Showing posts with label social commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social commentary. Show all posts

Tuesday, 13 June 2017

VON - Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects (Join me on the Mountain Top)




Musical accompaniment is needed for the disaster movie of our times, as we witness western societal collapse into moral and cultural relativism, and the inevitable consequences befalling a society that no longer has any shared moral or spiritual bonds to shield it from attack. ‘Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects’ by ‘VON’ is an essential gift to the watchers of this ongoing, self-inflicted farce/tragedy, a moment in time where we can witness the fall of an entire civilisation. Unfortunately for us, that civilisation is our own, and the collapse, enabled by the left, pushed in schools, colleges, boardrooms, and on our television/movie screens, books, comic books and newspapers, is happening right NOW.

Listen to the sounds of decay, as VON take you back to where it all began, with mother, choices, and the reawakening of demonic forces that were there from the very beginning of humanity. In self-satisfied, virtue signalling deference to evil we invited them back in, allowed them to feed, and now, sated, they have began to set fires to our hollowed out institutions, accelerating the collapse of all that was built by men far better than ourselves. 

So sing along with VON as the world falls apart. Wail in despair at all that we have done, and how we took the architecture of western civilisation for granted, and so easily, lazily, apathetically, and with ignorance masquerading as virtue, gave it all away to ancient enemies, from the outside, and (to our everlasting shame) from within.


Dante in Hell, observes frozen traitors to their own people.



-To the nothing that we have become:


Atomised, so easily defeated into individualism, a bottom of the caged barrel concept, where trapped animals dig claws into the only companions that they will ever have.

Man built, listened to the enemy, and elevated the least worthy. Children reared by government strangers. Generation snowflake screams about safety, but can never be safe, in hashtag era of nailbomb inevitability, an era inheritance from boomer, into nihilism and relativism collapse.

Drugged children grow up into drugged adults, from Disney and Ritalin, to career, mortgage, debt, politics, television, and pills for anxiety and depression.

Why depressed? Why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel so empty?

Oh God twitter, why do you never reply to my lonely prayer call?

Dying boy, in bedroom, stasis the Internet, and fucking conspiracy theories. Daddy is gone, and mommy does not care. Free and independent, curtains drawn, in government containment camp he browses for answers, moribund, hidden from his neighbours, and the sun outside.

Councils and Bilderbergs rear political puppets that masquerade as choice, to the animals on the farm.

Hey George, Tony, Oh Tony.

Old left zombie re-birth. Rebel alliance, girls and blacks on television, movie screens, fuck it, you better say it now kid.

Boy, you better start talking. Friendless anyway, as end time looms, we all die alone.

Culled, easily, bedroom casualty, walking towards stickman, tax stick, electronic, the currency will kill us all. So easily convinced, but convenience is death. Annihilation sold as a benefit. We wanted it, invited the vampire in, and now she does what the vampire does, sucker, she sucks.

It all returns to mother, shielded from criticism by a word, and from velvet slippered choice we began to descend, into empowerment of weakness and guilt, so sowing the seeds of our own destruction. We did it all for her, but now look at what she has done to us.

Enemies invited in, by dear in power mother, as our new Roman Empire collapses, into relativism, dampened fires rekindled, old fires that were there from the beginning.

‘My truth’ means never a true word spoken, and Godless as we are, ‘truth’ becomes an opinion, and deceit cancers us all.

Oh, reap now, farmer of lies, for the harvest of no opinion truth is upon us.

From invasions, to conspiracies, compromise, convenience, tolerate the trucks of peace, death, into tombs of never was, with eternity pissing on the grave of a Godless, nihilistic, empty, divided people, judgement time is NOW.

So we, the culpable masses, we finally did it.

Stripped naked on the altar of progression, doused in Sunni petroleum, with Karl smiling from the pit below, a flame arose from the heart of us all, and western civilisation roared into flame.

