I am a very fortunate man, and I have been endowed with that many Christians in here will say is a God-given gift. Well, that’s okay with me, I don’t mind where it stems from; God, nurture, nature, experience or whatever – this gift for writing that I have. When a thing or an event; a stray thought or a word; a post or a comment in Blogit, I’m of like a hound after a hare, and it’s almost an unconscious thing, or something outside of me that makes a chaos of half-formed words fall in like... Sign in to see full entry.
I am depressed, and a little sad this morning: wondering just what I’m doing here in Blogit, and I’m asking myself this question; why does one write? Others of course have their own many and varied reasons, but my raisond’etre, writing what I do is to have my voice heard, which it clearly isn’t. At least, not on any rewarding scale. In my writing – even in much of my poetry and short fiction – mine is the voice of tolerance and respect for others; a voice speaking out in an objective fashion... Sign in to see full entry.
The modern liberal mind rightly recoils in revulsion from the very notion of slavery; of first depriving fellow humans of their liberty, then exerting total powers of life and death over them. Forcing the enslaved into unpaid labour, often in degrading conditions, and imposing at whim barbarous punishments upon them is rightly considered a violation of every concept of a civilized society. But using this revulsion to further one’s own political or religious agenda is in itself a form of slavery... Sign in to see full entry.
This was written three years before the publication of “ Eats, Shoots and Leaves ”, by that erudite sylvan goddess, Lynn Truss. That it was a best-selling book heartens me greatly! All, it seems, is not lost! It wasn’t so bad when there were only a few of them about: and they were all in their correct place. But then they became more numerous; became almost the norm; then a veritable plague. It seemed to be impossible for anyone to keep them in their place; worse nobody seemed to care about them... Sign in to see full entry.
It would be insulting to one’s fellow bloggers to state or to imply that there is a strand of anti-Semitism in Blogit, and I make no such accusation. Although it does seem that the ancient canard that there exists some mysterious Jewish oligarchy running the American economy is clearly alive and kicking in some quarters. What I do witness, distressingly frequently, are violently expressed, extremist political opinions, and blatant racism, and this post is designed to show where such extremist... Sign in to see full entry.
n.b. No doubt even British readers will be confused by all the prices quoted in these post – let alone American readers! But please bear with me, for I shall elucidate them by putting them firmly within the context of the then cost of living in each post. MUDLARKS On the very bottom rung of the hierarchy of poverty were the “ Mudlarks ”: a gruesomely inappropriate nickname, for their work was far from being a lark; its rewards so meagre that it was pursued exclusively by old people and young... Sign in to see full entry.
To avoid confusing the reader who is unfamiliar with the British coinage of the time, I shall explain the value of various transactions as they occur in the text, until the reader becomes familiar with the terms. No attempt is made to translate the value of 19 th century British money into modern British or American terms. The only valid measure of poverty or affluence is the comparison of the cost of such necessities as housing, clothing and food with an individual’s earnings; and on this... Sign in to see full entry.
It is probably highly unusual ( and, perhaps a little unethical? ) to repost a piece that one has written a mere few weeks ago. But, in mitigation, I plead exceptional circumstances, Your Honour, my Lord Blogit. Since I posted “ Lurkers”, a lot of writing has flowed under the bridge, and it is now buried deep in the bowels of my blog, where only the most dedicated trawler can find it. I unearth it from its watery grave, and dry it off before the fire for reposting, because I think that it’s... Sign in to see full entry.
A few weeks ago, I posted a piece about the worst curse that a published writer has to face ( that was its title ) in which I noted that so very, very often people who have commented on my writing seem hardly to have actually read what I wrote. Either that or they choose not to, and as I noted, simply use my article as a peg on which to hang their own views. I find this in readers’ letters in the correspondence columns of the magazines that I write for here in Spain. Of course, like just about... Sign in to see full entry.
On the old London General Omnibus Company’s buses, ( before my time! ) there were notices which read “ Gentlemen do not spit. Others must not. ”. Well, gentlefolk no longer refer to non-whites as niggers, spics, kikes, dagos or Chinks etc., and it’s right that they should strongly discourage non-gentlefolk from doing so. But, you see, this isn’t enough. No, we white folk are so irredeemably evil that our governments have to harangue us; have to bully and browbeat us, and have to legislate us... Sign in to see full entry.
