police

SOPA IS (UN)DEAD! LONG LIVE SOPA!

“Every government is run by liars, and nothing they say should be believed.” I.F. Stone

The internet is celebrating today. People are screaming from digital rooftops in all caps: SOPA IS DEAD! WE DID IT! WE SAVED THE INTERNET! SOPA IS DEEEEEEEEEAAAD!

The Hill:

House Judiciary Committee Chairman Lamar Smith (R-Texas) announced on Friday that he will postpone consideration of his Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) until there is wider agreement on the controversial legislation.

Yeah, SOPA’s dead, like a vampire’s dead. IE, SOPA is undead. The key word there is postpone. What we have here is a delay and a free'd up acronym (anyone for a Start Online Privacy Act?). It will be back before we know it with a new name and a new purported and super urgent purpose. Perhaps child pornography - certainly no publicly motivated human on earth could possibly criticize a bill that promises to end child pornography. Maybe “terrorism” concerns when we’re officially at war with Iran and Syria. Or a new, perfectly vague and manipulatable threat that news anchors can really get hysterical over: cyber terrorism. Some sort of i911. And with Anonymous declaring all out war in the wake of the Megaupload shutdown, this could come back around pretty quickly.

Ah, the Megaupload thing. In which The Cloud dream was killed forever (for who in their right mind could risk storing all their important info online when the Feds can come and snatch it all, just because someone else has a copy of Pirates Of The Caribbean in the next digital locker along?)  SOPA’s postponement was announced directly after after The Mega Upload thing, not our beautiful, 13 million strong web blackout. The Megaupload Thing... in which The Powers That Be made a big ole impeccably-timed Hollywood movie style action packed bust for the teevee, underlining the fact that they don’t actually NEED any goddamn SOPA, or PIPA, to close a website, take innocent people’s property and destroy a business without any trial or due process. PRE CRIME MOTHERFUCKER. We said you did it, and we are Team America, World Police, and we will arrest a German national in the sovereign nation New Zealand if we like because we are the frikkin BEEEEEST! All Your Internetz Are Belong 2 Us! In your FACE Human Rights!

Article 12.

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.

The UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 1948.

As the Atlantic’s Dashiell Bennett notes:

The shutdown inadvertently proved that the U.S. government already has all the power it needs to take down its copyright villains, even those that aren’t based in the United States. No SOPA or PIPA required.

Of course, the trial could always end in a failed prosecution, making an excellent highly visible case for the inadequacies of existing law, thus setting the stage for the newly branded SOPA/PIPA (the pet project, let us not forget of but TWO American business organisations: Hollywood and the major label music industry.) "But that crazy fat man was banging Playboy Bunnies on private jets!" the people will wail. "It's not fair! He must not be allowed to get away with it! We demand you fix this immediately! He must burn! He must be stoned! To hell with the internet!"

And so, like The Kaiser Chiefs before them, SOPA and PIPA will return, singing the same shit songs, yet beloved of the masses where once they were spat upon.

A battle may have been won - unless that was a deliberate run up the flagpole slash testing of the waters to begin with - but this is no time for any laurel-hammocked slumber parties. Here in Europe, our unelected Turbo-Catholic masters are already pushing their similarly bogus Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement. Tyranny, like Chuck norris, does not sleep...  it waits...and eternal vigilance is the price of freedom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8Xg_C2YmG0

http://youtu.be/wVY7qDjrPZk

Unfuturistic Shit VS The True Fleshface Of The Uppercase G

Suddenly I'm in Westminster. Union Jacks and cops everywhere. I used to have a recurring nightmare that looked just like this. Only in my nightmare, the sky is the colour of a fresh wound, and the pavement cracks open like a scab. The cops lift their visors and they have no eyes in their skulls, just holes,  and I am plunged into the heaving acid bowels of the earth.

In so called real life, on April 27 2011 AD, the sun blasts like a lazer through a mile of lethal pollution to illuminate a thousand tourists filming a thousand union jacks that hang still in the thick air like a thousand giant tongues. Teenage girls dance in slow motion for the cameras in Beatles T-shirts and backpacks with red and blue targets sewn on to them. Cops stare straight ahead, flexing guns that look like Arnold Schwarzenegger used them on the set of Predator. They don't look real. I think, well, they're not, are they? Gently down the stream.

Yesterday I heard a spokeswoman for the London Metropolitan Police Force making unveiled threats of extreme violence against anyone considering doing anything other than prostrating themselves at the feet of two pink flesh sacks in central London this coming Friday. This coming Friday, in Central London, if you are not prostrating yourself at the feet of two pink fleshsacks, the goons have been encouraged to "Shoot On Sight". The woman demanded that people do their civic duty and report anyone looking suspicious, talking negatively of the pink fleshsacks, or bearing inappropriate placards.