In death, I spit out the fumes of burning corpse surrender, step outside of the flesh melting pain, into soul, with judgement hanging over what I have both seen, understood, and done.

Oh my God, here I am, waiting, it was so hot down there, and the people didn’t care, and the flames of self-deceit increased in temperature, slowly, then quickly, engulfing them all, and I could not help, though I tried, and I tried.

But now, my end begins, no more struggle, no more lines, they fade as judgement time is here, and eternity beckons before me, as lawyer word time finally ends, forever.


(‘Dark Gods: Birth of the Architects’ by VON: A soundtrack for the end of western civilisation, can be purchased, below. Buy it, and sit with me here, for a while, on the rise of Mount Purgatory, watching the city below, in all of it’s multicultural diversity, surrendered in hashtags and love, as it's culturally enriched with trucks, stabbings and nailbombs, and the people watch in paralysed impotence as everything that was built up through generations of sacrifice and courage is burnt to the ground, and all for the fear of a six letter word that silences us all.)

https://riseofvon.bandcamp.com/album/von-dark-gods-birth-of-the-architects-12-booklet-edition-digital-album





The climb had sapped my last strength when I cried:
"Sweet Father, turn to me: unless you pause
I shall be left here on the mountainside!"
He pointed to a ledge a little ahead
that wound around the whole face of the slope.
"Pull yourself that much higher, my son," he said.
His words so spurred me that I forced myself
to push on after him on hands and knees
until at last my feet were on that shelf.
Purgatorio, Canto XXXI:









Friday, 24 July 2015

Swindon Town- The iGeneration- Passing me by




I live in a nice little English town.

Swindon town.

There’s a football team here.

And a magic roundabout.

The former consists of those that want to be somewhere else.

Swindon shops, always busy.
The later is a traffic jam in the middle of the town centre.

The people here, in Swindon town, live in little houses, and in their cars, and at work, or school.

Occasionally they walk, or cycle.

Plugged in to ithings.

Listening to something else.

Going somewhere else.

I watch as they pass me by.

They’re so busy.

On their way to work.

Or school.

Or shopping.

Or whatever it is that they do.

Because I don’t really know what they do.

I can guess.

But they don’t talk to me.

They just pass me by.

Off they go.

The magic roundabout, always busy.
Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Zoom.

Zoom.

They're so busy.

With so little time.

I live in a nice little English town.

Swindon town.

I’ve lived here for over thirty years now.

There are people here.

Nice people.

I think.

I don’t really know them.

And they don’t really know me.

Are we happy?

I don’t know.

We don’t speak.










The infiltration of marxist, feminist, neo-liberal, progressive, collectivist ideology in contemporary US comic books: Can you see the Elephant in the living-room?




I haven’t reviewed many comic books this week, reason being that there hasn’t been anything released that is actually worth reviewing.

I don’t want to repeat myself, and I don’t want to waste my money, so why should I bother with DC, Marvel, Darkhorse (and the others) and their weekly round of identity politics, ignoring reality, nonsense?

If I want to see emasculated males and empowered females acting like the worst of men I’ll watch mainstream television. I’m not a fan of mainstream television. The anti-family/anti human programming is getting out of control now. If the collapsing Roman Empire had television I strongly suspect that it would look a lot like mainstream television looks today.

A culturally programmed ident-kit PC generation.
Blood, sex, violence, torture, inhumanity, pandering to corporations, banks and their puppet political parties, pushing drugs, pushing junk celebrity culture and ignoring all of the important issues of our times, whilst lying to us and telling us that ignorance is strength and that freedom is slavery. Who is running television these days? I assume it’s promoted idiots pushing an agenda that they don’t know about, not that they would care anyway, just as long as they continue to enjoy their lovely careers as the propaganda chiefs of a sick and decaying culture.

Television is a non-stop parade of freaks, creeps and idiots, and it’s all aimed at the mindset of a brain damaged perpetually adolescent child. It’s sick, so sick that it needs to be put down for it’s own good.

