The Despicaple SaVile

Fixer of fiends

Look at his face up there, mocking us from beyond the grave with those long bird-like features and hollow eyes like two black onyx of vileness. (Or in other pictures his eyes a hellish glow, brought to life by red tinted glasses.) SaVile the Despicable, the Despicable SaVile. Now that the truth is seeping out from the sewer of entertainment, this creep has been exposed for the foul specimen he really was. A modern day bogeyman who belongs in a pit of evil where unimaginable beasts roam, leaving their souls at the door.
Police are currently investigating 300 offenses against children by this ManVulture and I wouldnt be suprised if there were many many more. (There are investigations being made over others too but this post is only about the Despicable SaVile.) To me, with his white straight edged hair, he looked like a nasty wraith with dead skin, a sinister creature to be avoided at all costs. Although a more accurate comparison would be to Baba Yaga the cruel hag of Slavic folklore who kidnaps and eats children, and has a hut that stands on chicken legs. Both were loners (their disgusting habits forced solitude) whose carcass bodies were topped with white straw hair and of course both preyed on innocent children. But while the Despicable SaVile owned no shack built on chicken legs (however much his ghoulish appearance indicated he could have), he did have a lonely cottage stuck in the wilds of Scotland which would have made the perfect lair for this heartless predator. Baba Yaga loved to feast on young, pearly flesh and the Despicable SaVile hinted he would have liked to as well, just take a peek at the photo below and the quote on his tee shirt. A quote by the ogre himself. Yes my dear readers, these two hellions were two rotten peas in a pod.
He may be one year dead now but I get the feeling the monster is with us still and not just grinning eerily from pages of tabloid newspapers either. A thing so foul is hard to die and should you find yourself walking alone at night through dark skeletal woods or on thick, foggy hills have a care! The Despicable SaVile might be close with dread fingers and cigar stained fangs ready to pounce and take you as another victim. The chains of death will struggle to contain a thing so evil, a thing so SaVile. The wicked Gein of our time, a terrible Krueger-like celebrity, clad in tacky gold, disguising his perverted lusts by offering a hand to charities.



Fear the creature

Yes let us never forget that charity was badly hurt and decieved by this skinny shard of darkness. A true scholar of the devil, able to hoodwink unsuspecting good causes (including hospitals and childrens homes) in order to gain access to the most vulnerable in society. Hideous bastard, may he now rest in agony under the rocky wing of hell. No sympathy should ever meet his fallen soul, and as his tombstone lies in broken pieces in a forgotten landfill so should our memories of him.
Indeed it is cast iron certainty that the memory of the Despicable SaVile is in ruins (understatement of the year) and he will and should be remembered only with revulsion and hate.
Rightly so. The man was an abomination and however much good he may have done for charities up and down the country can never excuse him of his sick crimes. Why should it? The feeding of a hungry kitten with my left hand will not undo the pain I inflict by strangling another cat with my right. There exists no savings bank to collect good deeds in order to be able to 'spend' them on doing bad.
The Despicable Savile was a ghoul and it is obvious now that any good he did was not done out of the goodness of his soul but rather driven by an insatiable need to do bad. This is what the unspeakable do.
There are other even more disturbing tales attached to this man but because they wander into the realms of necrophilia and this is a family blog (as newspapers are fond of saying) we will not be mentioning those. Suffice to say they only seal SaVile's reputation as a perfect monster, the stuff of nightmare.
So there you have it. The 1970/80s: a golden age of television, a time incidentally I grew up with, now forever tarnished with stories of perverted deeds by the rotten Despicable SaVile.



Legacy of hate

The Facebook Caper

Web advice: Never tell Facebook anything you don’t want the whole Web (and world) to know about you.

Yup sage advice indeed and pretty obvious too. Besides from my work and other serious things like private messages, the other more outlandish stuff I post on Facebook should be taken with a mighty pinch of salt. Especially after 6pm on a drinking night. That is when my naughty twin comes out to play *wink* I think most people know when im stepping into the world of fantasy but just to be clear: my poetry, views, philosphies (and sadly the alcohol) bits are all very much my real world. Nothing but honesty there. The panda eating and prison stories are most certainly not. I would eat dog but not panda, and I dont have a criminal record of any kind.
Why do it? Well simply because I love the absurd. It entertains me on the grainy alcohol evenings when my mind is awash with wild stories. I don't see it as 'trolling' at all, its more a new form of entertainment and it works too because one friend even told me I was better than te;evision. I just dont see the point in telling the world what books im reading, or songs im listening too. Id rather create a kind of Batman & Robin episode where adventure and escapism is the order of the day. It keeps my Facebook wall very interesting and no harm is ever meant. (I would never dream of calling someone out personally anyway, I wasn't brought up that way.)
I do have some wild stories which are true. I have climbed a 100ft quarry face with no equipment, explored underground mines and I have come very close to death due to alcohol and other vices but by and large I am a quiet man just getting through this life as best way he can.

