Bouvier, Kennedy, Onassis.

Chanel Suit

Born this day in 1929 Jackie Bouvier married J.F.K. to become the second youngest First Lady in history.  The young couple and staff of the Kennedy Whitehouse gained the nickname of “Camelot” after the hit musical of the day.  Bouvier Kennedy was a style icon of her day.  She renovated the Whitehouse and made it more public to the American people.  She is best rememered in her classic style of tailored suits, matching pillbox hat and white goves.

The outfit in the photo is the pink Chanel suit she was wearing when John was assassinated in Dallas.

Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief, shining moment that was known as Camelot. There’ll be great presidents again … but there will never be another Camelot……………  Jackie quoted in Life magazine.

 

 

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Happy Birthday Peter Reading

Peter-Reading-007

“Eschew baggage for the expedition is brief” he said and Peter was right, because in this day and age 65 years is a brief expedition.  Reading was described as the laureate of grot and as a bleak poet.  Seems to me he was a poet with good eyes and ears who conveyed what he saw accurately, incisively and didn’t give a shit if you were offended by it.  My kind of poet.

Most of all his poems are hilarious, very funny if very dark also.  He is a master at exposing the absurdity of the human condition and pointing out the bullshit we use to make ourselves look important.

He worked for over 20 years as a weighbridge operator at an animal feed mill.  It is a repetitive and boring job and it freed his mind to think and to create.  Volume after volume of poetry flowed out of that dross.  Then a new boss arrived and told Peter he had to wear a uniform to work and you can only imagine the tirade of flagrant abuse eminating from this usually quiet man that led to him being sacked.  I like this story because Peter is a poet who strips away the crap that people surround themselves with.  Imagine telling such a man to wear a uniform so he can better weigh truckloads of calf nuts and chicken feed!

 

 

Soiree; by Peter Reading

One funny thing about loving someone
is how much you’ll put up with – her parents’
conversazione for example,
or being sweet to those fools she works with
who smoke inferior cigars and think
it’s savoir vivre, and drag me back to drink
inadequately and long past my bedtime,
and put on records (God!) stuff like Ray Conniff.
And all their damn fool questions ‘tell me Peter,
what do you write about?’ (cunts like you mate).
‘Peter, you interested in history?’
(Mate, I ain’t even interested in
the present.) Still I’m here because I love her.

The New Colossus

Image result for statue of liberty

In 1883 Emma Lazarus wrote a beautiful sonnet entitled “The New Colossus”.  It was a work of art forming part of a fundraising drive to construct the pedestal on which to mount the Statue of Liberty.  When the pedestal was constructed in 1903 the poem was cast onto a plaque where it can be read to this day.

That was back in the days before the Immigration Act of 1924 when America welcomed immigrants with open arms, those same immigrants who made America what it is today.

That was back in the days before the children of those immigrants decided to close the doors and build walls and repel immigrants with openly carried arms.

Under the presidency of Donald J. Trump we see babies ripped from the arms of their mothers and left to die in concentration camps. Call them what you like, they are camp in which people are concentrated for processing.

 

The New New Colossus; by Donal Clancy and Emma Lazarus

Just like that brazen giant of Greek fame,
with conquering limbs astride from land to land;
here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
is the imprisoned lightning, and she named
Mother of Homeland Security. From her beacon-hand
glows world-wide warning; her stern eyes command
the air-bridged harbor that twin towers once framed.

“Keep, ancient lands, your sorry peoples!” cries she
with silent lips. “Give me not your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your murdering rout.
Keep these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
I lift my lamp beside the sign “Keep Out!”

El-Khatun

Bell

Winston Churchill, Gertrude Bell and T.E. Lawrence

Born on this day, July 14th in 1868 Gertrude Bell is one of the most remarkable women in history. Writer, traveller, mountaineer, archeologist, historian, journalist, red-cross worker and most importantly she was a highly insightful political analyst.

Bell also translated the Persian poet Khwāja Shams-ud-Dīn Muḥammad Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī, better known as Hafez in her book “Poems from the Divan if Hafiz” (1892).

She was a witness to and reporter of the Armenian Holocaust when the Ottomans committed a genocide wiping out 1.5 million Armenians.  She saw Armenian women traded in the marketplaces by the Turks and Kurds as groups of the men, boys and old aged were dragged off and murdered in the desert.

Bell is one of the very few representatives of the colonial powers who is remembered with any fondness in the middle east.  She was instrumental in the establishment of the boundaries of Jordan, Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia.  Her intimate knowledge of tribal groupings, loyalties and alliances paved the way for the division of the middle east.