Contemporary US comic books take the satanic sickness of mainstream television, make every bloody story about a government sponsored teenage girl, and off they go, empowering the world by pushing marxist feminist, progressive, liberal slavery to the state.

Soft, cute, cuddly and deadly.
I’m a forty-two year old guy who grew up in a world that wasn’t completely taken over by the new world order banks and corporations that run it (the west anyway) today. I grew up reading stories where men were still men. I grew up reading stories that promoted freedom, not collectivism. I grew up reading stories that cared more about telling a good adventure yarn than pushing identity politics and cultural marxism.

So when I read a contemporary comic book in 2015, and read panel after panel, book after book of something that looks like it was constructed as a group project from a neo-liberal, feminist/marxist college class, how do you think I am supposed to react?

I’d be a bit odd if I liked it. I’d be a bit odd if I pretended that the programming wasn’t there, and I would be an out and out LIAR if I didn’t mention it when I reviewed a comic book.

So I mention it. I mention the nonsense that is going on in contemporary comic books, and I go online and check out all of the other reviews of the same book. And what do I read? I read positive reviews, negative reviews, indifferent reviews. They discuss the art, the dialogue, the plot twists, the panel layout, the individual characters (it’s all about the characters really) but none of them mention the big old FARTING AND SNORTING ELEPHANT in the living-room.

It bewilders me. Can they not see it? They are reading a comic book that is full to the brim with cultural programming, yet to them, it’s as normal as breathing air as you sleep, which is an apt comparison, because it appears that that is exactly what is happening here. A generation programmed with cultural marxism as they sleep, and they don’t even know that it is happening.

New boss, same as the old boss.
Am I being unfair here? Maybe they do see it. Maybe they like it. Maybe they want it. Maybe, the prisoner/slave training is so advanced now, that anybody under the age of his/her mid-thirties is unable to differentiate between living in a cage, and living as a free human being?

You know the old story about freed slaves not wanting to be free, right? Perhaps that’s what’s happened to the west today? Decades of cultural programming has left us defeated, unable to free ourselves, and worst of all, unwilling to even try, because we like it, we like being slaves, and all we really want, is more slavery?

It’s a terrifying thought, but this might be the end. The new generations are tied up in identity politics. They are slaves and they like being slaves, just as long as the new slave master is of the right gender, skin tone and sexuality, of course. This is just a short little rant, and I’ll end it with a couple of questions. Answer if you like. Carry on reading comics as usual if you don’t even care.

Can you see the elephant in the living-room?

And if you can, does it even bother you?


My video on YT plugging this artcle: 











Thursday, 2 July 2015

Secret Wars #4- What is a superhero?



Writer: Jonathan Hickman
Artist: Esad Ribic
Publisher: Marvel (Disney)
Released: 1st July 2015



Go to a comic book shop, pick up a new superhero comic book, read it, and ask yourself the following question:

What is a contemporary mainstream comic book superhero?

Grant Morrison thinks that they are stand-ins for soldiers.

I agree.

They are soldiers, and what do soldiers do?

They follow orders.

Who TODAY is in charge, and who is giving the orders?

According to the mainstream media it’s the Clintons, Blairs, Obamas, Camerons and all of the other blue and red puppets.

Puppets?

Yes, puppets.

But if they are puppets, who is controlling their strings?

The neoliberal corporate/banking elites.

Who are they?

They are the people who run the privately owned banks and corporations that fund governments. They are the globalists, the western elites, the new world order.

Back to comics, back to superheroes.

A superhero is a soldier, soldiers take orders from political puppets, the new world order is a corporate entity, and mainstream comic books are a part of that corporate entity. Therefore, a superhero appearing in a mainstream comic book is a soldier working for the new world order.

