There’s been a lot of vicious rumours flying about lately. A lot of half-truths and even semi-lies. A dirty miasma of misinformation. Is it true you’re on the run, Wolfie? ask concerned children. ‘Only briefly, little comrade!’ I reply, heroically. Will you be going to prison, Mr. Moneypenny? ask worried floating voters. ‘What? Me? Nah. Not again.’
So, what did really happen during my interview with half-arsed so-called journalist Morgan Sagely for EyeOnPolitics.org? Luckily I’ve ripped a copy of the so-called broadcast off their so-called subscription-only website:
And, fearful that a middle-aged transpontine with a mild speech impediment droning on for 14 minutes would be too much for people to sit through (that’s prejudice), they also released this edited version:
Now, it’s fair to say that it’s rather unusual for a mayoral candidate to risk allowing this kind of thing to go out. Indeed – Ken, Boris and most-of-all Jenny Jones have all previously suppressed quite wanton documentation of their own predilections. But I’m different. I’m an honest candidate. Furthermore, I’m proud of my contempt for the journalist class. Thirdly, I settled out of court with that handsome young couple so this will not be used as evidence. And finally: have you ever seen anything more transpontine in your pitiful lives? Probably not.
EyeOnPolitics can be found on Twitter. They’re trying to get the hashtag #muchworsethanboris trending. Send them some abuse.
Time for a round-up (and, no, not of the gulag kind)…
First, I visited The Dulwich Hamlet and recorded this charming little vlog about the day:
Secondly, have you listened to the South London Hardcore podcast yet? You should. Aside from their football alleigances the SLHC team are a pair of decent, hardworking, sponsorship-obsessed transpontines debating the issues that effect us everyday: the capitalisation of “south London”, our cultural heritage, and international antichrono terrorism.
I had the pleasure of meeting up with them in the Elephant & Castle Shopping Centre (drinking that lovely £1 Mamuśka coffee) to record an episode about my transpontinist mayoral campaign which should be up next week, so I’m giving you the heads up to listen to the other episodes before I blow them out of the water.
And thirdly… It’s twenty years since my fellow transpontine figurehead Angela Carter passed away. The as ever librarian fantastique republiqueTranspontine has dished out a lovely overview of her Southdom writings. I was once told, by a madly staring wide-eyed convulsively shaking gentleman at a squat party no less, that the exact moment he had heard of Angela’s death someone (never identified) launched a brick though their flat window. I bet Iain Sinclair would love that, the muppet.
Let her epitaph be the beginning our own:
“When the bourgeoisie got priced out of, first, Hampstead and Highgate – how long ago it seems! – and then from Camden Town and Islington, and the alternatives got priced (who’d have thought it?) out of Ladbroke Grove, there was nowhere else for all, repeat all, the poor sods to go, was there? That’s typical south London usage. Every statement is converted to a rhetorical question.”
Hmmm… controversial lack of a capital “S” there, Angie… On top of that, in today’s London Planned city of state-negotiated mass-produced gentrification (regeneration, urban renaissance and other cat-belly-tickling euphemisms) the old days of a few posh buggers drip-drip-dripping down here seems positively quaint, almost idyllic. Sort of.
Some people accuse me of being a rebel without a pause, willing to revolutionise my limbs against anything I find.
Well, maybe. The purity of Total Revolution is attractive, if a little abstractly implausible.
But I don’t take many prisoners.
Norbert Elias wrote extensively in The Civilising Process about how the medieval development of courtly manners, etiquette and other micro-rituals created a framework in which a contemporarily recognisable form of civilisation could develope in the modern word.
A Total Revolutionary should seek to throw all that out of the window, with the dirty bathwater of functionism.
And with that in mind, enjoy this act of profound rebellion by none other than Mother Nature herself:
South Londoners! We have a cancer in our midst. Prepare for the lumpectomy of truth.
I have met some real rascals in my time. Imperialist swines. Sinking-ship-jumping rodents. Stupid fools in positions of privilidge. Progress-blocking traditionalists. But I don’t think I’ve ever come across any one man to so encapsulate all these enraging qualities in one worthless human existance…
Ladies, Gentlemen & Transvestite Streetwalkers… I introduce you to perhaps Britain’s – and certainly South London’s – worst elected representative, Pete Montague MP of the Conservative Party.
Here he is, the toffee-nosed fool, spreading misunderstanding & confusion on the campaign trail in Lewisham…
And again, this time self-brushing his own political body with the tar of quasi-racism…
And, worst of all my dear comrades, is this abusive insultation he recklessly threw my way via Twitter earlier today:
@FreeSouthLondon I have watched your videos and admired your balls. You do appear however to be a sort of gypo leftie which I cannot abide.
The people of South London deserve better than an abusive idiot like this. This Thursday, spoil your ballot. But if you live in Montague’s constituency, I strongly suggest you soil it.
And I challenge you, Montague, to a public debate in Brixton. Let’s take it to the street. Keep it simple. Keep it real. Just you, me, a couple of soapboxes, a few television cameras, scores of journalists, a few hyperlocal bloggers, a handful of overly excited hecklers, some bigotted woman, a strong police presence, MI6 snipers on the roof and some bemused rastas.
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!
I, Wolfgang Moneypenny, took a revolutionary tour of the Clapham Common area last week. Here, pulsating with the roaring flames of truth, is the video of said event. It is something fairly remarkable. Intense. Never before have I felt so alive, so in love with my beautiful transpontine motherland. The dualities of South London literally came vigorously alive on tape. Several innocent bystanders shat themselves with joy/fear.
