humans are wired for yellow brick geometry.

Wednesday, 16 November 2016

Poppies beget poppies poem for the day

It's National Poppy-washing day!
Now Poppy-wash your sins away!
Remember that the greatest sin
Was stupid fuckers joining in

Perhaps to you it looks absurd
The hordes that ran to join the herd
And you at least are not a sheep
But only for the fallen weep

And how they suffered! How you're sad!
And how you're free! And how you're glad!
And how you advertise such Grace
With stupid bloody poppy face

And while you're joining in it's true
As monkey see so monkey do
Remember that they died that you
May one day be a poppy too.

Tuesday, 1 November 2016

Pome for the election

Donald! Donald! tyger bright
Panther prowling through the night
What infernal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful oratory?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt thy burka melted eyes?
On what whims dare he aspire?
What the voter seize the fire?

In the land of sanguine woe -
Could forge the plastic GI Joe
Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in their horrid ribs dare steep
And keep or worse Guantanamo?

In what clay & in what mould
Were their eyes of fury roll'd?
And what anvil, what black art
Could twist the advertisers heart
What the ghost? & what the flea?
Dare paint thy false democracy?

And what hammer? And what chain?
Could fire the forests of thy brain?
And when thy heart began to beat
What dread hands! on what dread meat!

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered Clinton's Joker tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the clown make thee?

Donald! Donald! tyger bright
Panther prowling through the night
What infernal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful oratory?

Monday, 17 October 2016

Poem for the day

REJ:- Wel, despite moving three times, Idris, my facebook friend, has somehow tracked me down again, and is gibbering at the bottom of the stairs, exuding an olfactory taint that believe you me isn't it, you don't want me to transcribe into smellytext. What cans have happened? - did you like that? - anyway, if I know anything at all, he won't stop blubbing about the allthatglisters gold of Mr. Carlsberg until I type out his latest vomit. Black tears of Death my arse, you're pissed 'ychan! -

Hush! It's time for lessons children
Mighty are the works of man!
Glory to the black-veined junkie
Sleeping over Aberfan

Dream the dark gold piling higher
Such twould make the mountains cry
Stream the valleys blackest choir
Little diamonds in the sky

Can you hear the siren Angels?
Softly in the twinkling dome?
Or has dark enrichment crushed you?
None to take the lessons home.

REJ:- Wel, what?.....How do I know if I like it? - It hasn't got a title.....what's it about? Go and cry somewhere else. I'll make you an appointment with the Danish court...

Monday, 26 September 2016

Commercial Break

Fantastic don't-work-from-home opportunity!!! It's official. Britain is open for sale, and everything must go! Again! Low interest rates getting you down? Why not make your money work for you? Instead of you working. What could be less parasitic? How does net £30bn for £0bn sound? Confuscioused? Too good to be true? Think again. This is just one of the many stunning often-to-be-repeated deals available!

Perhaps you are from a backward country, that hasn't progressed to democracy. Don't worry - local buy-britain-to-let mortgage agent, Mother Theresa May, has the backing of almost 200 human voting-persons! These low, low prices won't last once our children see the bill, so hurry now and buy yourself some never-never-shall-be-slaves at the auction of the century! Guaranteed returns! (arranged on the slaves behalf on the never never while they watch bakery shows).

Laugh as they wave flags and watch timelessly piss-drivel war films, while all the time YOU own them! Brexit fears? Fear not! money is invisible, and there's no border any more! Watch as your money freemovement immigrates in.....then taxfreemovement emigrates out, many times over!

Can you say 'investment' with a straight face? Perhaps you are a Russian mafiosi who hasn't forgotten to send Putin a christmas card. Fancy a cup of tea? Why not buy London? Now that's capital control! Careful! - not that tea! Maybe you are an Arab, who dreams of killing Jews. Why not practise by killing Arabs first? You'll need some kit for that, and Prince Andrew can arrange everything. Or maybe you are a nice-and-shiny multinational, believing your own adverts. Tax getting you down? How does minus tax sound?....etc ad nauseum....

....It's cold.....cold, dark and wet, and I'm scared.....I'm scared too.....If I don't make it.....don't say that....we'll get know it's funny, I used to love the smell of the sea, and the sound of!.....not now.....not now......OK let's go! Remember why we're here. It will all be worthwhile if after 7 decades of growth our grandchildren are begging at food banks....