Did that truth taste bad? I hope so, because truth is a bitter pill to swallow, and that is why people don’t like it, and get upset when you try to force it down their throats. I understand, but I want to talk about more than the art and panel designs in comic books. I want to talk about the world, and comic books are the platform that I use to do that.

So what does the new world order want?

They want one world government, and total control of the entire planet.

What is the role of a soldier/superhero in the new world order?

Their role is to eliminate all opposition to the new world order.

Therefore, all ‘villains’ in contemporary comic books have to represent a threat to the new world order.

The villain in Secret Wars #4 is Doctor Doom, a crazed dictator type.

It’s always a crazed dictator type, in comic books, and in the real world.

The crazed dictator will sit on a throne, scare people, act like a villain, and cause problems until he is finally defeated by the soldiers/superheroes.

In Secret Wars #4 that process is progressing towards its inevitable conclusion. Doom fights the soldiers, and he acts like a power-crazed delusional madman. He wins a battle, but in the long run he will lose the war.

That’s how contemporary corporate entity comic books work. A dictator threatens the status quo, soldiers/superheroes are sent in, cue battles and some character stuff, the dictator is defeated, and it’s back to the beginning again.

In comic books it’s The Joker, Doctor Doom, Magneto, The Red Skull and Lex Luthor.

In the real world it’s Hussein, Bin Laden, Gaddafi, Assad and Putin.

Comic books villains exist to serve the narrative, to sell comic books.

Real world villains exist to serve the narrative, to sell the new world order.

Secret Wars #4 is a comic book about superheroes/soldiers fighting against the latest dictator, the latest threat to the new world order.

It’s a comic book that people will read and enjoy. They will discuss the art, the characters, the fights and the plot. Deeper issues and socio-political assumptions that are made within the text will not be discussed.

I will be ignored, or criticised, more of the former, a little of the later, if I’m lucky. That’s okay. The new world order relies on the consent of the governed. If the people want it, then they’ll get it. That’s the world that we live in, that’s the world that we want, that’s the world that we deserve.


Rating: 7/10 (Starts better than it ends, and it’s all about the characters now)








Friday, 27 March 2015

Miss Morality in ‘The Tunnels of Intolerance’- Part Four (The Conclusion)




Written by: Mark. A. Pritchard

Released on: The Rorshach Rant- 25th March 2015



‘The tunnels of intolerance are everywhere my silly, muddled headed little daughter. When you think that you have closed one, another two open. That’s how it works, that’s how it has always worked. You might know me by another name….THE DISSENTER….Yes, it is me. The gang of criminals known as the ‘Politically Incorrect Scoundrels’ is my little group. I set it up when I faked my death and abandoned your stupid mother to get away from you. How is your mother nowadays anyway LOVE? Ha ha ha. Yes it was me who forced her to take those drugs; it was me that drove her into an early heroin induced grave. Ha ha ha ha, you women don’t know what you are up against. Your feminist resistance is doomed to failure, doomed I tell you, ha ha ha ha ha’

The dull grey glint of evil, white middle class privilege shone like a dirty cancerous tumour in his eyes as Miss Morality’s father spat his horrible, nasty, intolerant truth into her beatific, innocent face.

‘Daddy, I…. I…I…I can’t believe it…’ she stuttered, unable to respond to the hatred laced revelations coming from her own father.

‘Shut your cake hole, you spoiled brat. If you can’t talk without stammering, don’t talk at all. Did you really think that I was dead? Did you really think that my kind had simply died out, gone extinct like the dinosaurs? No, I simply bided my time, laid my trap, and you fell straight into it, like the stupid GIRL that you always were.’

Now he was bragging, really starting to enjoy himself and his final victory. Miss Morality slumped to the floor of her prison cell, unwilling to look into the face of evil, the face that was her father.

‘Get up LOVE,’ and he spoke that last word with particular spiteful relish, enjoying the connotation of sexist degradation that the word carries.

‘I have another surprise for you SWEETHEART. Stand-up, take it like a GIRL. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.’

