Thursday, 4 March 2010


From A Liverpool Lullaby,
by Stan Kelly.

Oh, you are a mucky kid,
Dirty as a dustbin lid,
When he finds out the things you did
You'll get a belt, from your Dad.

One of the early sights of ruin was that of Scousers, in 1993, hurling themselves at police vans conveying two ten-year old child killers to court, their acrobatics, their shouting themselves hoarse at terrified infants bleakly counterpointing the already take-your-breath-away horror of the ghastly events; grown men, these were, chronologically; if only these warriors, so boldly, so publicly willing to dismember those a quarter their size, had wrought a more manly example, been a better behaved, more concerned, more adult presence in the shopping precincts, if only they had set a better example, themselves, who knows.....wankers.

The boys who killed, tortured to death, in fact, another child didn't, though, spring from Satan's ejaculate, pre-formed and Evil, even the stupidest among the String 'em Uppers, would not confuse real life with The Omen, would they?

It's not as though, all of a sudden, Evil Young Ones have been sent among us, our only response being to drag them from custody and beat them to death. The deranged teen gunmen who seem to punctuate the American high school experience, they don't just leap from their mothers' wombs proficient in the use of automatic weapons, crying Eat lead and die, motherfuckers, spend their first years peering down sniperscopes at neighbouring pushchairs. No. Something which happens to many of us, something to which we are most of us, exposed, in some, causes real, serious damage, it might be the telly, the VCR, the DVD, the Internet, God help us all, there are some terrible sights in there; it might be a book, I have books which I do believe have a tendency to deprave or corrupt, I keep them on a very top shelf and I wouldn't let just anybody read them, but in unregulated households kids get hold of all sorts; in households with transient, serial parents, child welfare, if understood at all, may be a very low priority resulting in premature sexualisation; denied responsible treatment themselves they fail to understand power and responsibility, knowing only casual, indifferent brutality, lust and fetishised cruelty, what is sophisticated play in adults becomes devastating pain and death in children. The most recent case, of the two boys in Darlington - when I was their age I didn't know what a dildo was, knew nothing of urophilia, where do these kids learn this stuff, who permits it, I betcha it's the same sort of blokes who go throwing themselves at the Black Marias. Bet your life on ot. Was it Auden: as all the adults know and as all the children learn, those to whom evil is done, do evil in return? It might be bad or not enough parenting; it might be bad example, or good example misunderstood but whatever it is, unless you actively, like a fundamentalist loony, believe in the Devil, then, whatever it is, it is our fault and not theirs; we are the adults around here and throwing ourselves at police vans only highlights our failure.

There was a contrast, around about that period in the history of ruin. In 1987, an older man, liberated from his daughter, at an Enniskillen conflict resolution event organised by the now Deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland, publicly forgave his daughter's killers. I think that he and she and others were marking some civic event, Remembrance Sunday, or something, they certainly weren't driving catholic farmers from their homes, thrusting swords into them, nailing their wives to the doors, torching their farmhouses, they were innocent of all that shit. And while they were performing their wee act of harmless, civic duty Marty Kneecaps McGuinness, blessed are the corpsemakers, Gawd love the wee man, and Gerry Adams, the famous Christian and the IRA's Nonce-Protector General, blew up Gordon Wilson and his adult daughter, Marie, she died in his arms, saying I love you, Daddy. Ten others died, too and many were injured. The IRA claimed to have been targeting a military or quasi-military parade which was attending the event and that the deaths of "civilians" were acceptable, presumably on the Long Road to Conflict Resolution. The fall-out from this event, maybe dramatised by Mr Wilson's quiet, Christian stoicism, in the face of a shitstorm of shrapnel and sundered bodies, was bad news for the bold men of the Provisional IRA, they denied that it was "Officially sanctioned by the Army Council" or some such facetious cowardly bullshit from some greengrocer Brigadier and ten years later, ten years, mind, Adams, himself, apologised, so he did, for those deaths, if not for the two thousand nine hundred and ninety other ones and the tens of thousands of maimings, blindings, burnings and kneecappings skillfully fashioned by his conflict resolution teams; now, there's proper Christianity for you.

After his daughter's death Gordon Wilson was to become a bit of a legend, he became a peace campaigner, although not in the disappointingly cynical manner of Kneecaps and Adams, and his message was always of forgiveness. Touch wood, Atrocity has never beaten at my cabin door but if it did I'd wanna be on whatever it was that Gordon Wilson was on. How else can you ever lay down your head, lay down your weary tune and rest yourself....if not by doing the thing your tormentors cannot?

But what prevents so many finding peace in Atrocity and Sorrow is not so much the hurt or the loss or the anger but these bastards.