Bell had a unique advantage over the French and British men involved in the process.  As a woman she had access to women.  Her Arabic title : al-Khatun is derived from Imperial Ottoman Harem politics and refers to a court lady who is highly politically astute.  A lady who works for the benefit of the state and who has the ear of the Sultan.  She was the Sheherazade to King Faisal in the creation of Iraq.

Mark Sykes (of the Sykes-Pichot Agreement) was said to have hated Bell.  She was also unpopular with the Zionists because she opposed the establishment of a Jewish state in Arabic lands.  She wrote of the Balfour declaration;  “It’s like a nightmare in which you foresee all the horrible things which are going to happen and can`t stretch out your hand to prevent them“.

This is enough for me. (Poems from the Divan of Hafiz: Translated by Gertrude Lowthian Bell)

VI

A flower-tinted cheek, the flowery close
of the fair earth, these are enough for me.
Enough that in the meadow wanes and grows
the shadow of a graceful cypress-tree.
I am no lover of hypocirisy;
of all the treasures that the earth can boast,
a brimming cup of wine I prize the most.

This is enough for me !

To them that here renowned for virtue live,
a heavenly palace is the meet reward;
to me, the drunkard and the beggar, give
the temple of the grape with red wine stored!
Beside a river seat thee on the sward;
it floweth past, so flows thy life away,
so sweetly, swiftly, fleets our little day.

Swift, but enough for me !

Look upon all the gold in the world’s mart,
on all the tears the world hath shed in vain;
shall they not satisfy thy craving heart?
I have enough of loss, enough of gain;
I have my Love, what more can I obtain?
Mine is the joy of her companionship
whose healing lip is laid upon my lip.

This is enough for me !

Telling Lies #11: Fake News

Fake News

Once upon a time journalists were seen as heroes of the people.  They fought against “the man”.  They exposed the elaborate cover-up by dint of hard work, hours of laborious investigations in dark libraries (the libraries were always dark), cultivating whistleblowers by having meetings in car parks at night.  They were threatened by the powers that be with jail time but they would not give up their sources.  You could trust a journalist.  A journalist was solid, brave, loyal, resourceful, basically a boyscout.

Good journalists were given Pulitzer prizes for their investigations.  They were given international awards for exposing corruption, white collar crime, tax avoidance, all that stuff the top 2% hate you to hear about.

So then “The Man” took over the news organs.  The “independent press” became a mouthpiece for the interests of the Global 2%, the Davos set, the Bilderberg crowd.  You could not trust the headlines, or the stories.  Investigative journalism was fine if it exposed low-lifes, organised crime or benefit cheats.  But God Forbid it should look into the tax affairs of Billionaires.  In 1983, 90% of US media was controlled by 50 companies; in 2012, 90% was controlled by just 6 companies.  This pattern is reapeated worldwide.

Then along came the internet and the 5th Estate.  On Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, Quora etc we get the truth, straight from the horses mouth.  You can talk to the person at the source.

The Media Moguls who now owned the 4th Estate needed to disrupt the 5th Estate.  The tool they use is called “Fake News”.  If you flood the media with sensational fake news you can create so many side conversations that it is difficult to sort the wheat from the chaff, the truth from the lies.

The age of the investigative journalist was over.  Success in journalism today resides in the ability to write good clickbait.  The headlines that go viral are the Pulitzer prizes of today.  Nobody cares about the actual article.  So these days as a Journalist you may write an excellent and insightful article which is published widely, only to find that it is topped with a clickbait headline you did not write.  The headline may not even bear any resemblance to the article itself.

In a world where every politically charged news item is presented with wildly contradictory “facts” the average Joe just retreats from the war for airtime.

Karl Marx famously commented on how the oppressed retreated into Religion as an anodyne to the realities of a hard life, something to distract the attention of the worker from his or her own exploitation, a promise of something better in the next world.  In the modern social-media world religion has been replaced by “Reality TV”.  Keeping up with the Kardashians, Love Island, America’s Got Talent, Who wants to be a Millionaire, Big Brother, Survivor, The Bachelor, America’s Top Model, Duck Dynasty, Ice Road Truckers, Storage Wars and so on.  All of these shows are examples of Hyperreal simulacra.  They represent an idealised life that does not exist – Disneyland for adults who find themselves out of touch with the cold hard realities of the modern world.

Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people” Karl Marx