And as his callous laugh taunted the very air around him a familiar voice spoke up from somewhere very near.

‘Sister, sister, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, sister indeed.’ 

‘Brother? Is that you?’ 

Miss Morality had bravely found her voice, and as she stumbled to her feet, there waiting, at her tiny prison-cell window was the leering face of her brother Ruthus.

‘The tunnels of intolerance run deep Sis. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Yes, I am one of them now. Daddy has cured me of my evil homosexuality. I am a real man now, and the Politically incorrect scoundrels have welcomed me with open arms. I even have a girlfriend. Her name is Claire. She is reaaaalllly pretty, ha ha ha ha. She is a secretary, ha ha ha ha ha ha.’

Miss Morality was on the verge of passing out. Her father always was an evil bastard, but he was a dead evil bastard, or so she had believed. Now, not only had he had returned from the dead, but he had brainwashed her poor innocent, homosexual brother Rufus as well. This was simply too much for her to take.

Rufus was no longer the confused, bumbling, effeminate sweetheart of a man that she had known and loved. He had been brainwashed, changed against his will (presumably) into something evil, something beyond human. Yes, those monsters had changed him into that worst of all creatures, the straight, white male.

The horror was almost too much for her to bear. Everything about him seemed different. He was wearing a football shirt. He smelt like cheap lager and his nails looked absolutely awful as he gripped her prison bars before delivering this final taunt to his despairing sister.

‘Hey Sis, before I forget. Your brat kid. She is ours now. The BBC Jimmy Saville Care-home for abandoned and vulnerable young girls is doing a fine job, but we need to bring her into the fold. She will make a fine housewife for one of our members, a fine housewife indeed, ha ha ha ha ha ha.’

The evil lager enthused laughter was punctuated only by the screams of a desperately clawing at her cell bars Miss Morality.

‘Noooooo, you monsters, you monsters, nooooooooo.’

‘See you in the pub later Dad. Champions League tonight, later mate.’ 

And with these final Hellish words coming from the now obscenely manly lips of her unrecognisable, brainwashed, not gay anymore brother, he was gone.

The last words in this awful scene of patriarchal brutality came from the woman hating mouth of the uniformed Police officer standing infront of the cell that contained a now curled up, weeping, convulsing Miss Morality.

She could no longer speak. All she could do was cry, and the evil incarnate that was her father, THE DISSENTER, delivered his final words like a knife in her back.

‘I’ll have custody of your darling baby girl in the morning LOVE. My Politically Incorrect Scoundrels own the courts. We own everything. Baby Sojourner will be taught to respect her man. No more feminism for her, she will never, ever taste the sweet, sweet air of emancipation and freedom away from our manly, hairy mitts. Goodbye DARLING, and remember. You can BITCH, you can whine, you can moan and complain, but the tunnels of intolerance run deep. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. The tunnels of intolerance run deeeeeeeep.’

END (Or, is it?)


And so ends my story. The message that it contains should be very clear. The tunnels of intolerance run very deep indeed dear reader. The world is a terrible place, but together we can break down those tunnels of intolerance, those hidden, underground networks of sexism, of racism, of homophobia and err, all of the other evil stuff like that. We can stop the evils of white, male, middle class, straight, privilege. Together, we can free female warriors like Miss Morality. We can save young girls from the evils of marriage, from motherhood and a wasted life loving and caring for their patriarchal prison construct called ‘family.’ It’s going to be a tough battle, but we can do it. Join the social justice warrior movement, and together we can rid the world of the evil that is patriarchy, forever.



* If any artist would be willing to illustrate this story, then please let me know.







Sunday, 8 March 2015

Perhaps they just want to help?



The mainstream consensus corporate/political media elites have their collective (and yes, it is very collective) arm around certain ‘victim’ groups, crouching to support the weak, or so it seems.

How benevolent of them, don’t you think?

