Monday, April 03, 2006

Back shortly

Bit busy here getting ready for me hols later in the week but I'll pop in before I go.

Meanwhile, if you're looking for something amusing to read Lenin has a fun piece where HP, Norm and myself are burning witches, going on 'Viking Jihads' and all sorts of stuff for taking issue with you know who.

Since he's done me the courtesy of treating the offending piece more seriously than intended, I should return the compliment and attempt to treat his more seriously than perhaps is either wise or possible. Really have to get on just now, though....

Update: Hmmm, nope - on reflection, it still isn't possible to take Lenin's piece any more seriously than one could before. The charge of misogyny has to be discarded due to lack of anything resembling evidence, my brother.

The rest seems to be as a result of a complete collapse of his once evident sense of humour and an extraordinary blindness regarding his own emotional state. Pointless engaging with the actual substance of his post - in as far as it is possible to identify any: Lenin doesn't bother to actually read and understand what those he disagrees with have written, so there's no reason to think this occasion should be any different. And despite what he may think, one lacks the animosity that travels through his blood-stream like adrenalin, so I'll conserve precious energy and refrain from any attempt at Enlightenment. This only upsets.

This leaves us only with his humourless and vain-glorious attempt to present himself as the voice of objective reason. It's the same spirit of rationality that can be seen in this charming piece where he refers to a lovely passage coined in an earlier post, celebrating the election of George Galloway in the most heart-warming fashion:

"Anyway. For a while, I shall be rubbing the faces of Nick Cohen, Johann Hari, David "I give them a year" Aaronovitch and Harry's Place in the shit. Smell it, you fuckers, and feel this hate."
The prompting is unnecessary of course - in Lenin's writing, hatred oozes out of every space in the syntax, the vocabulary expanding in cubic proportions whenever insults are being dispensed. One senses that his lexicon of adjectives would almost completely collapse if he had to search for words to describe what he found good, lovely and beautiful in this world of ours.

We shall leave the second-last word to him:
"I am not a flat, humourless oaf."
Ah, for the confidence of youth; exhilarating yet so often leads to embarrassment in retrospect. You can minimise this if you learn to say: Physican - heal thyself. For you imagine yourself to be some master surgeon cutting away the dead-weight of deception from people's souls. But Father Time has told me that herein lies the road to heart-break.

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