Hello bods.

How are you doing today?

It’s very handy we have this place off the beaten track.

In plain sight, so no skulduggery.

Always here, never going anywhere, not affiliated, and no marketeers.

No gurus saying what they do is news, when all it is, is the same-old tired dragged to death learned by their handlers crap...

Two, or three morons taking a piece of news or standpoint and endlessly asking for your indulgence of their overstated ineffective run of the mill opines on that news...

Until there’s nothing left but a huge soup of total and utter cobblers, and we all - walk away.

To Regulate or not to regulate, that is not the question.

Why would a big chemical company stand up for a small farmer...

That’s the fuckin question peeps.

The answer is complicatedly simple; you just have to have a single mind, as opposed to the hivecreationmind, the mind controlled with the box,

Or tablet, where the commandments are written, hee hee.

Well a very big company is just a wittle business, it’s a person a thing, it can be sued or sue.

There is one thing I want it to do, some will disagree, which is healthy.

Good, disagreement is healthy, very; it keeps a check and natural balance. We progressed forward in the seventies, it was shit, the Russians have an actual word for it in their language, I suppose it’s one of the new words...

It means I am told "painted rust".

Well the whole while the west was thumbing its nose at the Communists for having that word, we had the real thing with no word.

It got so bad that nowadays it’s better,

The rubbish was piled high, the unions were revolting, according to Margaret (who was busy inventing new labour).

Meanwhile faded old England was falling apart (except where the limos go)

The reason this happened was fear.

The grip was being lost, the courts still thought they had jurisdiction over mans thoughtless exuberance.

The tide looked set to come in on their admiralty.

Before all the ships were completed.

This would never do,

So the attack happened, somewhere else...

Companies, private limited companies...

The creation of a dead life-form that will except the blame for all and not expect a Christmas present.

Will take the blame with ever so broad shoulders, broader than Broadway.

The company is an entity, so when it wants s to do something you cannot repress its rights...

It has them you know.

To do business.

You can’t tread on the rights of a small guy, to grow what crops he wants, how he wants to.

That’s what the company lawyers fight on...

Your rights, borrowed for their lifeless corpse that takes the blame, the dead body that we all so willingly kick around the floor.

Because that is exactly what a company is, a corpse.

Animated, yes.

Alive, no.

It will walk around doing what it does, being the living dead corpse.

That takes the blame...

Sure you’re disgusted at the individuals that work and defend the higher motor functions, but you can’t kill a corpse.

The corpse employs people, real people,

Not all of them are "high" in the thinking or stature, just working stiffs.

They need the money cos no one gives a shit about them, they just provide the tax for the companies to avoid, while the company is saying tax is bad, look how much you gotta pay, to its employees.

Something all agree on, or do they?

But let’s stay with our compadres the zombie and its new friend the farmer and his rights as person, an individual.

So let’s draw up a dilemma...

Always fun, to watch, someone, something, work and squirm to explain the process, it would go thru, to justify its rights in this hypothetical trap.

So this is for the activists in us...

That have the right to demand you don’t do what it is you’re doing big little company person entity, ZOMBIE...

Cos it’s killing, poisoning, blowing to smithereens, real peeps.

Well you go to court after the burning and the graduation and the wife and the mid life crisis and the mortgage, you get a rebirth of life and call it an epiphany.

Of you go the adult that you are, to court, to class action.

You will show them in your group, your gang, of new found calm liberal rally musters,

Paint some signs, blow some trumpets...

Etc...

Day out, few joints and back to middle class (apparent) safety.

But.

In the court, not outside, the argument gets complicated, boring, long winded, and eventually a sedative, like school.

The pre learned sedative of the working class,

School is boring, the adverts say.

Be fun,

Break the rules, that makes you a star...

Youboob yaself all over someone else’s screen,

Then run away with ya raincoat re wrapped around your electronic genitalia.

So, e-popularity of the argument wanes.

Most stop following except the surviving relatives...

And the little bit lonely and weird.

Bingo!

Zombies’ handlers jump into action, the troubles are caused in the ranks of who is left...

Financial worries seem to fall thru the letterbox.

Then it’s just the judges and the lawyers, watched by the corpse in the corner...

The zombie is a poor old zombie; he just wants the rights the farmer has.

And the farmers have the right to grow whatever they want.

Who are you to tell someone else what to do on their own land?

Judges relish in the pain of the law,

The total dismay and destruction of being legally right.

They live on it.

It’s a vocation.

They shed crocodile tears? No they don't.

But they will cry if you step on their power, they will cry like the child molested...

But they will stand on the law and watch the mayhem.

No soft activists, that came close to succeeding,

You don’t have the right to go on an ordinary farmers land and tell him or her what to do.

What would you do if someone said you were not allowed to stand there and say that, as that IS, IS your right to do?

You say well what they do is harming me and mine all for the future.

That one little farmer is not solely responsible.

So the court will say, no.

The zombie is free.

As is the farmer.

But this is all past tense.

The zombie company is now in total control.

Total.

But it’s dead?

How?

Because of the handlers, the wranglers...

The true culprits.

All of Us.

You are being cleverly manipulated obviously.

But let’s for a moment endure the art-form, which it undoubtedly is.

This art-form is written by men as a plan and calculated by algorithm.