Kelvin McKenzie and Piers Moron, celebrity cocksucking, women-hating sleazebitches, look at them, young tits on page three and insider dealing, these two fuckpigs have coarsened and cheapened the national morning, prematurely sexualised the nation's children and reduced the national discourse to a rant. Must be due for knighthoods.

skymadeupnewsandfilth, the press, all sections of it, just love prodding the wounds of Life's shat-upon and will never leave them alone, for an entire lifetime they stirred-up the grief of those bereaved by the ghastly, young Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. How much do you hate them, this year, this decade, does it still make you feel like shit, here, have two hundred quid, do you think they shoulda been hanged, would you pull the lever ? Don't get settled down. now, keep on hating, never have a moment's peace, you must never even think of forgiving people, that's not what our readers want, on a slow news day, now, is it? You keep on stewing there, mrs, never forget what those bastards did to your child, never ever put this behind you. And they do, the poor sods, Mrs Bulger and the rest, egged-on by the likes of McKenzie, denied the rest, the peace, which might heal her poor, battered soul, regularly enraged by filth like McKenzie, the rotten piece of shit.

They'll all be kicking-off again on the BulgerFest claiming that those two brutalised and brutalising young men have been too leniently treated, should have been stoned to death, resurrected and skinned alive, boiled in oil, broken on the rack, hanged in chains, drawn and quartered, over and over again,

In a civilied country, of course they never would have seen the inside of a courtroom, much less been harangued by Mr Justice Knobrot, doing his duty to the great, vengeful, short-sighted, tabloid-reading, masturbating nation of soaraway Sunreaders.

A life licensee can be recalled for any number of reasons, he or she may be unstable and, what with his early life not being that of a young Blair or Straw and with the likes of the rowdy, drunken fuckpig McKenzie howling for his blood, Venables has every reason to be unstable; he may have been in the wrong place, his license officer may have been concerned about his relationships, his habits, it may even be in his own interests that he's been recalled; he might have been shoplifting, or anything. Spectacularly incompetent in many ways, the Justice Ministry, formerly the Home Office, generally errs on the side of caution with lifers. Contrary to what McFilth and his kind would have us believe, less than one per cent of life licensees re-offend.

But that won't matter to the Liverpool mob, one minute screechimg that the Sun is a shitrag, the next dancing to the tabloids' bawdy jig. Get things out of all proportion, they do, you see, Scousers. Don't see any scallies hopping on the Belfast boat and throwing themselves at serial child killer, Gerry Adams, but then he's a grown man, carries a gun, might hurt them back.


Dick the Prick said...

Dear Mr Ish

You have a rare ability to scribe and chronicle what is manifest and perhaps even obvious. As mentioned previously - it's fookin' art man.

Many thanks


PT Barnum said...

Thank you, Mr Ishmael, for this pause of sanity in the midst of the braying baying hordes who know exactly what Should Be Done to Venables (and all his tragic, tragedy-causing kin). Will no one else see the cause-and-effect process of self-gratifying morons reproducing themselves unto the umpteenth generation? And will no one else acknowledge that Thompson and Venables are merely the far end of an ugly spectrum? No, they must be demonic spawn or it becomes a case of There but for the grace of.... And that could never be.

mongoose said...

Was not Mary Bell saved and returned to society to get on wityh whatever was left of her life? And I'd have put their parents in jail before the kids themselves. Fucking vermin. Scousers, eh? Salt of the earth them scallies are! Fuck me, no. Have you been to Birkenhead? I have. Come friendly bombs.

Anonymous said...

Do tou really think Scousers are any more thick than the rest of the population? As thick as the fuckers who when coming back from the Falklands hung a sheet over the dide of the boat saying "Call off the rail strike or we will call up an air strike"?
I for my sins worked in Liverpool helping with the deindustrialastion of the UK as in removing machines from factories and sending them overseas 15,000 out of work from just 3 factories. Never mind just get Hessltine to build the a garden. I found they were the same as the rest as in there are those who can think, read and write and those who read the sun and the daily spurt. Apart from the fact that they all thought that they were comedians same as Jimmy whey hey Tarbuck who wasn't I found them OK except when they were trying to pinch our tools.
I also remember that moron bouncing of the van with the killers inside (personally I doubt if they were inside)what was on his tiny mind,what did he plan on doing, what was the point, did he boast about it in the pub?

call me ishmael said...

I don't know, mr anonymous, about relative levels of thickness around the realm but I do know that it is almost a civic priority that Liverpool sees and presents itself as especially blessed, by the MopTop Fabsters, who couldn't wait to leave it, by the Cavern and Gerry and the Pacemakers and Cilla, and especially sentimental, mawkish, even, wallowing in cod-Irish sea shanty drivel.

I sailed out of Liverpool as a young man and it was much as any port, cosmopolitan, larcenous, dangerous and inebriated and also much as you say.