"This is a day of celebration," she said.

(I'd be bloody celebrating if everybody was legally obliged to pay for MY wedding. My beautiful fiancée had her little heart set on a room in the Union Chapel, until they told us how much it was going to cost.)

Anyway, I for one appreciate the Police's honesty. It is good that they take the time to remind us who they actually work for (Rich People) and what their job is (protecting rich people from us). From the front pages I've seen, it appears the Press are keen to remind us who they work for (Rich People) and what their job is too (Relay The Rich Person Agenda, Make You Feel Inferior), and while I haven't seen a television screen for a while, I can bet they're doing the same thing.

Good on 'em. I, meanwhile, am fully aware of my role, and that is being my goddamn ill-ass self, and I solemnly promise to do that until I fall downa scab hole into the centre of the goddamned earth.

I am so serious about this, in fact, that I have shaved all the hair off of my face for the first time since 2003.

WOAH!

Serious. Last time that happened me and Wade both did it at the same time, then spent about 7 minutes staring at ourselves forlornly in the mirror wailing, "we look like CHINLESS DWARVES!"

After our carefree, happy childhoods had died with the horrorful onset of premature adolescence at around 7 or 8 years old, so too had our prepubescent self confidence and we had been forced, with the aid of our beards, to start again, to carve ourselves anew in the image of our gods.

So we resolved never to shave that close again again, lest the world discover our true nature, and we hid, handsomely, behind our follicular miracles.

Seven years have passed since that day, brothers and sisters, seven years I have hidden my true flesh-face beneath a mask of lovely hair, and just as all my cells have regenerated themselves, so too has my confidence in my imperfect perfection as a human fleshsack with some magic in it. I have wandered in the desert and I have walked the earth, and I have found it to not give a shit about the strength of chins.

YES!

Forsooth! I am here today to tell you that while I definitely prefer the look of myself resplendent in the beard my lower-case god gave me to keep myself cosy and safe in, I am not afraid to show you that I have a weak-ass chin beneath it all! For that is But Material, and But Material is some unfuturistic shit! We are living in the future now! We are in the process of Transcending!

Amen.

Hopefully it grows back by Friday, I don't want the police to shoot me and my picture end up in the paper looking like this.

ONLY JOKING!

I'm going to ignore all that silly nonsense and carry on with my great works like a goddamn G!

How about you?

Anyway. I must get back to work. I hope you're having a lovely day.

PAX!

PS - the picture up top was drawn on the spot at the famous Garage show we did a few weeks back by Oliver Hull.

PPS - I had that song up there on repeat for most of the writing of this post. It is by Martin Carr's Black Serpent Choir and it is amazing.

Some Things That I Believe

Where on Earth to begin?

It's been a goddamn crazy couple of days, that much we can be certain of.

With regards to the much publicised student protests that went down in London yesterday, let me make my feelings on the matter clear:

I believe that the sum of our collective knowledge should be available to every man and woman born unto this planet.

I believe that education is a right, not a privilege.

I believe that we have the resources to provide that education to every man and woman on this planet.

I believe that forcing a human into debt in return for what is theirs by right is wrong, in fact worse than just plain old wrong, but demonstrably evil.

I believe that people have the right to protest this evil without the fear of being beaten, aimed, dragged along the road and trampled by hired thugs who describe their actions as "sport" on television documentaries. Who joins the riot police to stand around in a helmet hoping for peace? I have met these people, I know who they are. The overwhelming majority of them are merely thugs, plain and simple, mind-numbed bullies who get off on the tiny sliver of power they are afforded over their fellow man by their cringing, paper-skinned paymasters. Sausage fingered dullards who enjoy nothing more than charging into an unarmed crowd of children and beating them with sticks.

I believe that smashing the windows of the treasury, daubing the precious statues in parliament square, scribbling on the bust of the dead imperialist and racist Winston Chuchill and smashing up Topshop is a perfectly appropriate response to tyranny.

I believe that the BBC, whose shameful, biased, sneering rolling news coverage I watched, wincingly for too many hours yesterday, are as bad as the swine they protect. They wailed and gnashed their teeth over vandalised telephone boxes, made cheery small talk about the future of the Liberal Democrats, and the "game of politics", and said nothing of substance of the affect this enforced debt will surely have on the next two generations.

I believe that Charles and Camilla should have been dragged out of that car and hung from the nearest telegraph pole like a pair of mouldy old trainers. After which they should have had their allowances removed, and all that stolen property they squat in, all those trophies they have our people dust and buff for them, those trinkets and baubles they horde like Middle Earthian dragons taken from them, sold, and the money put towards our health and education systems.