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

Poem for the day

REJ:- Bore da. eto. etc. Wel, in the immortal words of that grocer's daughter, Rejoice! for Idris has blessed us again with a metrical offering that could surely melt the face of Simon Weston, and well-meaning penguin rescuers everywhere. Unfortunately, most of Simon's butties committed suicide after victory, and couldn't be with us to celebrate the necrotic banshee's incontinent descent into whimpering terror. But are there ever underlying economic causes of conflict? It's a transparently trivial question. But let's pretend it isn't, as Idris ap whoeverhewas has found a copy of Brewer's phrase and fable, and is pretending to have studied the classics like our new foreign secretary...

In the bosom of the Nile
With an enigmatic smile
Beckoned Pharoah's unseen hand
Promising the Promised Land

Pyramids of Golden Grain
Threshed and flailed the mark of Cain
Written red in Giza's womb
Built upon the living tomb

Plague upon included middle!
Sphinx within, without the riddle
Melting pot or boiling kettle?
Far the strains of Nero's fiddle
Poison asp of Cleopatra
Bit the currency made flesh
Grew the many-headed hydra
Wove the sticky spider's mesh
Drew the thread of Theseus closer
Then the closer mirror saw!
Not the Promised Land of Moses
But the mighty Minotaur!

Furies rent the plates tectonic
Weighted coin of binary
As the double-headed Janus
Counterfeit the lock and key
Sharply grew the wealth of nations
Piled upon the nation's poor
High upon the needle Caesar
Looked abroad to conquer more
Mined the flesh of Atlas buckling
From the bowels of Hades forge
Rose the man of iron chuckling
Lava smile of Satan! Gorge!

Hush! the night stalk hiding reaper
Silent glides amongst the corn
And the granary grows steeper
Hoards in vain for life reborn

All the while the eye was staring
Lonely on the monster isle
Twixt the hemispheres cross-sharing
Crying at the Furies bile

East meets West in eye of Cyclops
See the diamond beams divine!
Lift the clouded veil of Isis
Cut the gems eternal shine!

By the geometry of Euclid
Shape the world the Prophet saw
Tame the seasons, flood the delta!
Eden, Rise! on Israel's shore!

REJ:- So that's what you did when you were 'writing your cv' is it? I know! I know! Don't tell me! - you're going to do it properly later -

IaW:- Macroeconomics ends with the opening of the dam with the global lever.

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Legend of the holy zombie homeopathic water diviner of Eglwyswrw Pome for the day

Homeopathic water diviner, Ifor ap download, was convinced his hands held the memory of an invisible twig. Eager to demonstrate his miraculous ability to find water in Wales, he marched up and down the street of Eglwyswrw, a spring in his step, arms held out like a boxingkangarooaftertherack, and gurning and groaning like a constipated zombie. Such was the level of concentration.

It turned out to be arthritis, which he couldn't have, as he had already been not-taking the strongest underdose unavailable, and thus, 100% cured-in-advance of all the things he had never not-medicated for, he gamely strode on, only to trip and fall face down in an Alzheimer's puddle - containing oxygen, but unfortunately not the compatible memory of it.

His acupuncture air holes failed and he sadly drowned. But, as logic would have it, his voodoo doll sprang into life, and to this very day walks the street of Eglwyswrw gibbering vacuous nonsense to all who would hear the 'Good News', like an over tumble-dried shrunken Jesus teddy stigmata walking pin-cushion of inanity.

Here is his pome, shaken not stirred:-


*Warning!* The next verse is even more powerful and should be read out of the reach of children stored at room temperature:-

Monday, 9 May 2016

The Rubaiyat of Idris until he got bored

REJ:- Are you bored yet? -

Idris:- No -

REJ:- Dammo -


Wake! The Golden Prophet of the skies
Has yawned and closed a billion blinking eyes
The ashen moon its sickle-harvest done
As night-owl flown in fright from lovers' sighs

The Phoenix tore a feather from the Sun
And master fletcher Time His arrow won
Through hourglass curves the golden bow let fly
And melting now and then the wax begun

Upon a marble 'cross the blanket high
In circles straight around the curving sky
The figures waxed upon the setting stage
And moulded lines of thought to wonder why

Said one 'My friends 'tis clear how this must be
The stage and play was set for such as we
My legs the perfect length to reach the ground,
The ground the perfect length to reach the sea'

Another drunk in love with Art opined
'I see the hand of genius behind
The palette mixed to wholly fill the view
Such perfect feasts on which my eyes have dined'

A third was cut to play as Newton's fool
And thought he saw the light-show heaven's rule
'By dot to dot I draw upon the sky
And line by line draws back the winding spool'

REJ:- How about now? -

Idris:- Not yet -

But Fate and Fortune for the record breaks
As Destiny with light for dicing shakes
Upon the wheel the marble drops to rest
And one by one the House wins back the stakes