Ton Dernier Acte

When I am gone, distant from this green and woody earth
remember to leave tears out of my eulogies ~
they are neither wanted or needed
for I am in a kingdom no mouth shaped love can touch.
I am not laden with ageing flesh and cataracts,
nor feel tender pain through gums and fingertips.
The hand-me-downs have left my heel
like eels in lather;
cigar smoke breaking free from rats on a leash
and there the tides meet coral raptures.
The hands strike for armageddon,
slap for the dawning of human chains.

Welsh. In Blood. In Spirit. In Tongue.

I am bringing up my daughter Elwen, the same way I was brought up; speaking fluent Welsh. Everyone on my mothers side of the family were Welsh speakers (and fiercly proud of being Welsh) and so naturally it will be carried on through Welsh stories, schools and everyday chatter.
It would be a tragedy of the highest order if Welsh (Cymraeg) ever died out and I will do my damnedest to make certain it doesn't. And if everyone in Wales followed suit our beautiful language would be safe. I have very little time for those who stick to english when conversing or singing with their children. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. Would you see this happen in Italy or Greece? Their children sticking to english? Never! Babes there are taught Italian and Greek first, english second (if at all in some areas) and we are a poorer place for not doing the same.
Not poorer in cultures and lands of course (we Celts can rival anything on the Mediterranean) but poorer in day to day ways. We should ALL, each one of us Welsh make sure our children speak our mother tongue.
If you dont speak it yourself, LEARN it! If for nothing else the good of your children (and country.) Should our 'iaith' fade out due to laziness it would, as I have said, be a terrible, terrible tragedy. I see so many people claiming to be proud of their Welsh heritage, then PROVE IT! Embrace our language, speak it often and ingrain it into your children. Language is vitally important to a country; it is one of the seeds from which so much can grow.
Do your child and Wales a huge favour ~ Siaradwch Cymraeg. Nawr!

No Wind In The Sails

If I were to predict the age of my demise I would place a bet on either forty two or forty three. And since I am thirty nine right now, it doesn't leave me with much time left. But am I concerned? Does this early journey to the casket have me chewing on my thumbs and basted in a worried lard? Well quite frankly no. And I'll try to explain why.
Having sat in the hood of death, and under the stalks of misery, for a number years now I have reached the decision that dying at forty would not be as big a tragedy as many seem to believe. It might be 'young' but to me it is almost the perfect age to shuffle into the ether. And NO I am NOT 'depressed' or 'down in the dumps' or whatever other flimsy diagnosis could (falsely) be heaped upon me.


Abide with me

I have done enough in my nearly four decades; drank enough to sink a battleship, kissed enough horny lips, banged a head to metal until the cymbals woke the dead, eaten more snakes than eagles. The list goes on and on, way beyond the last mile that condemned prisoners are fond of speaking of.
So forty doesn't look as bad a year to drop from the tree to me. Afterall what can I do at forty that I couldn't do at thirty? And do it quicker too.
When I reach forty I will be able to do whatever I did at thirty (only slower) and when I get to fifty I will be doing the forty stuff (again only slower.) On and on the bandolier of time is fed through the same tedious chapters. To me there is only so much repeats I can suffer before wanting to throw in the mortal towel.
At twenty I wasn't too impressed by those in their thirties, who seemed dead on their feet to me, and now that I am coming to the end of my thirties I can say with feeling that I was correct in my younger assumptions. Life is thoroughly unimpressive.
Now that I think of it, there really is no young and old to my mind. Its all one, long stretch and I do not really wish to string out another four decades doing the same things but taking longer to do them.
However (and heres where those who see my thoughts as 'suicidal' are proved wrong) I do not WANT to die. Why on earth would I? I have recently become a father to a beautiful, adorable girl who I love with every fibre of my soul so eventhough death looks quite attractive, I will not be taking the dirtnap for a long while. If I have any say in the matter.
I want to live, I really do! Jingle bells, jingle bells, dashing through the snow all of that. Its a wonderful thing is Life (even for the permenant hospital dwellers and those scrotes on death row.) I have so much to live for, but in the same breath I don't see the tragedy if some miserable disease were to strike me down this instant. All im saying (in my rambling kinda way) is I am prepared to fall at any time, and if one is able to complain and whinge in the EverWorld (afterlife) then you certainly won't here whining from my soul. Forty is a long time, anything beyond it is a bonus. If I live a life as full as a eighty year old in half the time, I don't mind dying at forty.

