Behold Baphomet

piggy baphomet
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Presiding over the Samhain Sabat, Baphomet the Piggy Banker. Sinister little fucker.
With sincere apologies to Eliphas Levi, oh and Goya for that matter … please don’t drop in for dinner tomorrow … then again, might be fun.

So you’ve conflated an Ikea piggy bank and a demon idol? … I guess you just had to be there.

For Profit

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If it was a crime to state the absolutely bleedin’ obvious, you’d have to close down all the univer­sities and most of the mass media.
As someone almost said: “If you can’t do something original, do something right.”
He said in mitig­ation …

I was absolutely sure that this was going to be brilliant. I could see it in my mind’s eye: cold and quiet but steely and strong, angry with a set jaw. Succinct, forth­right and sincere.
And it’s … OK.

John Heart­field would be ashamed of me.
Oh well … maybe one can be too obvious … no surprises.

House of Cards

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Cheap credit helps us to unsee the decline of the West … capit­alism can not deliver the goods with pirates scraping off whatever cream there is.
Stuff is about lifestyle and not life … it might as well be Soma.
Low productivity and limited resources, envir­on­mental degrad­ation and an economy built on a shed load of low paid service jobs and a few high paid “wealth-creators” is a choice we make … in a few weeks time for fuck’s sake … but immig­rants are what matter, unless of course they’re drowning because of our “human­it­arian” wars and penny pinching nastiness, in which case they don’t. Prudence is what matters unless we’re handing over the state to asset-stripping gougers who will just make us pay and pay and will treat their employees as zombie zero-hours-wage slaves. The deficit is what matters unless it’s just a fucking pretext for robbing and disem­powering us and enriching more parasites. And anyway, if I owned a house, I’d be rich … so I’m all right. Except I’m not …
and the things that we could be doing to make the world a better place, a fairer place, a kinder place, a warmer place, a more beautiful place are just too expensive — we cannot subsidise our souls but we can “invest” in our dividends. We must not be seduced by wishful thinking, we must reclaim the sensible middle ground … that is fast disap­pearing and is mean and narrow and selfish and hard … and full of fear too.

Fuck, I (almost) give up …
But not quite.

And Mr Warhol is not feeling the pressure I fear — but I try.

Come Home to a Real Fire

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Planet Earth — Fossil Fire — it all has to stay in the ground and yet … our future (pensions et al) is invested in the paper value of the untapped assets of fossil fuel extractors and processors … and yet almost no-one will just say so.

The odds are, if you’re reading this you’re like me — in the privileged position of being fairly insulated from climate change, whether by geography or infra­structure capacity and adapt­ab­ility.
We won’t suffer too much and neither will our children but it will devastate other parts of the world and kill people we’ve never met and their children … and eventually, at some point (“but not yet!”), the chickens will come home to roost.

At least The Guardian is talking about it I suppose.


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It is grimly ironic that, as we have moved from an indus­trial to a service economy, our culture sneers at mac-jobs at one end of the social scale but reveres the parasitic pirates, pick-pockets and pimps at the other.

I had thought of it as a portrait of Richard Branson who is constantly refered to as an entre­preneur rather than the leech that he is … but I’m not sure if anyone would recognise it. One can be a little too cryptic.