The 6th Proletarian Anarcho-Lotto-Syndicate is a self organising anarcho-collective consisting of me and my mate Joe.
Enraged by the contradictions inherit in the capitalist system, my mate and me decided to form the 6th Proletarian Anarcho-Lotto-Syndicate, bowing to the forces of history. Read the rest of this entry »
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Your mate is having a Wet Wet Wet moment (and why not? Is it possible to condemn anything Scottish? With the possible exception of Glasgow Rangers. And Adam Smith. And John Knox. And the Highland Clearances, they were bad. And the suppression of gaelic, though that was done by the sassenachs of course. Your mate and Edgar Edgarberger had a perfectly pleasant evening recently at the barn that is entitled “The Sydney Entertainment Centre” listening to the dulcet tones of Jim Kerr and a backing band describing themselves as ‘Simple Minds’ [and of course DEVO, but I am unaware of any Scottish connection there, though of course there must be one]. Except that while Edgar was enjoying himself condemning the fashion sense of all those round him, I was contemplating the upcoming death of my dog, and berating myself for the bourgeois indulgence of pet ownership).
I seem to have digressed. Yes, a Wet Wet Wet moment. I can feel it in my fingers … and in my toes … the signs and portents are all around me … Australia is being haunted by a spectre … the spectre of communism (very different to the Spektor of Phil, and the antithesis of the spectre of Trevor). After the Bulldogs lost the Australian Rugby League grand final, the workers have been discontented to quite a slight degree, and our 152 silver medals (our national slogan: “close enough is good enough, so fuck off”) at the London Olympics did not satisfy their false god of sport. The government has tried to salve their wounds with the true opium of the masses, more poker machines at bus stops and schools, and compulsory gambling (not anti-gambling) ads during the televising of all sporting events, but it is not working. Climate change has denied all Australians their birth right – a hot Christmas! We do not wear jumpers in the summer. We do not look for the blankets we put away in that mad moment on 1 September (the official start of spring – don’t get me started on that one.
Yes, the Revolution being historically inevitable, each moment brings it closer, so the coming new year is so much more likely to see it in than the last one. I’m so excited. And not that good Revolutionaries can be superstitious, but I must confess an amazing coincidence which should fill you with confidence: 2013 happens to be my lucky number- and Edgar’s too! Amazing! That of course may explain why we haven’t won lotto yet – the numbers only go up to 44. Fascists! WHERE IS MY BEACH WEATHER?
“Marxism is about leisure, not labour. It is a project that should be eagerly supported by all those who dislike having to work. It holds that the most precious activities are those done simply for the hell of it, and that art is in this sense the paradigm of authentic human activity.”
Terry Eagleton
and these are the girls to do it:
Brazenly stolen from here
Edgar, no one like this ever comes to our parties!
(I am going to be in big trouble from Edgar for this. Really big.)
well, it mentions the lottery …
Cancer too is a prize
You don’t have to queue at the newsagent’s
to buy a ticket
They slip it in with the teddy bear,
the beatrix potter china setting,
the first photograph album,
unnoticed.
The final draw may be foreshadowed
in the missed stitch in the booties
grandma made
put aside, only used at your Baptism.
(“It was her last pair. Do you think she knew?”)
Unlike the contents of your bowels
or your most recent projectile vomit,
it is not discussed in polite company.
It may stick its head around the corner at 3.30am,
pop into Dad’s thoughts as he tries to settle you
and sees his own mortality as he pictures his own father
rocking him 30 years ago,
and his grandfather walking the floor twenty years before that.
A link in the chain between first and last
Somewhere between the savannah and the heat death of…
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In a world of at least 300 000 people, it is difficult to have an original thought. The CIA has developed a random thought generator, but its mostly a random juxtaposer: crystal grace; jealous necromancer; sturdy carrion; jugged hare. Its useful for band name construction, and titling that difficult third album, and not much else. Certainly this blog is not original, we’d steal anything from anyone, but that’s ok, after all, property is theft. So why even say this?