The Wisdom Of The Clueless

Heroin users in the county of Carmarthenshire are being encouraged to smoke the drug by a 'community partnership' (whatever that means) in an attempt to cut down the use of needles among drug addicts. Utter madness ! And a perfect example of how removed from reality some people are. Well intentioned they might be, in tune with addicts they are not. But I am, and can safely say without fear of being proved wrong that trying to get junkies (or recreational users, there are a few) to inhale heroin rather than inject it is like trying to control a hurricane.
The kind of people who are out to get high don't care much how they achieve it and I know there will be old friends reading this local news report with mile wide grins on their faces. Just as I would be if I were still filling my arms with that rubbish. Its like trying to preach the virtues of beer drinking over spirits but at the end of the day it will ALL kill you DEAD no matter how you achieve your blotto.
In fact the more I think about it, the mpre dangerous this idea is; drug users are none too bright to begin with so this could be a green light for them to go out and get blasted on smack. 'I saw it in the paper,' they'll slur. 'Its okay to use foil as long as its not needles.' Mark my words, someone somewhere WILL use this while attempting to justify their drug use.
However most of them will ignore it and carry on shooting up. There is already a mistrust (even contempt) toward 'suits' among the users and this will only further the animosity. Who wants to listen to advice from people who clearly have NO IDEA about taking drugs? The general consensus would be 'get back in your company Mercedes and leave us the hell alone!'
Sure their barmy ideas make the councillors and yoghurt knitters feel good about themselves and thats fine, tap yourselves on the back dears, but don't carry on like these ideas will do any good. They won't, believe me. As I have already said, things like this are only good for supplying the addicts with just more excuses to use.
Replacing foil with needles is like giving alcoholics benzodiazepenes (valium type drugs) to take instead of booze, effectively cutting off one dragon's head and replacing it with another. Addiction is addiction is addiction! You can never hope to help people caught in this type of vicious whirlwind by keeping them in the same toxic broth, or giving them the OK for one method of abuse while dismissing another.
One of the people who supports the 'needle for foil' scheme told the Llanelli Star newspaper. 'It's actually a step down. It sounds ironic in a way but it is encouraging people out of using needles and taking the first tentative step into getting treatment.'
My goodness, really? Does he really believe this gumph? Surely 'getting treatment' requires the addict to make an honest decision to get clean and seek the relevant help, not just switching from injecting to inhaling the drug. The first steps should NOT be toward snorting heroin fumes off foil but finding professional help in opiate withdrawal. The methadone route had very limited success (most of the people I knew where using heroin on top of their methadone prescription) and I don't hold a much better forecast for this idea.

Ignorance Is Not Bliss

British crime and the leniency of judges are highlighted yet again with the tragic case of a woman who was savagely murdered by a cruel, thuggish ex lover. Nurse Jane Clough, 26, had only recently given birth to a daughter, who now due to a daffy justice system will grow up never knowing her mother.
Miss Clough had split from her partner after having horrendous brutality forced upon her which nobody should suffer but even apart from him she still feared for her life and kept a diary which proves her fears were very real. Its a damning piece of evidence that shows just how little faith the British people have in its criminal justice system to protect us from the bad elements.*
How right Jane Clough was to be afraid because instead of refusing bail and letting him stew in jail, the judge in his wacky wisdom decided to grant the man freedom. A decision which has now allowed MURDER to be added to the list of crimes with which he was accused of. I have tried looking for this idiot justices' name but it has eluded me thus far.
Another tragic case where our softly softly approach to crime has clocked up yet another senseless killing. Dickens was right, the law IS an ass. And not only an ass but its willing to sacrifice the very lives of innocent people in favour of light sentences for the guilty. This is truly monstrous.

* If I were to witness a violent crime I would ignore it completely because reporting it and relying on authorities to keep me safe during any subsequent trial would be too stressful and I would not trust police or judges to keep me safe from criminals intent on retribution.
I am not alone in this train of thinking, many others feel exactly the same way and this is how leniency towards crime in Britain has led to vicious thugs gaining the upper hand. Justice ought to be ashamed. And reviewed.