Acted like a cunt as usual? Yes I did.When you pay taxes you do not decide how parliament allocates them. You are funding the state, which means it ceases to be mine or your money. I can't believe I am explaining this to you, see what I did there.
Although by random you actually touched on the truth - I guess even a stopped cock is right twice a year - in that it's not my money cos it wasn't taken from me. I left the UK before Johnson could get his hands on anything I own.
I'm not owning to fraud, just saying I moved to Portugal before Johnson became PM.Careful there, not a good idea to admit frauding on a public forum. In the world of taxation, one is guilty until proven innocent.
Although admittedly the money he lavished on the beautiful Arcuri was when he was mayor, hmm.
No doubt taxpayers' money is frittered away on vanity projects, ivory backscratchers and MP's mistresses in Portugal too, although maybe not as blatantly as it is here.Although by random you actually touched on the truth - I guess even a stopped cock is right twice a year - in that it's not my money cos it wasn't taken from me. I left the UK before Johnson could get his hands on anything I own.
@boxedjoy, you really ought to know better than this by now. @thirdform is not only more radical than you. He is more radical than you can possibly imagine, and will just hit you with slogans such as "protest is complicity", "democracy is Stalinism", "pacifism is racism" and "not-stabbing-people is violence" until your brain implodes. The better a person you are by any normal progressive metric, the more he hates you.
And let's be real, if wmds were found in Iraq, half of the people on those poncy marches would be baying for blood to contain the dictator Saddam Hussain. No wonder Fouad Ajami made a career out of being the native (arab) pro-intervensionist anglo-american neocons creamed their pants over! Because Brits and Americans have an astounding ability to constantly avoid what is in front of their eyes, I don't blame him, if I could make the cash he was making, I'd become a war hawke just to troll your countrymans civilising humanitarian nonsense.
The absence of a revolutionary movement in Europe has reduced the Left to its simplest expression: a mass of spectators who swoon with rapture each time the exploited in the colonies take up arms against their masters, and who cannot help seeing these uprisings as the epitome of Revolution. At the same time, the absence from political life of the proletariat as a class-for-itself (and for us the proletariat is revolutionary or it is nothing) has allowed this Left to become the "Knight of Virtue" in a world without virtue. But when it bewails its situation and complains about the "world order" being at odds with its good intentions, and when it maintains its poor yearnings in the face of this order, it is in fact attached to this order as to its own essence. If this order was taken away from it, it would lose everything. The European Left is so pitiful that, like a traveler in the desert longing for a single drop of water, it seems to aspire for nothing more than the meager feeling of an abstract objection. From the little with which it is satisfied one can measure the extent of its poverty. It is as alien to history as the proletariat is alien to this world. False consciousness is its natural condition, the spectacle is its element, and the apparent opposition of systems is its universal frame of reference: wherever there is a conflict it always sees Good fighting Evil, "total revolution" versus "total reaction."
The attachment of this spectator consciousness to alien causes remains irrational, and its virtuous protests flounder in the tortuous paths of its guilt. Most of the "Vietnam Committees" in France split up during the "Six Day War" and some of the war resistance groups in the United States also revealed their reality. "One cannot be at the same time for the Vietnamese and against the Jews menaced with extermination," is the cry of some. "Can you fight against the Americans in Vietnam while supporting their allied Zionist aggressors?" is the reply of others. And then they plunge into Byzantine discussions . . . Sartre hasn't recovered from it yet. In fact this whole fine lot does not actually fight what it condemns, nor does it really know much about the forces it supports. Its opposition to the American war is almost always combined with unconditional support of the Vietcong; but in any case this opposition remains spectacular for everyone. Those who were really opposed to Spanish fascism went to fight it. No one has yet gone off to fight "Yankee imperialism." The consumers of illusory participation are offered a whole range of spectacular choices: pacifist demonstrations; Stalino-Gaullist nationalism against the Americans (Humphrey's visit was the sole occasion the French Communist Party has demonstrated with its remaining faithful); the sale of the Vietnam Newsletter or of publicity handouts from Ho Chi Minh's state . . . Neither the Provos (before their dissolution) nor the Berlin students have been able to go beyond the narrow framework of anti-imperialist "action."
Please don´t do that.On the techno thread they've called me a "faggot with no dick" and then a random new user who is definitely a real person has turned up at 2am to create a profile and then to make some digs about Scottish national identity as if I have any identification with it and as if doing so doesn't code as a weird act of (active) historical racism. So that's something.
I'd have switched on Ignore but the threads they populate are hard enough to follow with their illogical style, without removing him.
I'll probably just withdraw from here, standing up to playground trolls doesn't make it any more fun a place to play.
Please don´t do that.
We can´t have this can we @sufi ?
'Good songs' was a bugbear of mine in those days. Not good songs per se (I like a shapely melody, who doesn't?), but the critical fixation on the Song as the be-all and end-all of music. Apart from the fact that there's hardly a shortage of well-crafted, heart-felt tunes in the world, what irked me was this way of treating music as surrogate literature (the song as short story or mini-screenplay), in the process totally ignoring sound-in-itself: the insistence of riffs, the sensuousness of timbre, the sorcery of production, the marvel of groove, the mystery of melodic beauty itself.
What troubles critics about Mantronix, about house, is that they're illegible. You can't read anything into them. There's no text, just texture, and those who endeavour to wrap meanings around the music are always shown up, the failed despots of discourse. The sheer opaque, arbitrary force of the music slips the net of meaning, again and again.