Not Every Wound Heals

Don't Call Me Scarface!!

Si, is the very lovely late actress Vanessa Redgrave, who I think was die last week because I see a tribute to her on the BIFTAS. Here in this picture she is also dying, but just pretend dying, in the role of the socialite Isadora Dunkin, who was invent not just the modern dance but also the scarf, autoerotic asphyxiation, and the donut. And although she was American, she had two Irish children, Deirdre and Patrick, so she was not all bad. And also although most right-thinking people said when she died that she had it coming, the way she was carrying on, ignoring health and safety, being decadent, dancing on peoples' graves, and so on, we must not forget her legacy. Or her armacy. In his poem Isadora Dunkin, Carl Sandburg, the fascist poet, wrote

"The wind? I am the wind. The sea and the moon? I am the sea and the moon. Tears, pain, love, bird-flights? I am all of them. I dance what I am. Sin, prayer, flight, the light that never was on land or sea? I dance what I am."

She was a Cristiano Ronaldo for the flappy generation.

I was remind of Isadora when I see Vanessa's obituary on satellite television last week (with the sound off, I admit; I thought I had hear burglars outside, but it turn out just to be the wind. And the sea and the moon) and I was led to reflect on not just what an unhappy year it have been for Vanessa, what with dying and all, but also how tough life must have been for her in general, born into a world of privilege and good fortune and famousness only to see all her dreams shatted like broken mirrors in a grotty West End cabaret night club urinal. Not just the loss of her extremely gorgeous and sexy daughter Miranda—who will forget her Queen Victoria in Blackadder?—but also the fall of the Soviet Union, the implosion of her Troskyite Workers Revolutionary Party, and the triumph of her estranged brother Steve at four separate Olympic Gameses. But it was not just Vanessa's life that I was reflect on. It was all of us's lives. Si. We all have such moments of despair and failure and abjection and humiliation and unsuccessful coverups in our lives, don't we not? Sometimes it is the end of a beautiful long-term relationship with a member of the opposite sex, unsullied by carnal knowledge and resplendent in its many hours of mutual contemplation of the Divine, terminated only by the cruel hand of MI5. Other times it is the death of a younger sibling with whom one has shared intimate biological secrets and become a kind of plaything to one another in a way that some people might think is improper but which you was see nothing wrong with at the time and so what? We was both condescending adults. Other times again it is when you are caught with half a dog in your freezer. What was all that about?

When I am have undressed myself of an evening and before I say my prayers and climb onto my bed, sometimes I am catch site of myself in the full-length mirror on the ceiling. And though I am often take my own breath away with my majesty, even without glasses on and though I am very diminutive, even still I can make out, under all my fur, the various and numerous scars that I have acquire over my 56 year on this appalling loathsome planet. The dent on the top of my head where the skip of rabbits fell on me as I pursued escaped Nazis through the backstreets of São Paulo (I was only trying to give them their paintings back!); the pockmarks where Dick Cheney shot me in the face with a BB gun while showing off to some girls sat on the wall by the shops—he claims it was an accident, but if so why did he do it repeatedly?; the delicate cicatrix on my neck where the surgeon removed my first face; the mass of blisters around my crotch that will never go away, no matter how hard I scrub; and, of course, my stigmata, which I am wear with pride but also use as a sex aid, and also to scare children, and also also to settle arguments about where the nails went in Jesus and to prove they had guns in those days (there are still bits of shrapnel in the wound on my side).

Our scars are thus a way of telling our life story, a kind of chronological moonscape, particularly if you have a pimply arse. But a pimply arse is not the hole story. For the body has such remarkable powers of renewal that all the outward, visible imperfections are neverthenonetheless repaired, testimony to the genius of our creator, and also doctors. There always remain unhealed, unrepaired, internal scars. These are mental scars, scars of the soul. And sadly, as was point out by the bishop of San Sebastián, José Ignacio Munilla, recently in relation to Haiti, these scars are more permanent, more real, and much bigger scars than any mere physical wounds, amputations, decapitations, or cuts and bruises. They are cause by consumerism, materialism, communism, and they consist in jealousy, envy, pride, lust, gluttony, indolence, disobedience, septicism, and science.