It's just that the decent folk of Liverpool, at the time of the BulgerFest, allowed the riff-raff to define the City's response to tragedy - vulgar, stupid and brutish - that they continue to do so, that no civic leader has the guts to shut them up really means that as far as Scouse is concerned, the wee boy died utterly in vain, save for selling shit newspapers filled with bile and venom.

For evil to triumph, and all that...

mongoose said...

Tribalism, Mr Ishmael. As soon as you are part of the gang, you are a dead bastard. Ruined. Fucked beyond redemption. Bless her, mrs mongoose was born in Crosby. So I mean no micro-nationalist bollocks - the Dubliner laughs at the Kerryman, the Kerryman laughs at the Mayoman. Fuck all that.

I mean - and I have not thought it through - that the disaster lies in the cheapness. Twats - who cannot tell the difference between a paedophile and a paediatrician - stand on the corner and yell hatred at damaged lads. To hell with them all. It is a hail fellow well met easiness to shout at a wee lad who put out his hand, slipped the surly bonds of humanity, and touched the face of the Devil. Fuck 'em. Cowards all.

I would though hang the parents. For surety. Darwinism has its place.

call me ishmael said...

You would need to know who the parents were, mr mongoose, to hang them both, for this is often a paternal failure - or absence. Maybe you'd have to hang serial common-law stepfathers. Professor Greer and her kind did not know what they were unleashing, hadn't thought it through but - you know - it's the same the whole world over, it's the poor, what gets the blsme, it's the rich what gets the pleasure, ain't it all a bloody shame; as with everything else, so with feminism, a rich girl's sport.

lilith said...

I am sorry Mr Smith, but we have been living in a "post-feminist" era for a good 25 years now. Apparently.

call me ishmael said...

The perfectly reasonable premise of gender equality and even of limited women- positive bias in appointments and opportunities would never be my target but as rock 'n' roll was hijacked by "industry" spokespersons such as the revolting people at Q and Rolling Stone, so feminism was colonised by savvy publishers of Cosmopolitan and the rest, their impact being felt, eventually, not in multiple orgasms for the demanding female reader but in an epidemic of teen pregnancies, of blighted female lives and of the pox.

Like the toppling of the late Mr Saddam, the war on patriarchy, Judaic or Edwardian, may well have been legitimate and necessary, it's just that the aftermath has been so ill-planned for and the casualties overwhelmingly among those least able, by status, to survive.

One of Greer's epics, which I looked at in the nineties, extolled alcohol and other drug abstinence in the menopausal. I saw her a few days later in an Oxford pub, pissed as a rat, smoking heavily, but then, like all good revolutionaries, she'll be BUPA'd up to fuck, unlike the poor miserable cows on the council estates, shoving three blokes' children around in a buggy, ruined by their Mums' and Grannies' half-digested, misunderstood feminism.

I dunno what post-feminism means, Lilith, and I guess its just some shit cobbled together by someone in a magazine. Just don't you worry your pretty litte head about it.

Anonymous said...

but then, like all good revolutionaries, she'll be BUPA'd up to fuck" How true that is. When in the 70's I was in the whisper the SWP meetings about meetings and as soon as this pub closes the revolution starts. All the "cadres" just ask the late Tony Cliff had jobs in local government except one Brian White who was a journalist on the Graudian one way or another muggins here on the other hand had to work to keep body and soul together as in proper jobs. Times an circumstances change so did my finances as I got involved with property. I met a local council officer very high in the tree not seen him since the 70's he was getting ready to take early retirement, ill health you know nudge nudge wink wink to spend a bit more time on his fucking boat. We went for lunch to discuss some business where he spent most of the time telling me how the "cadres" had done in life all of the fuckers and I do mean all had top jobs/sinecures in local government. So comrades don't do as I do but do as I say, fuckers.

call me ishmael said...

It's not just the comrades, mr a, but it always seems worse to me, when it is. Greer was never a comrade, save in some sex co-operative porn magazine, but claimed a radicalism which was as good as. And now Celebrity Big Brother and the Telegraph and anything, really, which will pay her a few quid.

Up here,of course, in bonny Scotland, as I was saying a while back, Tearful Tommy Sheridan, with one wave of his cock, one fetching swivel of his hairy arse blew the left out of the water. That shows, also, that they weren't up to much and that maybe your hard-bitten cynicism is sharper and more relevant than is my admittedly flagging optimism.

All those people that you mention, seniors of this and that, taking early retirement, yes, I know them, too.

Anonymous said...

The difference between an optimist and a pessimist is an optimist thinks things can't get any worse.
A pessinist on the other hand knows they will.

Anonymous said...

Pc Silcock's father, Glynn, 54, a retired detective chief inspector, said in a statement:" 54 and reired already, bad back as in couldn't get it off the bed in the morning?

lilith said...