'Tis all a shadow show of light and dark
With candles flickering smooth to make the Ark
And creatures conjured on a circling sea
A faery play upon a faery park

The conjurer is hid in cloak of fire
Around the magic lantern of desire
The candle smooth projecting from within
The smoke and glass-reflecting rising higher

Old Omar on the page of Samarkand
In silk words robed by fair Fitzgerald's hand
In glory bathed among the naked threads
Unwoven then rewove in candle heads

The minarets called djinn to holy prayer
By magic lamp in mosaic written there
And lit the marble mirror chandelier
The metaphor enow for life of air

For magic words magician be desired
But magic never has a wand required
And genie prayer for metaphysics true
Will answer physics never need inspired

The writer having plucked the Phoenix quill
With golden pen may write the world at will
True scripture makes one glad to Timeless die
The Sentence in four letters coloured still

REJ:- If you're bored, change the rhyme scheme -


What wouldst thou write, O candle god
Upon a newborn page?
What wouldst thou write, as Sentence melts
And actors merge with stage?
What wouldst thou will, the Fire of Life
Still burns, thy will be done!
- The Phoenix cries quicksilver tears
Upon the setting Sun -
What willst thou true, immortal flame?
Of heaven or of hell
The Time is nigh, the arrow flies!
To strike the quivering knell
What - *clunk!* *Ooof!* -

REJ:- Sioned! Idris has been bored again! On the sofa -

Sioned:- Put him out with the recycling -

REJ:- But it's not bin day 'til -

Sioned:- I meant the poem.

Friday, 29 April 2016

Blue Malthus, Reverend Green

A 'windmill' costs any amount. It pays for itself in x years. It falls apart in y years. If y>x then it is 'free', and indeed, 'makes money'. If y=2x, then we can have two, after y years. Two for the price of none. Other ratios give other times. We are in a far off fantasy fairyland, where Faraday existed, and maths holds true. We are on square 2, of the rice chessboard. Long before we reach square 64, everything is a 'windmill', and we have strayed into 'impractical'.

The letters page of any endearingly quaint 'newspaper' displays the sabre-wit of retired colonels, pointing out that sometimes the wind doesn't blow. Yet somewheres it always does. It may also be noticed that the 'Earth' is mostly sea, and that the sea moves - often as much as twice a day. This must remain a mystery to all contemporary Cnuts. There may be other such 'miracles'.

But can we really afford free energy? Financial experts, for a fee, will calculate the enormous inevitable 'subsidy' required. Energy experts, for a fee, will calculate the relatively greater cost, of free. And sado-masochistic Gaia martyrs, for Aztec lust over others, will preach we must pay. All as if the Sun were somehow metered, and Time cost money.

The cheaper the primary, the richer the world. Cheapest is free, which is infinite wealth. But of course the Sun is finite, and I only mean billions of years. With the economic causes of war, both domestic and 'neighbourly', removed, humans who like employment can have something socially useful to do, before the advent of 3D printed robots removes the idiocy of labour. Humans labour under delusion, and love's labours lost. Some have not even noticed they are 3D printed robots themselves.

Creationists of the non-Physics variety inform us that 'you can't get something from nothing'. Suitably chastised, we exercise caution in our conjecture:- Only if the Earth, Sun and moon existed, and I mean really, would all this be true.

Britannia waves the rule

The Queen put on a mirror smile
And subjects clapped themselves
How tidily each knew their place
Like books on history shelves

Her clockwork toys in red and black
Her happy plastic flags
That wave the spell dominion
Over rocks and body bags

Above the body politic
The head that bears the pounds
So stamps the semeiotic trick
In blood in richer grounds

All noble savage backward tribes
Have built their Humpty wall
Let headless states, then stateless heads
Be fairest of them all.

Thursday, 21 April 2016

Poem for the day

Moses led the Jews to the Promised Land, - the three week walk from the Nile to Jerusalem taking only 40 years. Be careful who you ask directions. Dai Penweddig, similarly 'inspired', left Cardiff Arms Park in 1978, and turned up back home in Ammanford, in 2005, in time to watch Wales win the Grand Slam again. Of the intervening years he could recount nothing, and died that very night, happily thinking Wales were ever good at rugby. But what distinguishes inspired eternal truth from tedious grating psychosis? Wel, according to Idris, it's about three cans...

A spider spun a web of gold
To catch a silver fly
And baser beaten leaden ants
Looked up into the sky

They climbed to make a pyramid
To reach the golden threads
And each the higher climbed upon
The greater numbers heads

The golden Sun, the silver rain
Falls free upon the Earth
And ants who learn geometry
May fly for all they're worth.

REJ:- Hmmm.....I preferred you in the wilderness -

Idris:- It's a money spider.