Would those in a position of power help people, knowing that by doing so it would threaten their own positions?

It seems unlikely.

So why would they do it?

Why would they support social justice groups if these same social justice groups threatened their centralised control system?

Answer: Social justice groups supported by the mainstream consensus corporate/political/media elites are useful, not detrimental to the agenda of the control system.

Or, perhaps the psychopathic murderous scum in charge of the slave system known as western democracy just have a soft side?

Perhaps they just want to help people?

What do you think?


Saturday, 7 March 2015

Liberalism, reality, nihilism and depression



‘If you really care, wash the feet of a beggar.’

Some clever bloke said that. Indoctrinated and educated within the feminist neo-liberal/Marxist UK education system he got a bit depressed because he realised that people only really act out of self-interest.

Before he threw himself off a bridge (probably) he looked at the world, saw lot’s of dirty beggar feet and realised that no matter what people said, their actions demonstrated that they didn’t really care about anybody other than themselves.

That can be very depressing for the ‘liberal’ mind-set as it’s a wake up call to reality, and that’s one thing that liberals hate more than anything else, more than people like me actually.

It’s difficult to deal with reality when you come from the ideological prison known as the ‘left.’  It angers you, it makes you throw insults, and it makes you accuse people of alleged social justice warrior ills.

Oh, he’s just a racist, sexist, homophobe, bigot, right?

As long as you keep accusing those that disagree with you, you don’t have to examine the truth behind your own shaky ideological foundations.

So, will you wash a beggar’s feet tonight?

Will you do something to prove that you really care?

Or will you drink a beer, fill your belly, ignore reality and find a politically incorrect thought criminal to criticise?

Liberalism is collectivism, and collectivism is a lie.

It requires you to ignore human nature, to ignore reality and to live a repressed life of self-delusion.

Liberalism is about individual weakness, backed-up by the gun of the state.

Reject self-hatred.

Reject weakness.

Reject statism.

Reject neo-liberalism.





Friday, 20 February 2015

A Life through Comic Books: From mainstream disinformation into a world of reality



By: Mark. A Pritchard

Produced: Friday Evening- 20th February 2015



Comic books were always a part of my life. As a young boy I read the Beano, then graduated to reading the more ‘adult’ 2000AD. I read them for the same reason that any young boy reads comics, as a means of exploring the wider world outside of his little town, little hopes, little dreams. They told me that the world was bigger, that there were possibilities for me outside of my familiar surroundings.

My first love
As I grew into my teens I became obsessed (like most UK boys growing up in the 1980’s) with all things American. American culture was cool, exotic, their heroes had big muscles and their girls were very, very pretty. Along with American football and the A-team there was Marvel comic books. Spiderman was my favourite, but then again, of course he would be. He was a teen who looked a little bit like me, but he had spider powers, and a hot girlfriend for some inexplicable reason. If he had a chance, then surely I did as well, right?

After my dalliance with Spiderman came to its natural conclusion I moved into young adulthood with Alan Moore’s Constantine and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. I was a young, lost adult and these books offered me something that was lacking in my own life. They offered magic, and a sense that there was beauty in the mundane, and let me tell you, I was more than familiar with mundane during this time of my life. As I continued into adulthood, moving from unfulfilling job, to pointless college course, back to another depressing job my comics (and other ‘proper’ books) became even more essential to me. The great big world had shrugged its shoulders and apathetically passed me by, so back to the comics, where there was still life, still possibilities.

I began to read again as a disappointed, depressed and lost adult and I could pretend that I was still a child again. I wasted years reading the same kind of Marvel and DC comic books that dominate the market today. I got up to date with the Avengers, with Iron Man and was excited when they made movies about the books that had a bit of money behind them and actually looked pretty good. But then I woke up to life, and my relationship with comic books would never be the same again.
I loved this book, it helped me get through my twenties

My university education hadn’t helped me at all. My Marxist text books, my keen interest in feminist studies, it all lead me to nowhere, just feelings of guilt for things that I hadn’t even thought about, let alone done. I was confused. I was a good person, and yet here was my life, empty, with nothing to show for it but years of sitting on the sidelines, of reading comics, of reading books, of passing college courses, of being nice, of being kind and considerate. So why the empty feeling?