I was always a splitter when it came to Greer. Perhaps that was when I first noticed Ruin, when some bitch wrote in the Standard that Feminism was passée, that women had it all now, this in about 1985. I wondered what she was talking about as, even as I read Dworkin, the porn industry was expanding, it was still legal to be raped by your husband/boyfriend/any bloke you'd said Hi to, there were more tits on bill boards, more women saying "I'm not a feminist but...", more frank sexual verbal aggression from blokes, more women breaking down from trying to hold down a job, three kids, a household and a miserable husband, more single mums as a result, more women in prison for prostitution, in short it all looked like something of a backlash. Feminism had somehow gave patriarchy renewed vigor and ideas. We didn't plan for that.

Why, I even use the word cunt pejoratively myself these days. I blame Blair for that.

yardarm said...

Mr Anon re the DCI retired at 54.

I had my ignorance sharply enlightened recently when I found out some coppers could retire at fifty after putting in their 30 years, I think it is. In fact some police authorities pay nearly half their budget on police pensions, it seems. It`s only the rest of us have to work until our late sixties to pay for it and then get a pension a damned sight smaller than the DCI`s.

I don`t understand why they can`t find a role for the elderly plods; perhaps helping out with all that paperwork they`re continually complaining about. Mind you, I`ve done manual work alongside blokes in their sixties who went like greased lightning and my old man, a bricklayer only hung up his trowel when he reached 70.

Of course it couldn`t be that they`re being featherbedded to protect an elite ever more worried as the tide of Ruin laps ever higher, could it ?

call me ishmael said...

Another aspect of old Bill's institutionalised rottenness is that until fairly recently the whole stinking mass of them spoke quite openly of those whose villainy and criminal brutality could no longer be celebrated and concealed being able to retire early on a full pension, rather than face further enquiry, much less prosecution. You would see gobby Superintendents on the telly, quite openly stating this dereliction of duty as a sound managerial option. Well, this officer's paid a very heavy price, having to retire early, they'd smirk, time for the force to draw a line in the sand, learn lessons and move forward.

It is just in the nature of things, all coppers are bastards.

Agatha said...

Dear, kind Mr. Ishmael,
What a beautiful post.You have a beautiful mind and deep compassion for the human race. As Mr. Dick says - you have a rare ability to scribe and chronicle what should be manifest to everyone. Sadly, it isn't. I don't think things have got worse, though - think of the general delight in public executions, which were discontinued only comparatively recently. When working as a Probation Officer, in the Eighties I worked with an offender who had been judicially flogged as a boy for an offence that probably wouldn't come to Court now. I think the difference now is that the middle class are more aware of the chaotic lives of the poor, through TV news, the internet, even, bless us, soap operas. Young mothers raising many children by different fathers is not new, prostitution, drugs and alcoholabuse were not invented recently. The slow pace of change and of increasing understanding and compassion is very frustrating - but maybe that is the way things are because the humanrace is just not very evolved. Contraception, huge profits from drugs, prostitution and internet porn - (or capitalism; better financial control for single mothers in that they receive benefit payments in their own name; have all had a huge impact on society -more so than the impact of sevenites feminism, just as the First World War did more for the independence of women than the suffragette movement. It is shit nowadays, but it probably always was and at least now we have fitted carpets, TV, fridges and washing machines - plus more than enough to eat to comfort our bodies whilst our souls remain impoverished, wizened things.

Anonymous said...

As for the plod, lay of that milk of amnesia and remember" operation countryman" they had to jack it in as nearly all the Met would have been in the dock. How did it go? Oh yeah one or two rotten apples and the fucker in charge at the time ended up making adverts for tyres that in his opinion "were a major influence on road safety" yeah rightjust a pity they didn't run the fucker over.

call me ishmael said...

Commissioner Robert Mark, you speak of, mr a, a right one. I love that One Bad Apple shit, more like one good apple and he or she is soon driven to the wall, kicked-out, fitted up. You are right about the ad, major contribution etc. Stalker, mind, had to settle for advertising, what was it, sunblinds, or garage doors on which his career had probably made him an expert, cunt.

If a former Assistant Chief Constable peddles his office thus is it any wonder that they are jeld in utter contempt?

call me ishmael said...

All you say is right, ms a, but that is only looking at a different turn of Ruin's kaleidoscope, the emphases may fall wherever, depending on when or how you look at things; that there is at least one generation of children of darkness and that, given our plenty, there shouldn't be any is inescapable and "that the poor are with Ye always" is the sort of thing beloved of Pope Nazi and wealthy clerics in general; given that the general social background to these conditions is so much better one must conclude that they are, in fact, much worse than before and much less acceptable. It may be the case that some children have always tortured other children to death but it need not remain so were if not for Ruin's many agents, those you don't mention, the honourables and right honourables, in our employ but out of our control.