eagles are awesome

Another minor classic from a decade or so ago.

The Official Account:

“The IYI crew visited Alton, Illinois to interview Brett Stawar of the Alton Tourism Bureau.Alejandro Cruz, the videographer, had technical difficulties with his wireless mic set, and couldn’t capture any of Aileesha Breedlove’s interview questions. This is what we did to salvage the segment.Ryan Wiggins wrote approximately 90% of the lyrics based on rough edits, and performed the resulting vocal arrangement.”

The Unofficial Account:

“Yeah, right!”

all you need is love


Everyone needs love. Everyone without exception. So why is there so much fear around and so little love? Let’s look to our leaders.

Come election time they’re full of love. They love babies, especially if there’s a camera around. They love Jesus but precious few of them follow his humble example. They love their country but they rarely leave their privileged lives to join the common folk in defending it. They love the planet but the millionaire class they belong to continues to rape it for profit.

Millionaire class? Yes. Most American lawmakers are at least 12 to 18 times wealthier than most of the citizens they represent. The position is much the same in Britain, France, the world over. Don’t believe me? Then let Google be your friend. Our politicians’ love of their constituents doesn’t come cheap.

Now hate, that’s altogether different. Our leaders are very good at hate. They’ll whip up hate against anyone and anything that threatens the status quo. Strip away the economic gobbledygook and the moral hogwash and their isms amount to little more than keeping themselves and their powerful pals in charge and the rest of us in our place.

And we are so easily kept. A terrorist incident or two ratcheted to the max by their media-owning friends and we are only too willing to accept yet more surveillance, more erosion of freedom, more control. Meanwhile the same media pumps out an endless stream of perfect images of imperfect celebs to keep us believing that impossible dream. Throw in a few mega-rich preachers to lend the Almighty’s authority to their morally vacuous politics and it’s job done. In his song ‘Working Class Hero’, John Lennon put it better:

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free,
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see

We live in a world divided by race, state, class, and anything else the hatemongers can think of. From birth to death the majority of us are told what to do and when to do it. Who to trust and who to hate. What to think and when to keep our mouths shut. If you doubt this then try stepping out of line a few times instead of kissing arse as part of your daily diet.

Like any other commodity our worth is our weight in imaginary dollars. If this was not the case no civilised country would permit homelessness and hungry children. Not surprisingly then that we pursue self over selfless, I over I&I, and profit over everything. Love hardly gets a look in but fear is everywhere.

Now here’s the hippy-dippy bit so feel free to mock as you wish.

I believe that love is the default state for human beings but that we are taught to hate.

So, incidently, did Oscar Hammerstein II, the lyricist of ‘South Pacific’:

You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.

And so did a Nazerine who, when you look beyond the sophistory spouted in his name, was a simple man unafraid and unashamed to stand with the poor and the powerless against those who sought to exploit them.

From the Roman Empire to the American Empire and all the empires in between the rich and powerful have sought to pervert and ridicule the simple notion of universal love, the final commandment to love one another. For they know only too well that if we learn not to hate and not to fear we might just find the courage to take their power away.

Love is all you need.

storm surge


from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (26)

yet I suppose it could be worse

the tidal pull and push

leaves me stranded

among the dune’s desolation

or drowning beneath the wave’s

cold pulse

so I take my meds

for ten years each morning

without fail I perform my Eucharist

without wine or blood or flesh

just chemicals I’m told will save me

from the rising tide

(February 12, 2020)

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bollox to the blogosphere

Blogging is a British English slang term for engaging in sexual acts in a public or semi-public place or watching others doing so. (Wikipedia)

No wait, that’s dogging. Apologies.

Still, there is something vaguely unsavoury about the terms ‘blog’, ‘blogger’, ‘blogging’ and the like. Words convey qualities other than their assigned meaning, according to Monty Python at least.

In their classic sketch they describe various words as being ‘woody’ or ‘tinny’. Some woody words include sausage, prodding, vacuum, vole, caribou, intercourse and botty. Tinny words include newspaper antelope recidivist and tit. All nonsense of course, or is it?

Billy No-Mates

The term ‘blogger’ conjures an image of Billy or Betty No-Mates hunched over a grubby keyboard in the dark of night tapping out their angst and ego. And ‘blog’ could easily be a synonym for toilet paper.

“Alexa, add six rolls of blog to my shopping list“

As for the utterly hideous ‘blogosphere’, it surely is one of the woodyest of words, akin to botty?

Then there’s the blogs themselves. Well, some of them anyway.

If you’re up there, Lord, then please save us from any more religious and atheist blogs proclaiming your existence or otherwise. Gods exist for those who need them and don’t for those who don’t. Simple. Most people don’t much care either way and almost no-one reads blogs about them.

Oh, and a note to any TV evangelists who may be reading (a little unlikely, I know). I won’t be sending you ‘seed’ money or contributing to your hokum in any other way. I couldn’t help noticing that Jesus gave believers a direct line to their god via the Lord’s Prayer, so I don’t quite get your role. By the way, it’s in Matthew 6:9 of that book that helped fund your mansion. Okay?

Which kind of brings me to family blogs. Most are worthy enough, just the everyday and often interesting lives of ordinary people and their daily triumphs and struggles. But then there’s Mr and Mrs Stepford. Featureless and flawless.

Mr Stepford is bereft of personality; he doesn’t smoke, he rarely drinks and unlike the rest of humankind he doesn’t masturbate (or admit to it at least).

Mrs Stepford doesn’t look as though she knows how, but something tells you she’d be a little minx given half the chance. Regardless, she’s managed to knock out two perfectly formed, impeccably groomed, though surprisingly unattractive, offspring. Both of which are home-schooled, have already been accepted to prestigious universities, are learning to play at least two musical instruments whilst still finding time to help the elderly and numerous other good works.

There they stand, impossibly happy, beaming out from a portfolio of pictures that looks like it was produced by an ad agency, (though among his many talents Mr Stepford is a dab hand with Photoshop). There’s the home they live in – lovely, isn’t it? And the car they drive – mmmm nice. Oh, and there’s their church, beneath which the Stepford children declare their intimate relationship with the Almighty even though they’re too young to have an intimate relationship with anyone. Everything in every way is just dandy.

And therein lies the problem, there’s way too much wonderfulness in the blogosphere. From those with perfect marriages… 

“Hi everyone. Harry and I have been together for 15 fantastic years and we’d love to share our secret with you.

… to those whose every waking moment is bliss because they’ve found Jesus, Bhudda or Elvis. Not to mention all those ecstatically happy people who live in the ‘best goddamn country in the world’, the Excited States of Hysteria, one Nation under Canada, who adorn their blogs with flags and other patriotic regalia in order to hammer home the point. Regrettably, a practice some in my own sad little island have adopted recently. (There can’t be two ‘best goddamn countries’ can there?)

Don’t get me wrong, I wholly approve of putting your best foot forward but the people I know just don’t shine like that, I’d be scared if they did. They get dirt under their fingernails, they sometimes shout at their kids, kick their dogs, and drink too many beers. They are wonderfully imperfect. But of course, they probably don’t read blogs.

Perhaps that’s their problem?


(From: ‘How to Lose Friends and Alienate People: A Blogger’s Guide’) 🙂