The comics weren’t giving anything to me anymore, nor were the books, so I put them all down and decided to look at something new. To my immense surprise I found it, and continue to find it each and every day. So what did I find? Don’t worry, it wasn’t religion, it was truth or the search for truth at least.

I found people who had broken out of the restrictive left wing educational paradigm, people who rejected Marxism, Feminism, Liberalism and wanted to carve their own path, rather than follow an old ‘progressive’ route that led to Russia, China and every other totalitarian ‘left’ leaning state. I discovered ‘alternative’ names like David Icke, Michael Tsarion, Mark Passio, Alex Jones, James Corbett, Jordan Maxwell and countless others. I put away my preconceptions, listened, read and learned and then wondered (very loudly) why I hadn’t heard about any of this information during all of my years at school, college and university and all of the countless hours I had spent reading two or three newspapers every day. It was an eye-opener, my world-view 180-degree changed, and I started to see things as they really are. Then I went back to my comics and I read them with completely different eyes.

David Icke, a truly great man.
Why were they not talking about important issues? Why were they so obsessed with race, gender and sexuality when these issues only serve to separate us from each other? Why were they not talking about the US invading Iraq based on an obvious lie? Why were they not talking about Saudi Arabia and their role in 9/11? Why were the superheroes acting like US soldiers? Why were all the heroes acting like cops? Why was anarchy (which just means freedom from state control) always portrayed as a great evil? Why were villains still robbing banks? Surely it was the banks robbing the people, not the other way round? What was happening here? This wasn’t right, and yet whenever I read comic book reviews on the Internet they wouldn’t even bring up all of the contradictions that I was reading in my comic books. So, I did what had to be done. If nobody else were prepared to speak uncomfortable truths about mainstream comic books then I would have to do it for myself.

So I set up my blog, and started to review comics from the perspective of freedom, of saying whatever I wanted to say. I began to use my comic book reviews as a platform to discuss issues and ideas that interested me even more than the comics themselves. The point of the review became not the comic book itself, but the ideas that were being expressed within that comic book. My analysis of artwork, panel layout and narrative structure became secondary to an ideological analysis of the text. Many of my reviews ceased to be reviews at all, instead they were opportunities for me to discuss what I was learning as I broadened my horizons and learnt more and more about how the world actually works. I began to question everything, and that is what I continue to do today.

My blog here also contains my own original fiction writing and as I continue to expand my intellectual horizons I can envision it beginning to take on a lot more subjects other than comic book reviews. The blog has given me a platform to rail against what is lacking in contemporary comic books, but also to celebrate the rare book that does attempt to deal with some of the issues of our post 9/11 world. I am now rapidly reaching the stage where I need to concentrate on my own original fiction work. I have read and reviewed a lot of books, so perhaps it’s time I stopped criticising and started to put out some substantial product of my own.

Friday, 13 February 2015

I didn’t want to write tonight- Anarchy, compromises and a nice cup of tea


I don’t want to spend my Friday evening writing. I don’t want to have to think too much, too hard, editing and sculpting my words down until they resemble something that could be passed off as a readable tract of writing. No, I would rather not say anything at all tonight. I would rather not rail against the deliberate ignorance that has invested 95% of the comic books that I read today. I don’t really want to upset the writers anyway, and they have kids to feed and they have bills and car payments and stuff, and I understand why they are running on the corporate treadmill. Yeah it’s a bit cowardly, but that’s the compromise of life, isn’t it?

