Spam

Short Dictionary of Spammers.

Miles McCopeland: Viagra and various concrete products from Hong Kong.
Northeast Western Virtual Banking Company: Specialists in not giving out any money but sucking in the funds of others.
Lusty Sparrow: Existential Opera.
Vi: Amateur penis enlargement (for amateur penis use).
King Henry: Illegal burgers made from extinct buffalo.
The Sods: Free Brazilian MP3 downloads crippled with out of tune viruses.
Charlie Boy: Young pretender’s relatives.
Drug Free: Free Drugs for $5.99.
Love Drags: Free imprisoned drag artistes.
Easy Travelling in Space: Interstellar travel agency.
Johnny Snob: Private School Dormitory scam.
She will love you: Love 4 sale.
Ironic Bionics: Confused comedy robots.
Mgbumd D’Jembe: Nigerian Business Community.
Mgbumd Blair: Nigerian political bomb factory.

HNOT: Fake bank.

PayPalNeedsYourNumbers: Russian Mafia contact list.
Mgbumd Brown: Lecherous Nigerian business excellence model.
Ka Ka: Pornographic Parrot and squirrel.
KI KI: Pornographic budgie.
KOO KOO: Pornographic Blue Tit.
Vi_Vi: Amateur penis enlargement made from extinct buffalo.
KaoKai: Pornographic Parrot made from extinct buffalo.
Tastes like chiken.com: Parrot made from extinct buffalo.
Shy will luv yer: Love for sale in Romania.
White Smile Mile: Ivory trade tooth implants.
Tormento O’Toole: Warped Irish Wooden puzzles.
Vagabonds: Paid vagrancy.
Fjala Mescaline: Acid puppet show.
Scuba Duh: Dog with aqualung fetish.
Chain_Snapper: Fish walking and student programme
A loan is waiting alone: Money.
Soma Coma: Mild sleeping drafts under ill fitting doors.
Bored Silly: California Activity Holidays.
TSHIRTSQUIRT: Hilarious water squirting T Shirts.
Jazz Bomber: WW11 Aircraft owner’s club and money launderer.
KUKU McNabb: Wino from Greenock.
Squiffy the bean: Ancient comic hero now with dementia.
Kalahari: Compilations of desert meats and pies.
Opiates&Oil: Bush family retirement fund.
Setthecontrols.com: Gardener from Cambridge selling weed.
Srceamsetters: Red dogs who type.
MyBuffyHat: Vampire Milliners and wannbees.
ViagraSales Ltd: Cocoa growers from Zambia.
SmileInc: Oral fillings.

SwishyDisco: Music downloads and habberdashery.
She_wants_two: Shopping webring.
Cheese_akimbo: Dutch Disco Anthems.
BillyMacFish: Confused goalkeeping legend.
Shewillscream4more: Hammer Horror sex toys.
Shewillscreamforless: PORG chat room.
Shewillscream4sugar: Pony club site.
Shewillscream4brownsugar: Rolling Stones fanzine.

Loose decades

Decades & random pics.

In the fifties I was born but I don’t remember much and there are few photographs and the world was monochrome. People without memories can only recount what didn’t happen and that can be so tiresome. All I ever wanted was a straight story but the Masonic Lodge had signed me up for a career I knew nothing of, still they stalk me with that all-seeing eye, a pyramid and a burning scroll in their clenched fist. Austere.

In the sixties I was too young to care but I was aware that something or nothing was taking place; I was still growing in a damaged way. I gave way to the bully boys who told me which way to go as I crossed their bleak landscape. Education was not all it’s cracked up to be and people generally spoke from the side of their mouths. I was confused about sex and music because of a criminal lack of raw material and up to date text books. My first period was a disaster and there was nobody to run home crying to, potatoes and margarine, every day. I blame Fife Education and my Irish upbringing. Scratch a Fifer’s skin and you’ll find the flesh of a potato. I think that the Flintstones are some kind of tractor. Hallucinogenic.

In the seventies I grasped at lost causes, championed failures, cults and premonitions, I chopped down trees and buried the bodies of people I didn’t kill and none of the drugs ever worked. I hurt my friends, my family and myself, I listened to the wrong voices, and they prevailed. Grave illness was all around and the coal fires burned late into cigarette and macrobiotic evenings, relatives are dying but if you’re wise you won’t ask why. The smell of hospital lingers in my nostrils and I am the subject of new and fresh abuse, always welcome in the modern lifestyle. Are punks something to do with Munchkins, DC Comics and Top Cat? Everyday I fall in love with someone else and go home and write them a whole book before I fall into peaceful and blissful sleep that only underpins my recent awakening with its wonderful dreams. I had the potential to be beautiful but some spoken sentences, uttered idly but picked up by my radar-like hearing tore into that magic and killed it. At the cremation I remained controlled and composed. I reasoned that some parallel universe would allow the play out of the correct script because God is always available for parties and brief encounters at numerous omnipresent places and appointments. A complete waste of time some said. Desperado. Shotgun.

