New revolutionary short film regarding the decline of the tie, the City of London, the decivilising process & medieval torture…
Archive for the North London Category
South London has many enemies. North London. The British Imperialist State. Postmodernists. Spanish Royalists. The old bill. Milton Keynes. Smart-Alec satirists like Chris Morris. The hitherto unrealised threat of SS Zombies.
But if there’s one threat that appalls me most, it’s the drug threat.
Too many times I’ve seen a potential freedom fighter drugbuggered in a fuckshop doorway, startled, halucinating, begging for le coup de grâce…
Too many times I’ve spent myself in the desperate mouth of some wide-eyed crackwhore. A wasted potential wife and mother of revolutionary cannonfodder. Tragic…
It’s heartbreaking for a revolutionary nationalist to see his people end up like this. Every drug-related death in South London is a splattering of vomit-choke on the sacred transpontine flag.
Over the last decade I have been involved in numerous anti-drug efforts within our glorious half-city.
Transpontine Anti-Rectal Transportation (TART) was a movement aimed at raising awareness and general panic about the smuggling of drugs by placing “packages” (packages of drugs) in the anus of a drugmule who would then fly into Gatwick and spread drugfilth round South London.
South London: Achtung! Coke Kills (SLACK) was another awareness-raising drive centering around the white powdered devil, cocaine. Briefly reached the nationals after we staged the death of a 6 year old girl in Camberwell. (NB: allegations that I stole the money raised in Liverpool following the girl’s “death” were never proven, so please stop e-mailing me about it).
Heroin Only Troubles Proletarians And Not The Suburbs (HOTPANTS) is a brave and on-going campaign loosely inspired by Theodore W. Adorno. It is aimed at protecting South London’s revolutionary heartlands from “smack” whilst encouraging it to run riot like a syringed demon through our decadently bourgeois outskirts (Richmond, Purley etc.) so that it may encourage the creation of an elite revolutionism akin to the hedonistic culture of Weimar Berlin. Or, at the very least, stop the fuckers voting Tory.
But now, the drugs have evolved. And so must our efforts.
Here’s our new enemy: http://www.i-doser.com/ Looks silly, doesn’t it…? Might even be a practical joke. But it isn’t. These sick geek bastards have somehow managed to digitize the effects of various drugfucks into mp3 audio files, which they sell. And not only sell, but sell AT A PRICE.
So, what happens? i-Dosers, as the addicts are known, lay motionless – presumably starkers naked as well – with headphones on while listening to some crazy shit called “binaural sound clips” from the online filthdealer, for 10-minute periods. Possibly more. Give them time and I’m sure we’ll hear reports of whole fortnights spent drugfucked listening to a Wagnerian Ring Cycle of bleepbleepbleep braincraze. And just imagine the pressure sores from the headphones.
And how long until the phrase overidose comes into usage? Well, there it is. I’ve fucking coined it.
Here’s a video of a young man getting headfucked off his tits…
Doesn’t look fun, does it kids?!!
So, come on my transpontine motherfuckers! We need to do something about this latest threat to our revolutionary potential. E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org (I’ll have the drugfilter ON) and we’ll arrange the trashing of a computer shop.
I’m going to spend the weekend going round South London throwing a warm blanket round anyone with headphones and then take them to the temporary i-Doser Rehabilitation & Re-Education Unit at the Anarcho-Situationist Commune.
Peace & Love. And a War on Drugs.
Note: Mr. Moneypenny would like to state that cannabis, marijuana, skunk, funky cigarettes etc. are NOT drugs. They are important parts of our transpontine culture, and to fight against it is akin to genocide. And Mr. Moneypenny would like to further rally against recent allegations that he got very stoned the other night on a mere half of a small joint. That is an insult to his Caribbean heritage.
The British Imperial puppet authorities finally issued the “results of investigation” in which they groundlessly linked the case of the death of the Thames Whale with the revolutionary will of South London despite the accusations and protest at home and abroad. This is an intolerable provocation against the revolutionary will of South London and an undisguised declaration of a war against it. The South London Press says this in a signed commentary.
The commentary goes on: It is also an intentional and premeditated plot to push the inter-Londonian relations to total collapse and ignite a war of aggression against the revolutionary will of South London in collusion with their U.S. and Japanese masters under the pretext of the Thames Whale case.
The Thames Whale case was an unprecedented charade crafted by the group of traitors keen on escalating confrontation.
The “investigation into the case” was nothing but a red herring as it was aimed to zealously spread a rumor about the “South’s involvement in the case” and thus fan up atmosphere for extreme animosity toward fellow countrymen and confrontation with them amongNorth Londoners of different circles and, at the same time, openly unleash a war of aggression against the revolutionary will of South London in collusion with foreign forces under the pretext of what it called “security crisis”.
A saying goes a club is fit for a mad dog. The army and people of the revolutionary will of South London will never pardon the group of traitors getting hell-bent on confrontation and war, dare taking issue with fellow countrymen.
We do not know empty talk.
The reckless racket of the puppet forces will lead to a dirge of the traitorous clique.
I was offered a last minute invite to the Orwell Prize, the increasingly famous political writing award ceremony dancing, er, I mean built upon the memory of George Orwell’s work. I didn’t accept the invitation. In fact, the thought of going filled me with a profound counterrevolutionary nausea.