Monday, 18 April 2016

Holy Text

Self-abasing over head projector humble-modest alter ego unreflective abject-simple, chaste-but-never-caught, pudic anotherwordformodest, Vicar of Christ on Earth, Francis Saint dolittle, has a friend so clever, you wouldn't believe it. But fortunately faith is not required, for although the mechanism of transmission is beyond the feeble proddings of science, the message itself comes through loud and clear, and understanding of the magic medium is not required to hear the magic message, so generously translated...

Fsd:- 'In my Father's house are many rooms. And a rather nice ceiling I don't look at too closely.' -

Fsd:- 'In fact there are so many spare rooms - perhaps as many as 12! - it's enough to make Mr. Osborne cry. But one shouldn't cry in church on happy occasions.' -

Fsd:- 'My friend is clever beyond your comprehension. And He has revealed to me, that there is inequality on Earth. For mysterious reasons, poverty breeds despair and descent into fantasy. Here you will find the church ever happy to help.' -

Fsd:- 'Some people have been meekly inheriting vast fortunes in property and money, and using shady accounting to avoid tax. Blood is thicker than water, and avoiding inheritance tax is only infanticidal if you count other people's children, often far away.' -

Fsd:- 'Concentrate, and see the miracle of undiluted blood from water, - transparently the Spirit of dilution of responsibility at work.' -

Fsd:- 'Infanticide is objectively wrong, and anyone who builds their house on...sorry there's a bit of interference....anyone who builds their church on.....sorry I'm going through a tunnel.....Oooh! look at the light!....anyone who by their fruits is a servant of.....sorry, who is this?!' -

*number withheld*

Tuesday, 15 March 2016

Pome for the day


or is it?


*the sound of no button*

REJ:- Wel, I see from my quadrophonic twatphone, mined by a child slave in Congo, assembled by a yellow slave in China, and hawked at 5000% by a 'genius' we are all to admire, that someone I don't quite know, has had breakfast this morning. Marvellous what they can do.

Sioned says she always keeps her inbox tidy, especially after that virus. You should see her spam folder - I can't remember the last time it was full. etc. I'msorryIhaven'taclue what I'm writing. Gadewch i ni have the pome:-

We've had Empires ruled by Emperors,
And Kingdoms ruled by Kings,
Now Countries politician-run -
The silly rhyming things

And history repeats the times
We don't come to our senses
I only put this quatrain in
To save me changing tenses:-

A farmer grows a bumper crop
- The world enriched in wealth -
Well that was nice, but what the price?
- Collapsed just like his health

A tender fuels the steam machine
And mining is the goal
But wait! - the less he shovels in
The more he's left with coal

A banker plays the fruit machine
He's bought a dodgy token
He ends up bust, take this on trust:-
The house wins, never broken

An expert surely touched by God
Hallucinates World debt
And so we pray, and wisely pay
The absent martians yet

When someone tells you something's hard
And you should look away
It might be that they can't explain
Quite half the things they say.

REJ:- Da iawn Idris. But you couldn't be bothered to change the tenses and make it chronological -

Idris:- I would for a fee -

REJ:- And that's just the farmer from Macbeth, isn't it? -

Idris:- No, it's a different one, just suffering from a similarly inevitably disastrous increase in wealth -

REJ:- Hang on, I'm meant to be the idiot -

Idris:- Something tells me you can still do it -

REJ:- Idris bach! What rhymes with politician? Duw! you really must think before you write, isn't it?! -

Idris:- So an accent makes you an idiot does it? -

REJ:- No, I think it was more missing the rhyme. Anyway, are you going to get into character? I can't do this on my own you know -

Idris:- It's been so long I can't remember who I is. I'll just be an artist type. Say something stupid to cue me in -

REJ:- And Idris! the coal! awful dirty llwch glo indeed! You don't be wanting to speed up the machine with irresponsible shovellings now do you? - you'll dig it all out! There'll be none left -

Idris:- Not really, Richard. You see it was a metaphor -

REJ:- Wel, it would be fiscally impru - I mean - Diawl! it's not easy being an idiot -

Idris:- Try being an artist. Oooh! I know. The coal. *ahem!* Richard! I bring you riches beyond your imagination, and you see only dust! Every word is holy, rent from my very soul. They glitter! I transmute the leaden into gold! The coal becomes the diamond only under the most enormous pressure! The sharpest cuts! Only the sharpest cuts may make the most brilliant shine! The multifaceted reflection radiates a preternatural light illuminating a butterfly broken on the wheel of words that - *Clunk!*.....*Oooof!* -

REJ:- Wel, that's broken it. I never got the hang of it anyway. Screen split clean in half! - a broken fairground mirror. For God and Country.