In the eighties I still could swing an axe but most of the time I aimed it at my own head. I drowned in the shallow end and swam on an ocean a thousand miles deep peeking below the surface from time to time. I didn’t like what I couldn’t see. I discovered garlic and wine and talk and when not to talk, I was singing but out of tune. I am cold and running down an endless grey motorway running out of fuel. A crisis in the wider world would be welcome as a respite from the chase and being the quarry. I have the blackest fingernails because I drove them in so deep at the time, I suck the dirt out but it does not shift; there is no decay in this universe, only the hardening of the concrete. Deep inside I acknowledge that for me, time must pass. I am sitting on a stool, dressed in black. There are cartoons all around that blur reality just a little. Brittle.

In the nineties I was numb, dumb and drunk, I stopped caring, I fell through the mist and landed in more mist, the mist was likely to strangle me, or so I thought. There were bolts and rivets everywhere, pining me down and holding me down. Everybody meant well (they said), but to this day I don’t really know what they meant. If I travel I get no where, if I stay at home the bills mount up, I give money away because it is a nuisance and what difference does any of it make because you can’t buy friends. My good works are noted by various well-spoken Caucasian angels, the text book type of course. To add to no troubles at all my Grandmother’s house is looted and eventually burns. I don’t cherish these particular memories. For a brief moment the world made no sense at all, as I recall. Morning, noon and night. Reptile.

Now it’s the last seven years and the universe is still a torn place, it’s a Bob Dylan lyric writhing in the realm of all great and forged incorrectness, it’s neither political nor animal, it’s the burned out anger that takes no more and rolls itself up. It’s all about expression and no substance. I’m sniffing out and searching for the substance but where? I am reminded of my animal past and grudgingly I embrace it. I become aware of the power of deceit and multiplication and the weakness of ownership and jumping to conclusions. The world is as it always was whatever you make of it. People are something else however. In conclusion you must find love, but it is well buried and you need a deep spade with a long handle. Everything we do is old. Desperate.

Today I can say that I am older and I am aware of the things I can do, the things I cannot and the things that I used to do that I cannot do any more. So what.

Queen of the New Year

She wanted politics, she wanted fuss,
She wanted that Saltire flag to fly all over us,
She promoted much debate; she’d divide and rule,
She brokered peace and war, nobodies’ fool.

She’s into finance and prudent stewardship,
She cracks the walnut’s shells, she cracks the whip,
She plays her cards right and works the widest room,
She spins; she moves and drugs you with that sweet perfume.

She’s the Queen of South Queensferry,
Princess of Aching Hearts,
Royal feet float down the Royal Mile,
Won’t see another like her, anywhere around these parts...

Grim truths

Getting to know myself

Like a ship approaching through a fog I am starting to appear. If this seems an odd statement then I guess it is and must be. The truth is I spent a number of years not being me, this was not easy, can never be easy and I’d not recommend it but strangely many people live their whole lives not being themselves and I, for a time was one of them. Of course even when nor being myself I still was myself but in a different way, a contrived and constructed way that fitted in with my surroundings at the time. Of course I knew all along I was not being true to myself but I some how accepted, for a time that this was not important. Anything for a quiet life. I have since learned a valuable lesson, all time is precious and being true to yourself is the most important thing you can do. You are whatever you are and the realisation and protection of that individual status is vital, I think.

So this moment of revelation should probably be marked by a list of “things I am (?) and things I like and things I stand for” but I can’t be bothered right now. Perhaps one of the main things about me is that I’m neither a list person nor some one who will ever achieve or be in a steady state. I quite like that; previously I would have been big on certainty, absolutes and principals. Now there is nothing I have to do at all with any of these things, except in moderation - wrong already! (Ok I know that they are necessary or if you happen to be running a country or something). So in closing , individually I’d always go for a more open and flexible strategy for life.

Grim truths

Age is a problem, aches and little odd creaks and cracks, tiredness and stilted vision also prevail (that’s actual eye sight and imagination). Seeing everything creative as a “job” when it should be so much more. There are still a million and one challenges to take on, the only limits are those self imposed ones – (this process is so uplifting) and I’m hurdling each barrier with vigour and some sharp pains around the shin area.

Top 10 almost

Book of lists.