I wrote this poem the day after the Madrid bombings in 2004, and I post it now, because I think it fits nicely as a prologue to part 3 of The Fatuity of Guilt. Not only that, but I’m sure that there are some bloggers out there who’re going to cry “ Racism” on reading what I’ve written there, and this might counter that charge. What made me your enemy? What made my wife your foe? Why do you hate my daughter? Why would you slay my son? It was not I who took your land: nor your wife by my wife... Sign in to see full entry.
One is not blind to all the evils that white people have in past inflicted upon other races, and it is legitimate to deplore them, but, I repeat the questions that I posed in part 1: why should I feel any guilt at the actions of my ancestors, over which I personally had no control? And why should I fell guilty at the actions of my fellow whites over whom I have no control? We are made slaves to the irrational and manipulative minds of those who instil guilt in us: these guilt-mongers among the... Sign in to see full entry.
One is not blind to all the evils that white people have in past inflicted upon other races, and it is legitimate to deplore them, but, I repeat the questions that I posed in part 1: why should I feel any guilt at the actions of my ancestors, over which I personally had no control? And why should I fell guilty at the actions of my fellow whites over whom I have no control? We are made slaves to the irrational and manipulative minds of those who instil guilt in us: these guilt-mongers among the... Sign in to see full entry.
One is not blind to all the evils that white people have in past inflicted upon other races, and it is legitimate to deplore them, but, I repeat the questions that I posed in part 1: why should I feel any guilt at the actions of my ancestors, over which I personally had no control? And why should I fell guilty at the actions of my fellow whites over whom I have no control? We are made slaves to the irrational and manipulative minds of those who instil guilt in us: these guilt-mongers among the... Sign in to see full entry.
… and the iniquity of forcing it on others. In this post, my attention is focused mainly Britain and her history, but of course what is written here applies to people – especially the poor – of all countries For the obvious reason of brevity, I omit any reference to Asian countries. Reading many of the posts, and in Blogit, and the comments thereon, one is often given an overwhelming impression that some people are so mired with guilt in their past that they permit it to poison their present;... Sign in to see full entry.
n.b. Will anyone wishing to leave a comment on this post please note that I make no reference to President Bushs’ current domestic policies; nor do I offer any judgement for or against them, for they are a wholly different subject, and well beyond the scope of this post. Therefore any reference to them can have limited, or no relevance to what I have written here. As I noted in the first part of this post, although there was a rough parity of evil between the warring factions in the Balkan wars... Sign in to see full entry.
In a previous post, I noted how misleading it is to call the Republican Party, and it’s sympathisers “ conservatives”, and the Democrat Party, and its supporters “ liberals”, but that notwithstanding one must adhere to these appellations for the sake of clarity. For how else will American readers identify who exactly I’m writing about? Here in Blogit I note in many posts two myths, which one must assume by now are pretty well entrenched in liberal and left-liberal American opinion. The first is... Sign in to see full entry.
This poem, and the other pieces from which it sprang is one of the most intriguing pieces that I have ever written. Not normally a believer in supernatural visitations, nor in spectral voices in my head, in my sleep, it seemed to me that one night that I heard a girl's voice speaking in a language that I did not understand. I have since come to think that this language was in fact Spanish; and this poem seemed to spring fully-formed into my mind, so that on the following morning, I simply had to... Sign in to see full entry.
For a time the people rejoiced in the copious flow of water from the rocks, but gratitude kindles but a small and transient flame in the hearts of men: as fleeting as his memory of past gifts. And as the years unrolled the people forgot how it came to pass that in all that sun seared land; that land of dust and savage clime, alike at Yuletide as at Lammastide, there was but one place where water was to be found, and that in the fountain of Candelas. But one there was one: young Don Miguel, who... Sign in to see full entry.
Candelas’s father had kept her close immured, and in due time she had been brought to bed with child. No word would she speak of the infant’s sire: not promise nor threat; not plea nor demand; not rage nor pity would move her from her silence. The lovers had guarded well their secret trysts in that secluded bower, such that none ever knew who was the infant’s sire. But in the travails of childbirth; in her anguish she confided in her women what she alone had done. She it was, she said, who had... Sign in to see full entry.