I am not here today to tell you what the answer is. You are already know what the answer is. The questions is, what is the question?

Between a Rock Salmon and a Hard Plaice

Seriously, though, who is going to read all that?

I think it was the ancient Greek philosopher Epididymis who was said, "Woe be unto him who is know not what he has got. For his neighbour will be livid when he catch it off him." At the time, he was talking about the pneubonic plague that was wipe out all the Athenians escept for Thucydides, the historian famous for his Peloponnesian Wars but who should be better remember for his impressive immune system. And it is an immune system that Europe is need right now to protect it from the latest version of the swine flu, which being cause by the PIGS, which is also the countries that make up the so-called Club Meg, namely, Paris, Indigo, Scotland, and Greece. In that order.

Last week it was the peoples of Athens, those crazy Greeks again, who was making the protests, waving the red flags, walking five yards ahead of a steam engine, and shouting "This is Greece, not Iceland. We have Maps to Prove It!" Their main complain was the IMF, a well-known international cabal and also a nest of vipers, was planning to step in and make the Greeks run their economy properly, whereas the Greeks was saying "Let me have a look at your shopping list, IMF. Look here. You have 2 kilos of frozen prawns, one lobster, two bags of oven chips, one Black Forest gateau, and 60 bags of vol au vents. We do not do frozen seafood, only fresh. You are in the wrong country." And so they was send off the IMFs with a flea in their ear and very unhappy with Garmin altogether.

It was a narrow squeal for the Greeks and also a sign that the Germans have still not learn to read maps, which is what led to all that trouble over Poland. For it is the Germans once again who are the most concern about what goes on in other peoples' countries and think they could do things better if they was in charge. Angela Merkel is pulling out her hair at the incompetence of all those foreingers who keep ruining Germany's destiny. They are put her in a very stiff predicament; whichever way she turns, she is in ein pickle. Probably a schickelgruber. Lovely.

For here is her dilemmma: On the one hand, Germany can refuse to help the Greece and other PIGGING countries from surviving financially, which would make sense from a German financial points of view. It would send a sign to everyone that Germany is no longer going to be the whippy boy of Europe, pushed around for far too long, having his pocklet money stolen by ne'er-do-well atheist communists with their liberal spendthrift corrupt necrony capitalisms. Beside, Greece is just a piddling economy which account for about .000003 of the the eurozone's gross domestic product. Nobody would notice if it fell into the sea and ended up as thousands of small, pretty islands starring Meryl Streep. The problem is, however, that the currant crisis in Europe is also about Germany's future. Angela Merkel know that even though Germany is the master race, as a country it does not come anywhere near the strength of the perfidious masonic United States or communist atheist China, or even, in the long run, sexy Brazil or journalist-murdering Russia. Merkel is being told by her gnomes of Berlin that Germany's place on the world stage is being usurped; instead of being the leading female in costume she is becoming an extra with no lines and not even miming. The only way to remedy this is to make the Europe strong again, with Germany pulling the strings, and also being in charge of the lighting and directing.

However, if she is to bail out the Greece, Merkel then is face the opposite problem. If she bail out one, why not the rest? Because she cannot afford it you cheeky bastard. Beside, the Germans are not going to want to have to pay for all the indolence of the Mediterranean countries just because they want to laze on the beach in the sunshine all day. You should try living in Hamburg, you Latino ingrate. The only way Germany could bail out all the PIGS is if it was go to the IMF after all, caps in hand, to ask for help. Which is where we all came in in the first place. Without a map!