I wonder at the point of columnists in the main stream press, particularly those who write fluff pieces. Richard Glover in the Sydney Morning Herald is as good or bad as an example as any. He is an amusing man, and his schtick is about his general uselessness as a man (eg inability to use power tools), and the general uselessness of men; Jocasta, whom he still quivers at the sight of, despite I think 180 years of non-married bliss, and who seems to be a bit of a hard arse; and how he hasn’t used shampoo for 20 years because it is a con job by marketing companies (which may be right, but his hair always looks shit). Fluff, fluff, fluff, but usually amusing, and then twice a year he slips in some “hard hitting” sarcasm supporting something he believes in, and which his vaguely leftish middle class audience already agree with, and despite him having no credibility but just a licence to print stuff, if you don’t agree with him, you’re a bit of a prick, and when this genial jokester makes the point that you are a bit of a prick, why, you’d be a bit of a prick to argue with him. Not picking on him, he’s just a blogger with a particularly wide audience. Its not a contest, I’m not trying to say I’m better than him, he wins by a million miles, he has his own radio show and column and writes books and is very successful – just trying to paint the picture of this type of entertainer who is known all over the world.
So why even raise this? Just to say, instead of reading this blog, you can just read his latest column, where he posits that the world’s richest woman, Australian Gina Rinehart, is really a communist sleeper. Saves me or Edgar doing it. He’s a professional, he does it much better, plus he has his own artist:
You have nothing to lose but your chains of pearls
So read Richard Glover’s faux communist piece.
Edgar, quick, before the masses begin to taunt you, share your marxist analysis of the Rugby League competition. Despite your claim that it is historically inevitable that the Magpies (and are they not mere smears on the sleeves of the Tigers now?) must triumph, the only Sydney team remaining is the Bulldogs. Yes! Go the Doggies! And if they lose to the Melbourne Storm, we all know of their capitalistic shenanigans, the excuses are already built in. Its a win win for me, and I am so used to losing I am immune.
And all those Manly supporting corporate types who had their box seats ready for the grand final next week, HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!
Think globally, support locally.
EDGAR EDGARBERGER, WHERE ART THOU?
Edgar and I are brutally interested in the culture. Edgar’s interest is in part because of professional reasons, he being a leading kultural apparatchik for several regimes. My interest exists because my interests are irrevocably intertwined with those of the people. As a man person of the people, it is imperative that I be fully aware at all times of everything that interests and moves the people. Unfortunately, the people can be a darned nuisance sometimes, in that their interests are not exactly homogenous, which causes my brain to hurt. Its hard enough following more than one football team at the same time, especially when they are playing each other, let alone more than one code of football. Never mind, come the revolution, everyone’s interests will be one. There shall be only one type of ball sport, and only one team. That might sound silly, but all conflict having been resolved by the internalisation of externalities and the incorporation of all abstractions into the concrete, there will be no need for more than one team, because we will all be playing together, in Marxist unison, with no more wasteful competition. (To guide you a little, the only true sport is Rugby League, despite the fact the club secretaries betrayed the revolution. Until the overthrow of the State, its go the Bulldogs!)
I try not to talk about music, because that just gets Edgar started on his “special” subject (think the Jack Black character in High Fidelity with a Joe Stalin moustache)*. Nonetheless as a man person of the people it behooves me to provide some commentary on such a popular art form. I oppose aristocracy of course, and so despise the Lady Gaga and the Prince, and all the Kings of Pop. Queen Latvia, or whatever her name is. Duke Ellington. Count Basie. Madonna would like to be the opium of the people.
Far be it for me to jump on any interweb bandwagon in a cheap attempt to obtain attention, but it turns out the reports of the death of Kim Jong Il were premature. His brilliant sense of humour is now on display as he has rebooted himself as a satirist, savaging the bourgeois affluenza of the fascist South Korean rump state:
Because that video needs even more attention
Some have accused me of racism in comparing Kim Jong Il to Psy, as though this is some cheap joke that all Asians look alike. I do not sully myself with such pettiness. As an international communist revolutionary, by definition I cannot be racist. I am equally condescending to peoples of all races, creeds, nationalities, and football codes. Like Richard Dawkins, I am interested only in what unites us, not what divides, and I too look forward to the day when all people are one, with nothing dividing us, not even skin. Its just a question of whether everyone will look like me, or Dawkins.
Now, if only this had gone as viral as Gangnam style:
(Thanks to Thirsty Murphy)
But all is well with the world. The revolution nears with every day, and Edgar and I have tickets to see DEVO in December.
*I’m not being rude in his absence, just trying to goad him into posting. Honest. He’s around. He’s just working hard. For the man.
6th Proletarian Anarcho-Lotto-Syndicate 