There has to be peace for the desperate combat veterans after 3 years of war. There has to be no sell out to Trump or Putin! Onwards Ukraine!

Isn’t it comforting to think that we have Hislop and Merton and they have silicon valley dickheads fetishising over fascism and a new age of plutocracy?

“The new wickies stand utterly still, next to each other,
their gazes fixed on the same distant spot.
One man is YOUNG (early 30s). Tall, athletic –- but starved.
His deep set eyes are haunted, and his left eye is healing
from a week-old shiner. His crooked expression is severe.
There’s an eerie disquiet about him. He’s like a dog that’s
been beaten and caged too many times. A small mustache shows
his vanity.
The other is OLD (Haggard 60? Spry 70?). He’s weathered,
feral bearded, and hunched, with hands like vises. His lack
of visible lips suggests some missing teeth. He tremors a
bit, but he’s lean and sturdy as a lead pipe. His high
cheekbones smile even when he grimaces. His wild eyes shine
like jewels. He’s an old Pan. A Satyr.
Both of them seem like the kind of man you might find
muttering to himself in the corner of an empty bar room with
a distant look in his eye.
They watch THE TENDER depart the island, ever-so-slowly
disappearing — swallowed up again by the fog.”

Quotation from The Lighthouse by Robert & Max Eggers.

I watched this for a third time yesterday evening. A hell of a lot more came at me than those earlier visits. This is a favourite. Great acting, script and direction. A uniquely curious bit of art! I cannot wait for Nosferatu.

He is fucked. Funnily enough he didn’t have a digital trading card for being a washed up ex fascist dictator hung upside down with his dead mistress did he?

I don’t think I’ve spent a better Friday morning/early afternoon, in the cinema, with my lovely wife. What a film! This generation’s The Field. I’ll be watching this many more times. Great acting!

When I was a boy, younger than Tadgh there, my brothers and sisters had to leave the land, because it couldn’t support them. We wasn’t rich enough to be priests or doctors, so it was the emigrant ship for all of them. I were the eldest, the heir. I were the only one left at home. Neighbours were scarce. So my father and I, we had our breakfast, dinner, and tea, working in that field without a break in our work. And my mother brought us the meals. One day, one day my father sensed a drop of rain in the air and my mother helped us bring in the hay before it was too late. She was working one corner of the field, and I was working in the other. About the third day, I saw her fall back, keel over so to speak. I called my father, I run to her. My father kneeled beside her. He knew she… he knew she was dying. He said an act of contrition into her ear and he asked God to forgive her her sins. And he looked at me, and he said, “Fetch a priest.” Fetch a priest… And I said, “Let’s – let’s bring the hay in first. Let’s bring the hay in first.” My father looked at me with tears of pride in his eyes. He knew I’d take care of the land. And if you think I’m gonna face my mother in Heaven or in Hell without that field, you’ve got something else coming. No collar, uniform, or weapon will protect the man that stands in my way.

No. It’s my field. It’s my child. I nursed it. I nourished it. I saw to its every want. I dug the rocks out of it with my bare hands and I made a living thing of it! My only want is that green grass, that lovely green grass, and you want to take it away from me, and in the sight of God, I can’t let you do that!

The Duce of Death 

“Do you know how this war will end, Lieutenant? The portrait will be unhung, and the man will be hung.”

”  Morrissey is a twat, isn’t he? Everyone knows that. Whether he’s coming out with his dubious neo-fascist nonsense or blaming Kate Middleton for contributing to that nurse’s death, there’s always one kind of crap or another falling from his miserable lips. It hasn’t always been this way, mind. There was a time when you would have thought he was some kind of miserable, four-eyed Jesus. Preaching his moany gospel in early 80’s England. As if the place wasn’t miserable enough already, we had to put up with him singing about his broken bicycle on a hillside desolate and getting run over by a bus. And not having any clothes or something.

The thing is, I’ve ALWAYS thought Morrissey was a twat. Long before you thought he was a twat. Right from the beginning. Right from the first time, I clapped eyes on him. “Twat”, I thought to myself. And I was right. Because the music that he constantly played said absolutely nothing to me about my life.”

https://sabotagetimes.com/music/why-ive-always-known-that-morrissey-was-a-giant-twat