I believe that once that was done, we should have take all the money we are spending on foul abominations like TRIDENT and THE IRAQ WAR and so on and fucking so on, and put THAT into our education, and health systems.

Next, we should have taken back the money our cretinous representatives in parliament handed over to the criminals that gambled our money down the plug hole in the first place, the "wanking fucking bankers" so well described by this heroic Irishman. We should have taken their mansions, we take their baubles, we take their trinkets. Those are STOLEN PROPERTY.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koY6kXhQDQo

That is what I believe. That is my solution.

Nicholas Clegg, who resembles a fat python more and more each day, would call me a dreamer. I call him a sweaty-palmed house slave, a frontman and apologist for a criminal conglomerate that would have us all as serfs, with him faring little better. THEY DON'T WANT YOU IN THEIR GANG, Fat Little Nicholas.  They laugh while they fuck your wife and your children in their skulls as you sleep your sweating, desperate four hours of sleep each night. When they are done with you they will throw you on the fire. They will suck on your bones.

We are being pissed on, and we are calling it rain. We are being raped, and calling it tough love.

Living In The Future does not involve bowing to inbred  scum, neither does it involve taking a fetid, scabby, leprous cock in the collective ass and calling it unavoidable turbulence. We are each of us born rich beyond our wildest imaginations. We have all we need within our grasp. Do not let a gang of creeping, grasping suckfish tell you anything otherwise. Fuck these scum, and all who harbour them.

A Nation Ruled By Swine: Police Assulted Man Who Died During G20 Protest

o-tell-of-gods-might Remember that guy who died during the G20 protests, on whose death there was no information delivered by Ze Meeja at the time other than "people threw missiles at the Police as they tried to help him"?

Well, it turns out that dude wasn't even protesting anything. And that cops did him.

According to witness statements received by the Independent Police Complaints Commission, Ian Tomlinson, 47, was attacked violently by police as he "made his way home from work at a nearby newsagents".

"I can remember seeing Ian Tomlinson," said Anna Branthwaite, a photographer. "He was rushed from behind by a riot officer with a helmet and shield two or three minutes before he collapsed."

"I saw a man violently propelled forward, as though he'd been flung by the arm, and fall forward on his head," said one witness. "He hit the top front area of his head on the pavement. I noticed his fall particularly because it struck me as a horrifically forceful push by a policeman and an especially hard fall; it made me wince."

Another said she saw Mr Tomlinson being hit "near the head" with a police baton.

Unsurprisingly, Mr Tomlinson's death was attributed by a police post mortem to natural causes.  "[He] suffered a sudden heart attack while on his way home from work," read the City of London police statement. But when photographs of the man were published on Friday witnesses started to come forward.

According to The Guardian:

An IPCC statement was due to be released the same day and is understood to have portrayed the death as a tragic accident. However, the statement's release was postponed as the complaints body received information that police officers may have been more involved in events than previously thought. An IPCC spokesman said yesterday that in light of new statements it was "assessing" the information it had received before deciding whether to launch a full investigation... Part of the commission's inquiries will involve the examination of CCTV footage from the area."

Expect Ze Authorities to claim the tapes have been lost damaged abtucted by Aliens by Monday, and cameraphone footage showing the assault to hit the web around the same time.

Which will suit Our Glorious Leaders just fine. A show of force is always good to keep the proles mindful off who's in charge, eh? I mean, did you hear about the climate camp? Eyewitness Beth McGrath wrote the following in The Guardian's comments section, and it was later published as  a blog.

I was held at the climate camp until midnight last night. When I arrived at 6pm to celebrate the creative sight of a camp in London's grey financial streets, the police allowed me to walk straight into the camp with my bike. As the reports have said, the atmosphere was very warm and positive: schoolchildren and old-time protesters sharing a space full of colour and music.

Within an hour of arriving, the same police who had stepped back and let me through closed in around the camp and refused to let anyone in or out. I then watched the police push forward into the crowd with a brutality that was not only shocking but utterly unnecessary. All the protesters put their hands in the air and sat down collectively on the road. Yet as the crowd lowered I saw a young man stagger back with his head split open, another boy with a broken nose, a girl next to me had been kicked between the legs.

People were badly hurt and the atmosphere spun into a frightened panic. A friend of mine from university who had come from Nottingham to join the camp just put his head in his hands and cried. This was the scene minutes after people had been allowed to wander into the camp without any warning of the planned police actions, or any chance to leave peacefully.

