Sunday, October 25, 2009

white horses

The act of wielding even a virtual pen can be cathartic, for sure. The act of discharging it like a weapon - a greasegun - might even be exhilirating.

But. We all pay allegiance to a nominal form of self-censorship at the very least. I falter with a foot in both camps; less is more, undoubtably, and sometimes less is worse than nothing at all.

I constantly hover - like the best of us - on the dial. I am as prone to prevaricate as a motherf@cker.

And still. It is that act of wavering which lets the worm off the hook even as the net hoovers up the innocent. I have had a bellyful of the sanctimonius - anonymous - in recent weeks, let me just say; enough third form juvenile chest-beating to tempt one to pick up a cosh. Where the f@ck do these c*nts find the nerve ? Between choosing to stand up in the stirrups and mouthing off a liturgy ?

F@ck 'em and the pristine white horse they rode in on.

I didn't get to my age - pardon my rat's whiskers - without confronting arch self-righteousness when it raises its contorted head. Dress yourself up like Sid Vicious and I might just kick you in the f@cking face. Clad yourself in robes and I might piss all over your sackcloth.

The high ground is not secured through weekend free minutes. You don't fortuitously land on it by leaping to conclusions; you don't f@cking scale the perimeter by playing go-between. And I don't relish being sermonised at, 2nd or 3rd hand, by an ill informed novice stuffed full of certitudes.

Don't be too hasty in raising the blade. In the end even Robespierre jawed off his head.

Go f@cking hug a tree the next time you want to get off. I've hugged several, we all think that we're the first, and I'm still waiting for the grass to grow.
Over my hooves. Under my shoes.

To summarize - in the clearing, after burning - suck my crushed white chalk.

JACKIE LEE: WHITE HORSES from "White Horses" 45 (Philips) 1968 (UK)



@eloh said...

Wow, I saw "white horses" and came running to see what song you had up.

I don't think I've ever had an anonymous comment, but I think I have quite by accident have some button or another pushed that may not allow it. Find that button and push it. Any fuck that has to hide, I don't need to hear from.

The world is full of douche bags and assholes. I just hope that in my youth I wasn't either. I am, unfortuneately quite the asshole in my old age.

I try very hard to be a decent asshole, I fall short but I soldier on.

Maybe you should realize that whatever is being said to you is a full out complement. The sorry douche is reading your stuff and pulling his hand off his pecker long enough to type...that has to be an inconvience.

You don't have to read the peckerheads crap, just delete it...and sooner or later some old asshole like me will show up from a long nap-a-thon and leave you a heart felt thank you for your blog and music worth sharing.

ib said...

Hey. Thank you, @eloh.

Well, I did find that button and pressed it, but I hit it twice... Much as I have little but contempt for the anonymous, I can't help but feeling annoyed at myself for imposing some kind of censorship.

I'm a bit of a combustible fart from time to time (read much of the time) and I am wont to rant. More often than not, I am given to regret it after the event; but, shit, better out than in...

The thing which irked me, honestly, is that I have a suspicion I know Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous. Not a regular here, certainly, but someone with an axe to grind. And somebody sadly deluded at that.

Anyhow. Jackie Lee was - is ? - a Dublin born singer. The song was the theme for a kids tv show here which ran from the late '60's into the early '70's. I've always been rather fond of it.

I've always been fond of horses too. From a distance. Up close, I have a healthy respect for them.

Always a pleasure to hear from you.

Your driver said...

Hey Ib, You know you have the option to ban anonymous comments? It's somewhere in the controls, what Blogger calls The Dashboard.

There's a way around that, but I won't reveal it.

You can also make all posts subject to your approval. Our mutual friends, Misters Hockey and Nomad have that set up.

Anonymous is just jealous because you are such a cool guy with such a classy readership.

Truly, some of these rants from you, I'd love to hear you read them out loud. They seem like spoken word pieces.

ib said...

Actually, that's not a bad idea; maybe all of us recording a few bits and pieces as spoken word.

Vaguely challenging, perhaps. I would probably need a good deal of self lubrication.

@eloh said...

Yeah Jon...I feel like a class act today. I've found the NEED to put my thoughts on douchebags in print twice today...but I only said fuck once....oh shit make that twice too.

Your driver said...

On several occasions today, I spoke complete sentences that did not include the word fuck. On several other occasions I only used the word fuck once in a complete sentence.

Ib, you have a classy readership, or, as Johnny Paycheck once said,

"Splendor? Lord you've got it. Wall to wall."

Löst Jimmy said...

A while back I was pestered by a faceless scoundrel.

Cancel out the Anon by pressing the moderate comments button, that'll starve his/her oxygen of publicity as it were.

Nevertheless your rant was sublime!

ib said...

Thanks, Löst Jimmy. I still retain a mild aversion to switching on the "call barring".

For years, I would comment anonymously, albeit signing off from within. I just could not get my head around registering a blogger id. As simple as that. Emmett over on Art Decade will vouch for me on that one.

In hindsight, I am almost dismayed that it took so long to provoke such ardent hostility. On the whole, most of those individuals who have been prompted to enter feedback here have almost uniformly been polite or positive. With one or two notable asinine exceptions.

Like Mary Whitehouse, it would seem, the ones who become a thorn in one's side are those who are clearly incapable of simply switching the channel. Or channeling their efforts into maintaining a site of their own.

It's a bit like unilaterally undertaking the painting of a communal area. The first to protest are the very same who bitched so eloquently with regard to the graffiti and the filth.