I know that it is hardly necessary for me to point out to my reader, but Greece was never have this problem when the Colonels was run the country. In fact, the good news is that I am already hear from some of my old comrades in Spanish intelligence that a military takeover is being discuss in some circles as a way to resolve this crisis and keep the Greek workers' demands to a minimum. A curfew always does wonders for a country's balance sheet, for some reason, which is always struck me as strange; where is everyone shopping? Perhaps they are all on Amazon, using their credit cards. I think that is esplain everything.

Besos

Is the Vilence of the Rams!!

Si! Is Sylvester Stallion as Ramboy!

I am have been particularly sicken this week by reading the papers. Reading the papers was always make me sick, but this week the sick was coming out my nostrils, especially when I was read this story about ladies in Manchester, England, being sprayed by a man who throws his animal semen over them in a plastic bag.

I am hope you are not eating your breakfast!

According to the police, the young man who is spraying the girls secretes the semen about his body, then creep up on them and spray them with it. Well, I am not know about you, but the only thing that I secrete about my body is sweat, sebum, pus, testosterones, toblerones, eastergens, and occasionally the odd bottle of brandy the morning after I have had a particular late night playing bridge with the archbishop and his crones. One thing I am never secrete is animal semen. But I know where you can get some.

For a long time now, as my reader will know, I have been warning the whole world about the dangers of genetic modificification. These attacks on innocent female Manchestrians are just the short end of the wenge, I promise you. I am not know how this young man, let us call him Ramboy because I have a copyright on it, have become genetically modificated—he was probly the result of some esperiment on an island with Malcolm McDowell in it run by a mad genius Jewish scientist trying to make nondrip honey—but the fact of the matter is that we had already gone much too far down the line years ago when we learned how to insert camel genes into brie, moth genes into Ford Fiestas, paper genes into chimpanzees, and wasps into amber. Mankind's hubris is know no Bounce. You mark my words; they will all come out in the wash.

The big problem with the genetic modificification is that it undermine Nature, which was create by God to function in a particular way. Consider the GM crops, for esample, which we are being told by Monsanto and Monsanto-sponsored politicians will stop people from starving. This is totally against Nature! People are meant to starve. Is an incentive for them to go to Church. Once you start feeding people who should rightly be dead, Heaven will be empty! Jesus will probly return to Earth again NOT because it is time for the Second Coming but because he have no one to talk to!

I have discuss this issue many times of a Saturday afternoon, when I am get together with my comrades at the Playa Blanca Falangist Pot Luck Dinner and Prayer Meet (and march past), where many of my friends who are much further to the right of me try to reassure me. They are only being kind, I know, which is so unlike them. Manolo, they are say to me, you are fail to understand basic economics. Companies like Monsanto are profit-driven and are therefore motivate to drive all naturally occurring species that they do not have a patent to out of existence. They are want all patents to species to be in private ownership so that they can make money from them. You may think this is a bad thing, but you are forget that the free market is run on the basis of supply and demand, NOT supply and need. Only those people who have money will be able to buy Monsanto seeds, and because they are Terminator seeds, the customers have to keep come back every year for new ones. The peoples who have no money will still starve to death and go to Heaven. So you see you have nothing to worry about. The Free Market will do God's work for Him!

I am not yet convince, myself. While I see an opportunity here for the Church to intervene when the Poor and Needy are throw themselves upon its mercy and charity, it irks me greatly that these days the Church's customer base is so . . . hmm, como se dice, . . . well . . . so poor. The Church, after all, was not amass all its great wealth and glory by ministering to the Poor. It was do so by wielding great political power and being able to estort money from the rich people, too, who were scared of going to Hell. That way the Church could go on Crusades to save the souls of heathens and infidels and get them to surrender all their worldly goods, too, and follow the Lord. The way I am see it, the free market just complicate things. The world would be a far simpler place if everyone was just do what I tell them. That is the virtue of dictatorship.

But will they listen? Will they?

I am not know. I haven't ask them. I am too shy.