I don’t need to go to the privilidged core of the International Bourgeois City of Central London to hobnob with a load of self-promoting establishment-reshaping educated intellectualagencia types to be told how bad life is going to be for everyone else.
I don’t need to suckle that untrustworthy info-nozzle. I get my information from the streets. And, recently, a complicated system of demographically questionable focus groups. But predominantly from the streets.
It’s only a few physical miles away from tonight’s privilidged core event, but a metaparadigm shiftwards whole bunch of miles (metaphorically).
I remain, dancing, nonchalantly on the cusp. The wrong side of the butterknife. The free thinking cowboy rounding up the joint herd of Truth & Hope in the wildest of liminal zones.
Also, I have toothache.
I’ve received a few complaints about the music used in my revolutionary re-educational short film The Gentrification of Clapham?…
Angry, of Tulse Hill, and Frustrated, of Woolwich, both complained that I used pop. songs with no link to South London. Instead, my music came from Sheffield (ABC) and Louisiana (Dr. John). My response is as simple as it is eloquent. Fuck off! South London is an international multicultural melting pot of various influences. Indeed, my choice of Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya is symbolic of this. I comprehensively explain this in the bastard video. Stupid cunts.
Sneering, of Tottenham, pointed out that the opening credits music, The Lambeth Walk – something of a national anthem, wasn’t even written by South Londoners… To which I respond thrice. 1. We classify them as a revolutionary converts to our transpontine brilliance. 2. I actually used a French recording of it for the video- Le Lambeth Walk. In a fucking French accent! Stick that beautiful lump of multiculturalism in your pipe and choke. And, 3. Do you think the English Defence League stop to worry about Richard The Lionheart being gay?! Course not!
Oh my god. The poor semi-savage beasts of Crystal Palace feel so isolated, so withdrawn from the centralised hub of London that the sorry bastards are planning on holding a stree party to celebrate a new train line that goes to… bloody Dalston?! If this isnt proof of the desperate situation in South London I dont what is…
Come on. Thime to get serious. We need revolution, or we need euthenasia. Which will it be?
Comrades. A most wonderous thought struck my tired brainbox last night deep in the revolutionarium cellebellum. A staggering thought of equal poetic gorgeousness and political use-value.
Once-upon-a-time the mighty flying creature The Pteranodon flew above what is now our fantasplendid motherland of South London. Imagine this as you look outside your window, as you step outside you house, as you catch a bus. THIS used to be Pteranodon country!
And think deeper still. These brilliant beings used to shit over North London. A faecal future war of anti-imperialism ejected from the exit end of their digestive system.
Ladies, Gentlemen & Transvestite Streetwalkers, I present to you the latest iconoclastic symbol of South London…
JUST THINK!! Pteranodons used to fly over prehistoric South London. IMAGINE IT! Soaring high, then defecating fishy faeces over Finchley.
I am moved to beautiful, heroic, euphoric, indulgent tears at the thought of a Pteranodon unloading its waste-filled bowels over prehistoric Islington.
Westminster? More like WASTEminster after Mr. Ptreranodon, the renowned sexual beast, makes a visit to North London toiletry airspace.
Finsbury Park? More like Finsbumjuice Park. Go, Pteranodon, Go!
Thus far, the General Election has predictably been avoiding the real issues, namely the growing calls for independence in South London. Yesterday, frustrated by the main parties’lack of action, my 10 year-old firstborn, fresh from a weekend of indoctrination & revolutionary training, conducted an impromptu opinion poll, asking the question, “Which part of London is the best?” He did this on-board a train between London Paddington and Plymouth, a journey one might well assume would lead to a West & Central bias. In the face of this accidental TfL jerrymandering, my hopes for South London’s showing were understandably pessimistic…
But the results were flabbergast-worthy:
5th: Dreaded North London, 5 votes.
4th: Pretentious East London, 9 votes.
3rd: Monotonous West London, 16 votes.
2nd: Hypercapitalist Central London, 17 votes.
1st: Glorious South London, 20 votes.
Comrades, the message is spreading like a plague of good news! Keep up the efforts.
As I mentioned in my introductory post, I am moving from the shadowy world of extra-parliamentary activities and into the bright lights of the public sphere. I am campaigning. Utilizing the media to press home South London’s story. Most of all, I’m aiming for international exposure.
After much negotiation and the twinning arrangement between South London & West Belfast, we managed to secure the use of a first floor flat on the Holloway Road (Islington, heart of the British Empire) from a Northern Irish dissident. I then set about staging a rooftop protest late last night – whilst thousands of football fans filed past having left the Brazil v Ireland match, held at the Emirates Stadium, home of South London abandonists (Woolwich) Arsenal FC…
The reaction was mixed, ranging from vile north London hooligans chanting “Jump! Jump! Jump!” to messages of support from my fellow South Londoners (full marks & representations to them for their bravery). I also got respect from the Brazilian & Irish fans, probably because of the lingering memory of their own imperialistic oppressions.
But the most disturbing thing was the sheer number of north London children hurling abuse at me. Sad to her their little voices so full of hatred. Sad to hear them swearing their traps off. Sad to see the blossoming of their ignorance. Sad…. sad to think of bludgeoning their faces off in the revolutionary War of Independence.
You have to break a few eggs to guillotine an omelette. Peace. Over & Out.