Implemented by the courts using the rights of the individual as a defence.

You are hating the zombie...

So now to the people in the "know" the people that think they have a grasp on the reality in part or whole as I explained previously.

Badly.

They hate everything,

They hate they are not really very clever,

They hate that they are closet bigots,

They hate when they are conversationally cornered they do the adult version of crying, they get violent.

But most of all they hate life as its sooooo boring stuck in front of the computer with no friends...

Some get really weird and poke into people’s lives venomously.

Some get very depressed and die.

Etc... etc.

But, some, well they ask for money...

For you to fund their endeavours into the wild grey yonder.

They give themselves qualifications that don’t exist.

They club together for authority.

They emulate what they complain of in every way, including a big microphone, the bigger the better it seems.

The nice neon desk,

The indignant anger,

The useless constant dribble...

And of course always, always, the DONATE BUTTON.

A corporate dream,

And the deal is sealed.

Seals, clapping and balancing a ball,

Here’s a fish,

Meanwhile the bemused watch in constant terror.

The ZOMBIE COMPANIES WITH RIGHTS AS YOU HAVE,

They donate to the wackos that make the stupid arguments, any argument as long as it isn’t the truth.

Fortunately (for the zombie) because the uneducated youth can only recite adverts, they are seen as saviours.

So all the wacky shit they say dilutes the real truth, they claim to be clambering for (unless of course you’re a bit scary to talk to).

They (gurus) clamber to pay the rent the mortgage, the bank knows, so the grid knows, so the algorithm knows.

They turn on each other, in case one has more clicks than another...

They claim to understand Marionetteville, but then take part!

Take away a corporations rights.

Make the first restriction the same as a doctors is supposed to be.

Do no harm!

NOW THIS IS A GURU TRAP.

You think I think one thing, and you don’t like it, if you understood the words in the order they were meant, plus we crossed all the divides...

But I don't think that way.

I know what is occurring.

I know what the plan is.

The trick is simple.

That’s why it’s such genius.

Looking from my windmill on the hill with the fools.

Who cares?

I don't,

I’m starting to realise that it’s probably for the best,

If we don’t evolve in the next year the way we truly, truly should.

All is lost.

If that is the case, then surely, that’s natural.

If no one is left to notice, or the ones that do, just argue.

Then I think it’s time we slip into the last night.

So for the guru,

Read, read again.

See if you can figure out what is about to make you all look, so, well, what everyone knows you are! (secretly) while they are entertained.

You have six months approximately to do so,

There that’s fair.

If you wish to know what we do,

You must only ask in person.

Takes guts.

That’s how we keep them out.

The robots.

Easy to spot.

Metaphor...is wonderful.

...

On to the days fun.

Today I am talking to my (new lawyer) as my old one was nobbled by the police.

I had to get rid of the old one to get the new one to instruct a new barrister. etc etc...

Meanwhile the wind is up the police because they now know formally what I’m accusing them of.

Namely administrative corruption, to gain control of independent media on behalf of factions in the employ of said handlers.

But let’s stay with plain old "BENT” policeman.

For now, as that is a small argument, which I can and will easily prove,

Mostly with their own video footage which is poetic.

I will keep you informed of my progress, over here in the swamp, because it just got deeper, what with Donald not claiming to know which way to turn the valve to drain it.

The unravelling, begins.

It will start with the weakest and most ill educated.

The people want control, the companies regulated.

I will leave you with that statement, gurus.

Let’s see where you take it.

I of course include allllll the pocket gurus on the intrawebs, with a following of ten, or three, or, oh dear, none.

No clicking, awwww.

You fucking idiots.

You fuel.

Fuckin cold innit, btw.

I have some very lovely old renditions to put up, some stuff I took naughty pics of when I shouldn't, oh boy did that worm catch some fish..

But with all bait, it must be legit, fish know the difference.

So I showed some, that was enough to cause the fun it did, not been seen since and won't again.

Little things are often very, very important, the devils in the detail, as they say,

Maybe that’s why the gurus obsess about the size of things so much.

You know Alex the cliché, and his man drops.

Donald and his inauguration crowd, he really should turn it off now, don't you think minders?

I mean, he is writing in history books of the future, the 'what happened according to them' for your kids...

The media are smarting cos they told lies, big wow,

I want no part of it in any way.

All I’m going to do is bait them, all of them, without exception, the needers,

But it wasn't just bait.

I worked for a knight of the realm.

And he was as bent as the coppers.

So I took note.

And took shit. Lol.

Cos I’m an ordinary boy, from a shit council estate.

My mum drove an ambulance, and my dad was in the army and then the post office.

But me, I had bigger ideas.

On my adventure into their crazy god rich world, I never forgot what I was.

And that ultimately brought me home again.

I have people around me that truly care about me, and me in my own mad way do them.

I do hope they realise that. Even though I have obvious impediments that stop me showing it effectively.

It’s my one hope actually.

Here's a much more imaginative version. Much better! Copyright Boy.

I ain’t going anywhere; I’m staying for the fight.

I’m no whistle blower never was a grass.

Defector, nope.

I’m just a sandal.

I will keep you informed.

Of the most recent bullshit.

The next gathering is going to be enlightening to say the least.

Nice one.

Tra!