If you want a wife, kids, a car, a house (and things to put in it) then you need to compromise, right? You need to put your morality aside and look after yourself first, right? Because that’s what most of us do. I look around me and I don’t see heroes. I don’t see villains. I see compromises. That’s what makes the world, those compromises fuel the evil that we pretend does not exist. Well, we pretend, but I’m here shouting about it on my blog, annoying those poor compromised writers, and I didn’t even want to write tonight, so I need to shut up. I want to make myself a cup of tea, put on some music, read a book that comes from the mind of somebody, anybody who refuses to compromise, because that’s what I want to do tonight.

Behind my left shoulder, on my clean as a politician’s soul (it’s actually a lot cleaner than that) floor, and amongst the silly, childish comic books there is a big old proper book. It’s a book about the potential that we all deliberately stifle in order to fit in, a book with a dirty word on the front cover. That book has a great title: NO GODS NO MASTERS- An Anthology of Anarchism by Daniel Guerin. Did you spot the dirty word? That word, of course, is anarchism. That filthy, never to be mentioned in polite society word signifies the freedom that we are not allowed to claim as our own, as long as we continue to bow down and worship a centralised state control system of human slavery. Yes, anarchy is such a dirty word. So dirty that it’s not allowed on television, well unless there is a university-approved expert there to soften it’s blow and remove any real meaning that it’s trying to convey. No freedom here, this screen is a no freedom zone.

Oh television, how you made me into something that I hated, moulded me into something that no longer even resembled a human being. We had a long relationship, too long, but I had to break away from you. You talked and talked and talked, but nothing was ever said.  We are strangers now. I look at you with pity, with the sad recognition that what we had was a lie, that I had to move on, that I had to grow the Hell up. Ha, I’m waffling now, so self-indulgent, and I didn’t even want to raise my head above the parapet tonight, but here it is, so take a shot. I’m a manic street preacher yapping like a little doggie into the big black bottomless GCHQ Internet void. A revolutionary, that’s me. No black mask or red flag needed, I drink tea and read a book, and I need to shut up now, stop writing (which I didn’t want to do tonight), put the kettle on and get back to my original plan for the evening. Goodnight, have a great weekend, don’t follow orders, be nice, and speak the truth.

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Nothing happened: A short story for the modern age



Writer: Mark. A. Pritchard

Released: 11th February 2015

Publisher: The Rorshach Rant



Nothing happened, and so he waited, waited, waited.

Still nothing, so he acted.

On the day that would be his last he woke early, excited with the knowledge that finally, finally, finally, something was actually going to happen.

How exciting, an event, a scene, a moment when the apathy, the boredom, the routine, the tedium would be broken.

Forever.

Shower, shave, and the rest, his breakfast was light.

He put his shoes on, walked to the bus.

The driver glanced indifferently with cold dead amphibian eyes.

Still, he smiled.

Something was happening to him today; at last. The smile came naturally, like the dawn of a new day on a blood soaked battlefield.

It’s such a joy to smile, unprompted, to hide it with shy self-conscious embarrassment. But to let it out, let it beam to the universe, that is joy, that is freedom.

The young man was liberated, so close to his end, and free at last.

He fiddled with his coat, adjusted his backpack, time was almost running out.

Passengers finally noticed him; they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

What was this young man doing?

What was he up to?

He stood up.

No, no, no, he can’t be, he can’t be.

Surely somebody will do something?

Stop him?

They sat, watched, nobody acted but the young man.

Then

It happened.

An explosion.

Not in our town?

Surely not in our town?

A defining moment that would change the town forever.

Nothing could ever be the same again.

The young man stepped off the bus.

Carrying with him the battered remains of his iphone.

Destroyed, never to be used again.

He dropped it in a bin.

It was easier than he had thought.

His mind now free, he had acted, and done what had to be done.

He walked to the library.

Smiling.

Picked up a book.

And started to read.


Artwork in story is 'New World Order' by the brilliant theKinhe on deviant art. Check him out here:
http://www.deviantart.com/art/New-World-Order-175230007