Oh well! You have to guillotine a few eggs to rape an omelette.
Today I attended a counterprotest outside the UK Immigration Control crib – Lunar House in Croydon. Countering what? I hear you ask…. Countering a protest/electioneering dampsquib/whatever by British Imperial goon squad, the BNP.
Whilst it was initially tense, with a brief bit of scuffling…
…it has to be considered a bit of a failure, a non-event, for the BNP. They had less protesters, made less noise and went home earlier. As we used to say at school, PUSSY’OLES! This was like two rival football crowds. We outsung them. Had more “fans”. And, I fancy, will ultimately win the league. The league of political outcomes.
They chose Lunar House to make a very negative statement about immigration. But I LOVE immigration. I believe in and adore multiculturalism. Open the floodgates! South London benefits from immigration, South London needs immigration. South London IS immigration.
And if the BNP represents Britain in any way – even just as a freakish extreme – then my resolve to lead South London to independence from THAT vision of Britain is stronger than ever.
However, as brattish & British & essentially racist as the BNP may be, I have tried to understand them. I can understand the fact they are miserable, confused, scared little cunts. That’s okay. In the roar of the furnace of postmodernity, we all lose our “roots”, what we hold onto, so I can see how they’ll cling to something, anything, desperately, pathetically. Like a tired old two-century-old nationalism of a fake relic-state.
And I essentially still feel the same sadness for them, shamefaced little teats of sourest milk. But my tolerance lessened today.
Today, some of the incidental behaviour of BNP protesters made me realise that Nick Griffin is the acceptable face of the BNP.
The Acceptable Face
He’s the acceptable face because so many of the others aren’t. Sieg heil-ing, gauntlet-running, ignorant fuckers. Bother boys. Of course, a handful of the counterprotesters are of a similar hooliganistic leaning (see the above video) – and someone needs to point out to the red flag brigade that there isn’t working class anymore and the four-decade-rotted death of their simplistic Marxism!
My hat might be from an era of Enlightenment scientific teleological thinking, but my politics aren’t.
But I fear the deeply-troubled cunt-looking-for-bother is far deeper ingrained in the BNP, making them as a whole group – if not as a half-polished political turd – still very compareable to the likes of the National Front. FreeSouthLondon is predominantly made up of frustrateted young males who feel disenfranchised. But we’re not absolutely reprehensible cunts. Same socio-economic blah-blah-blah. Why the difference?
And another thing. Fascist spies. Coming over to our group photographing our faces, presumably for websites like Redwatch, the purpose of which being to hunt the ragtag smörgåsbord of antifascists. Well. Sods. I, the great Wolfgang Moneypenny, am not scared of you. Here I am, my beautiful face:
Cor!!!
Come and find me at the FreeSouthLondon Anarcho-Situationist Commune. We’ll settle things man-to-men. I’ll take at least eight of you slags at once. And as you fuckers lie bust-up, semi-conscious, quivering like cardiac-arresting pigs-in-mud, I’ll smear my pre-ejaculate over your lips as a revolutionary coup de grâce.
Well, well, well. Stockwell. There’s a tremendous synchronicity to the events of the last week. A General Election has been called and establishment politicians have poured out to meet “their” people. I too am a politician. Of the soul. And that same week I commenced meeting my people. I started canvassing hearts, minds & revolutionary spoilt ballots in sunny Stockwell.
My host was community figurehead and fellow member of “the South London twitterati” (according to @est1859) Jason Cobb, who blogs at the wonderful OnionBagBlog. It is he who is responsible for photographic, video and audio truthblasts (see bottom of the post).
It was during this trip that I had one of my fairly regular profound realizations. I shall call this one The Stockwell Question. You see, Stockwell is… nice. Give me Stockwell with its cardboard-mass-reproduced iconic bus station its muralled bomb shelter over any part of North London any day of the tenday revolutionary week.
Stockwell is the kind of place that showcases the gentrification of innercity South London isn’t isolated. It’s a process sweeping through huge swathes of South London. On the most immediate level, South London is getting what she deserves after decades of toil. But on the imaginative-revolutionary level, this is the shackling of South London’s revolutionary potential into a normative hegemonic global project of postmodernity.
To burn, or to earn. That is the question. The Stockwell Question.
Artefacts Of My Tour
Ah, Stockwell is one of the few places in South London deemed worth of having a tube station by the estabLIESment. But these few crumbs brushed from the table of centralisation will forever be compromised by the tragic shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes. RIP.
The Stockwell bomb shelter, decorated with a mural featuring South London’s own French revolutionary Violette Szabo.
Outside the iconic and cardboard reproduced Stockwell Bus Garage. Once glorious. Now trashious.
When Jason told me he wanted to take me to “the Priory”, I thought he was an MI6 agent. But before you could say “Michael Foucault” I realised it was a public house, where we recorded this interview on the subject of South London independentis politics:
And why not settledown with your loved ones, with your favourite Meantime brewery drink and perhaps a few Brixtonian herbals for the kids and watch the video of my Stockwell tour:
My good friend, the artist Nicholas James Albert McArthur, has produced a video of his artwork. We met at college, and have remained comrades ever since. His is one of the finest members of the South London diaspora. I salute him. And after viewing his work, I’m sure you will too.
There’s been a lot of vicious rumours flying about lately. A lot of half-truths and even semi-lies. A dirty miasma of misinformation. Is it true you’re on the run, Wolfie? ask concerned children. ‘Only briefly, little comrade!’ I reply, heroically. Will you be going to prison, Mr. Moneypenny? ask worried floating voters. ‘What? Me? Nah. Not again.’
