Comrades, another bit of moonlighting for your revolutionary good. This time I’ve written an article about the political implications of Sartre’s idea of Bad Faith for the New Escapologist website. Enjoy. And be inspired.
Archive for Politics
The Lambeth Country Fair has been deemed a triumph. Locals loved it. Lots of people came, including many from over the Thamesborder. My associates over at the Revolutionary South London Tourist Board were ready to declare it a success.
But I urged caution.
I made the unusual decision to attend the Country Show in cognito. Normally I will be seen at such events in full revolutionary uniform, meeting, greeting, pressing the flesh & recruiting youngsters to our guerilla training programs. But I was very cautious of giving any indirect support to the event.
You see, my suspicions – subsequently confirmed in Brockwell Park – were that there was something retrogressive, and indeed counterrevolutionary, about the aims of the Country Show organisers.
I am, surely, not the only one to have noted that the South London Borough of Lambeth doesn’t have any countryside. Indeed, it is a glorious slab of granite citydom.
It is therefore highly bizarre that we should see such a celebration of the country pitching up in the heart of revolutionary South London…
The story of human civilisation is a tale of the process of urbanification. Those who live in cities are simply more highly evolved then their country bumpkin cousins. Sad. But true.
It is the role of the enlightened South Londoner to recognise and glorificate their urbanhood. The South Londoner wryly smiles as he breathes in the smog, views the grey, smells the grime and hears whatever the onomatopœia of urban noise is.
What I have now realised – all to late to stop it via extraparliamentary methods – is that the Lambeth Country Show is a big stinking cowpat of propaganda against the very citydom of South London.
And to what purpose does such propaganda serve? To repress the revolutionary urges of our half-city. To foster a false city consciousness that South London is merely a peripheral entity, existing for the benefit of Imperialist Central London and the Hegemonically Powerful North. To cultivate the misapprehension that South London is not able to go alone, to break free from its shackles. To foment the poisoned ideology that, like the dairy farmer is to Tesco, we brave transpontinists are little more than slaves to the Central Hub. And, indeed, to make the South Londoners an even more backwards race by the promoting of a romantic anachronistic idyll (which never really existed).
It is the creation of both a transpontine and generally city shame, embarrassment, self-loathing. This is a phenomenon I will call cityguilt – the latest weapon of control.
Comrades, you must avoid the artificial shames of this multifaceted guiltfare.
Do not hate the city and consequently yourself for being a maggot within it. Embrace the city. It is the result of thousands of years of human progress. Roll around the filth with an openmouth, begging, “More! More! More!” Celebrate traffic jams with euphoric dancing. Bask in the shadows of high rise estate blocks.
Pro-actively reject the idyllic countryside lie and fight back against other encroachments they make into citylife. Avoid farmers’ markets. Boycott ITV’s Emmerdale. Make nuisance calls to the Countryside Alliance.
And, most importantly of all, stay vigilant for further hegemonic attacks from our northern enemies. As the revolutionary will surges higher, deeper and harder throughout our future-republic, their attempts to keep control will become increasingly tenuous and desperate and baffling. We left ourselves open to attack this weekend. Our fledgling national identity went out in a miniskirt and the (British) judge will say we were asking for it… Trust no-one. Except me.
Big Wolfie – sleeping with one eye open so you don’t have to.
In my Radio Free South London interview with Mr. Reggie Chamberlain-King of West Belfast, he eloquently explained that the continued existance of The Troubles in Northern Ireland, even just in terms as a topic of interest & conversation, of tourist & academic whim, is essentially a continuation of The Troubles.
I expect therefore that he may well be cautios of the publication of the Saville Enquiry‘s report into the Bloody Sunday shootings of 1972, given as it will – and is – sparking off more talk & interest in The Troubles, and according to this Chamberlain-King thesis, continuing the divisions of The* Troubles.
I would like to play Devil’s advocate (for Mr. Reggie Chamberlain-King has indeed played the Devil), Do the benefits if any of this enquiry, be it the quest for truth, justice or retribution, amount to enough of a Pro to counterbalance the Con of this continuation?