Thursday, 10 March 2016

Equity Release

The price of any finite resource uncapped will tend towards infinite, the price of any infinite resource will tend towards zero. And all extending tautologies in like proportion. We find the Sun currently charges us £0 per unit of energy. This is surely a disastrous price, leaving God no taxable income to pay His telepathy bill. But maybe He has hedged His shares.

The corporation that is a Lily, on closer consideration, toils under the Sun unto Death, and has done so ever since being new. It is taxed at every step of entropy, to be redistributed in wider society, of which it has been suggested there is no such thing.

Sellers prefer high prices, buyers prefer low prices - we can but wonder why - but all agree such fuel is ultimately best placed in large overground bunkers known as property, to remain unused, as recommended by any misreading of the parable of the talents.

To pay for land once, - when it is already there - is absurd, to pay for it infinitely begs forgiveness beyond humanity. Perhaps this money could be better spent, without the Earth vanishing. But what profit a man if he loses the whole world? Perhaps, if not paid for infinitely, all houses would instantly fall down, like the walls of Jericho, as play those with the loudest trumpets. We need not dance like rats to this fantasy Pied Piper.

Fleas who have successfully hallucinated they own the dog, by divine right of ancestry, and not a little wrath when questioned, require the backing of force when childish superstition alone will not suffice. The shorthand of the law has proved effective, and all the world's their stage as long as we each play our scripted part.

The free flow of capital across borders renders the concept of a country subject to fluctuation, and open to economic blackmail so long as it is smaller than all the other countries in the world combined. Lines drawn in the sandpit of humanity prove chimeric as the illusory line between public/private, albeit fun for football, both with and without guns.

Equity release is most simply effected by a cap on private wealth. Earth and Sun is - near enough - a closed system, and capital can not yet fly very far into space. Maximum wealth is so capped by Physics. Individuals successfully imagining themselves against being subject to such a cap, have not noticed they already are, and might find it impractical to move to a Martian tax haven. Landlords may find it difficult to leave, and 'take their geography with them'. There is no need to remain subject to such revealing threats. The lower the cap, the greater the automatic redistribution. History tells us automatic is preferable to human whim. Evolution tells us the algorithm required can fit in the brain of an ant. Ants weigh more than humans, if you add them all together. This could be said to be a successful economic model, achieved some billion years ago. Perhaps things are clearer without emotion.

Evolution is gene economics, and we have our model perfectly 1:1 with reality, iterated over billions of years. It remains inherently unpredictable, as determinism contains freedoms unrealised by Calvin, but what happened is a matter of record. One need only read the book of life. We can know where the wealth has accumulated. Greater equality, via redistribution is better, by all inter-subjective consensus definitions of better. First there was the word. We are merely extending tautologies of a circular truism, against which therefore, there can be no coherent argument.

Centrally planned haircuts look immediately awful. Free market haircuts, a decade later. So be it with fashionable economic theory. There have been no wealth creators. Wealth creation would require supernatural ability. Meta-wealth creation is greatest via technology, of which intellectual property is invalid, since none can claim authorship of their brain. Let this equity be released also.

The final circular truism is that human law is written by humans. Thus it may be written better. 'Thou shalt not steal', and 'thou shalt not covet' were lines commissioned by persons of property. Today it is written 'the politics of envy'. Such scribes were ever for hire. Break the spell, and Justice may be written.

All humans immigrate into the world, as economic migrants from the womb, and promptly seek asylum at the nearest breast. Imprinted as the ugly duckling, both symbiosis and parasitism sound the same, and swans a fairy-tale for quacks. Yet all shall write the future, knowingly or not, the script is not yet written. Increasing economic apartheid continues the most shameful chapter in the book of humanity. Yet all that binds us, and all that is required to set us free, ultimately, are mere ideograms on a slice of a tree. Noticing this fact is worth - literally - all the money in the world.

Friday, 4 March 2016

Eurodisney II

Pierre has 5 europounds and 10 europounds worth of Camembert.
Peter has 10 europounds and 5 europounds worth of Cheddar.

Pierre sells his Camembert to Peter for 10 europounds.
Peter sells his Cheddar to Pierre for 5 europounds.

Pierre had 15 europounds of money and goods.
Peter had 15 europounds of money and goods.

Pierre now has 15 europounds of money and goods.
Peter now has 15 europounds of money and goods.

All perfectly balanced.

But wait!

Peter's imported goods = 10 europounds.
Peter's exported goods = 5 europounds.

Peter now has a 'balance of trade deficit' of 5 europounds!