Fairytale Management reserves the right to think the best and do the best (though sometimes fearing the worst and the excessive use of inappropriate brackets). So moving on from anything too creative and anything too much like a list here is an actual list that is of some practical use for list followers. The question is how will you read it? Will you read it all and absorb it? Will you quickly scan it and make a snap judgement on its value? Will you read the bold print only making the assumption that you know what is coming next? Will you read it and pick one or two points for action or follow up? You may of course not read it at all perhaps thinking you know better or you have a superior list already or you simply can’t be bothered. So here is something that is out there with all the other good advice in the world...”I have box of lemons and they all taste the same”.

10 things that make up a ten point list.

Stop taking so much notice of how you feel. How you feel is how you feel. It’ll pass soon. What you’re thinking is what you’re thinking. It’ll go too. Tell yourself that whatever you feel, you feel; whatever you think, you think. Since you can’t stop yourself thinking, or prevent emotions from arising in your mind, it makes no sense to be proud or ashamed of either. You didn’t cause them. Only your actions are directly under your control. They’re the only proper cause of pleasure or shame.

Let go of worrying. It often makes things worse. The more you think about something bad, the more likely it is to happen. When you’re hair-trigger primed to notice the first sign of trouble, you’ll surely find something close enough to convince yourself it’s come.

Ease up on the internal life commentary. If you want to be happy, stop telling yourself you’re miserable. People are always telling themselves how they feel, what they’re thinking, what others feel about them, what this or that event really means. Most of it’s imagination. The rest is equal parts lies and misunderstandings. You have only the most limited understanding of what others feel about you. Usually they’re no better informed on the subject; and they care about it far less than you do. You have no way of knowing what this or that event really means. Whatever you tell yourself will be make-believe.

Take no notice of your inner critic. Judging yourself is pointless. Judging others is half-witted. Whatever you achieve, someone else will always do better. However bad you are, others are worse. Since you can tell neither what’s best nor what’s worst, how can you place yourself correctly between them? Judging others is foolish since you cannot know all the facts, cannot create a reliable or objective scale, have no means of knowing whether your criteria match anyone else’s, and cannot have more than a limited and extremely partial view of the other person. Who cares about your opinion anyway?

Give up on feeling guilty. Guilt changes nothing. It may make you feel you’re accepting responsibility, but it can’t produce anything new in your life. If you feel guilty about something you’ve done, either do something to put it right or accept you screwed up and try not to do so again. Then let it go. If you’re feeling guilty about what someone else did, see a psychiatrist. That’s insane.

Stop being concerned what the rest of the world says about you. Nasty people can’t make you mad. Nice people can’t make you happy. Events or people are simply events or people. They can’t make you anything. You have to do that for yourself. Whatever emotions arise in you as a result of external events, they’re powerless until you pick them up and decide to act on them. Besides, most people are far too busy thinking about themselves (and worry what you are, are thinking and saying about them) to be concerned about you.

Stop keeping score. Numbers are just numbers. They don’t have mystical powers. Because something is expressed as a number, a ratio or any other numerical pattern doesn’t mean it’s true. Plenty of lovingly calculated business indicators are irrelevant, gibberish, nonsensical, or just plain wrong. If you don’t understand it, or it’s telling you something bizarre, ignore it. There’s nothing scientific about relying on false data. Nor anything useful about charting your life by numbers that were silly in the first place.

Don’t be concerned that your life and career aren’t working out the way you planned. The closer you stick to any plan, the quicker you’ll go wrong. The world changes constantly. However carefully you analyzed the situation when you made the plan, if it’s more than a few days old, things will already be different. After a month, they’ll be very different. After a year, virtually nothing will be the same as it was when you started. Planning is only useful as a discipline to force people to think carefully about what they know and what they don’t. Once you start, throw the plan away and keep your eyes on reality.

Don’t let others use you to avoid being responsible for their own decisions. To hold yourself responsible for someone else’s success and happiness demeans them and proves you’ve lost the plot. It’s their life. They have to live it. You can’t do it for them; nor can you stop them from messing it up if they’re determined to do so. The job of a supervisor is to help and supervise. Only control-freaks and some others with a less serious mental disability fail to understand this.

Don’t worry about your personality. You don’t really have one. Personality, like ego, is a concept invented by your mind. It doesn’t exist in the real world. Personality is a word for the general impression that you give through your words and actions. If your personality isn’t likeable today, don’t worry. You can always change it, so long as you allow yourself to do so. What fixes someone’s personality in one place is a determined effort on their part—usually through continually telling themselves they’re this or that kind of person and acting on what they say. If you don’t like the way you are, make yourself different. You’re the only person who’s standing in your way.

Ok?