In a world of African civil slaughters, Chinese mining fuckgasms, countless alcohol-related deaths and highspeed hit & runs, 12 years enquiry to an incident that occured nearly 40 years ago seems, whilst not unjust, certainly unusual. It is quite clear the enquiry is about the symbolic value of Bloody Sunday more than any value of of human life. And it is, I think, the symbolic life of The Troubles that is the continuation.**
A space will now be left for Reggie to respond, should he at all disagree with me, or alternatively to congratulate me:
* = I even fear my capitalization of “The” is part of this very process.
** = Which includes this. Fuckchops.
Free South London today, in a blaze of publicity and with the authentic roar of the oppressed, pledges its support for our most glorious comrades, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea national association football team in the forthcoming imperialist pig-dog showcase of postmodern hypercapitalist slag-bitchery, the FIFA World Cup.
Free South London, being the true representative voice of the transpontine proletariat, is both humbled and inspired by the bravery and skill of the People’s Footballing Representatives as they prepare to do battle with: Brazil, the samba lackeyes of imperialism, sold out to the highest bidder (Nike) and red-raw from the subsequent rape. Ivory Coast, a nation born of European colonialism and founded on the exploitation of the elephant proletariat. And Portugal, the birthplace of vile colonial expansoploition, aka mindrape.
Our stupendously splendid comrades-in-feet have not even been put off by the hideous bourgeois imperialist prejudices & cheating of Überführer Sepp Blatter, of the monolithic ideological trans-state apparatus that is FIFAcapitalism.
We will laugh, howl, delight and stamp in joyous teleological unison as these counterrevolutionist whore-tarts succumb to the modernist supremely-planned tactical brilliance of the Democratic People’s Republic Korea, powered by a new superdrink.
With this in mind, comrades, then I heartily submerge you to join myself and the SLNK South London North Korea Supporters Club on Tuesday the15 th of June at Mango Landin’ in Brixton (twinned with Pyongyang) to witness the Brazilian national team be given a beating so profound both they and all international capitalists will taste the bitter tears of defeat and suckle on the plagueridden teat of shame.
In this exert from my slot on Radio Free South London (more piratical than a Cornish pasty with a hook for a crust) I interview West Belfast’s favourite intellectual and future Philosopher-King, Reggie Chamberlain-King. We discuss politics on both sides of the Irish-Thames Sea(s). This will be of particular interest to (1) the Northern Irish, (2) South Londoners, (3) fans of hot exotic genius, and (4) all women of breeding age and intact apparatus.
For those of you used to me giving the so-called great & good the run around on my previous radio interviews (including former Prime Minister Tony Blair, professional vague feminist Germaine Greer & disgraced footballer Wayne Lampard) you’re in for a shock. The fabulous Reggie probably wins this heavyweight contest of international jousting. On points.
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.
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:
Comrades, it is with not a little difficulty that I have decided to make the best of a bad situation.
I have decided to embrace the Cameron administration’s fuzzy “Big Society” idea. And I make no apologies for using the word, “idea”. In its vaguest possible sense.
I am embracing “Big Society”. I shall conveniently ignore the fact it’s essentially a wishy-washy PR cover up for an intensification of the neoliberal accumulation & centralisation of wealth and power. Rather, I shall make like a village idiot and throw myself spreadeagled into the warm bossum of what will now be, I am sure, an explosion of volunturism to replace essential public services.
If you believe in something enough, it will happen. Yes?
I and my three beautiful wives will be available in four of South London’s busiest train stations (London Bridge, Waterloo, Clapham Junction & East Croydon) during the evening rushhour Monday to Friday, selling our handjob services to relieve stressed commuters after a hard day’s slog at the core abstract furnace of hypercapitalism. With the money we scrape together we will subsequently try our best to fund numerous services in our glorious half-city, including care of the elderly & benefit payments for the mentally ill.
I am willing to be whatever South London needs me to be…
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.
…Or, rather, my dramatic impact on on it.
The Liberal Democratic electionerring machine and I clashed eight days ago in my hometown of Streatham. Here’s a photo diary.
I guess, in a way, I should feel sorry for Clegg. He swung into Streatham on a wave of Cleggmania, but limped out – his wife in love with a heroic revolutionary type, his poll ratings crashing from close to 30% to Thursday’s 23%, and now he finds himself in a bit of a no-win situation regarding the difficult coalition negotiations…