As they rolled in back-up police and black armoured riot vans, and as the police kicked and crushed people's bikes, the protesters called out to them, and the onlooking bankers, up in their ivory towers, "This is not a riot!". As their batons came down, legal observers called out to people to take the police numbers of those who had hurt protesters. En masse, the line of police all covered up their badges. It was a chilling show of a police force unaccountable to their own laws, and their own humanity. The police were indeed braced for violence, but most of that young crowd of protesters were not.

Despite our repeated requests to be searched and allowed to leave the space, we were held there for six hours with no access to water, food, toilets or medical care. Proudly, throughout all this, not one person in the crowd reacted with violence to any person or property. People shared the little they had and held public meetings about the aims of the G20 summit. There was little show of anger, but much unhappiness. When, finally, we were herded out one by one at midnight, I felt cold to the core, chilled by the unprovoked aggression of those who I had been brought up to trust. I am deeply ashamed of my state, in which reasonable and calm protesters are criminalised and provoked in such a manner.

Their use of section 14 on 800 campers was mindless, their violence was a tragedy and their very presence, with armoured cars and helicopters, a ridiculous waste of public money.

I am writing this today because I grew up in this city and treasure the right to use this city space to speak out to our elected leaders in a peaceful, creative way. There were no harmful intentions in that climate camp, but the harm done by the police last night goes far deeper that the physical wounds inflicted; it is in the chaos of unnecessary state violence that fear is born and trust is lost.

Is there anyone left on this rock who doesn't get it?

Harry Fainlight got it, as evidenced by this beautifully succinct quote, shown to me today by the good Dr Martin Sexton:

The definition of a politician is an amateur criminal, one still hampered by the bourgeois ethic. The politician who has overcome this disadvantage is the military commander.

And what was it Hunter said?

In a nation ruled by swine, all pigs are upward mobile — and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: Not necessarily to Win, but mainly to keep from Losing Completely...

And  here's me, full of joy and hope for wonders yet to come, and a World Without Swine. Ad astra per aspera.

EDIT, 07/04/09: Bang on schedule, this shows up:

Darling Pet Monkey, $18.95

Darling Pet Monkey Wow. Colin was leafing through some ancient Marvel comics this morning, and found this gem. Those of us old enough have fond memories of a pre-internet age, when comic-book small-ads opened a window to an exciting world of mail-order bounty, if only our paper-rounds paid enough.  In my day it was all Beef Up Quick schemes and studded leather wristbands, but in the 60s, you could BUY A MONKEY FOR $18.95!

According to the ad copy,

"The Squirrel Monkey makes an adorable pet and amusing companion.. almost human with its warm eyes, your family will love it. Eats same food as you do (even likes lollipops)... instructions included. Live delivery guaranteed."

Well that's nice. Who wouldn't hate to get a dead monkey in the mail?

Psychos, that's who. Good litmus test.

So, someone died protesting The Swine yesterday. Very sad indeed. The article I read about this doesn't mention how he died, only that, "Police said bottles were thrown at them while they attempted to treat him."

It also notes that:

"City workers leaned out of windows and waved £10 notes at demonstrators on the streets below, who responded with jeers and shouts."

Good job I stayed home drawing comics - despite my peaceful nature, sometimes its hard not to get riled up by Wankers, amazing as that might sound. I might have gotten myself in bother again. The free toilet papers were pretty clued up though, I noticed them warning of hordes of anarchists swarming on the city the day before, "coaxed out of retirement by the promise of violence." Oh, those anarchists, sat at home bored for decades, waiting for an excuse to descend upon Londinum like a plague of locusts and throw bottles at coppers. Ho ho ho.

"Didn't the police do a lovely job of scaring people out of protesting at being financially ruined by the unbridled greed and stupidity of the City yesterday," noted Lorry on Facebook earlier. "Hooray for democracy."

Word. The papers aint been getting in the way neither. Legum servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus, eh?

New music and video later. Pax.

Ey La Martin Carr @ The Social

I made a rare trip into town last night to see Ey La Martin Carr. People that know me will testify that I stay stuck indoors like hinges (geddit?!), but Ey La hardly ever plays and I am a big fan of his new songs (apart from one of them, which sounds like Th' Bee-Tulllllz).

Anyway, it was OK. I got hassled by police and their dogs at Highbury tune station, not that I had anything on me. Most times I really, really hate police. Sorry if you're a police. Maybe you're a nice police. All the police I ever come across look at me like I am scum. They give me and my peoples no respect, and seem to actively enjoy bullying people and flexing their power, which we gave them. Man, they put me in a rotten mood most times, swear down.

I don't hang onto rotten moods though. Plus I had my book on me (I'm back into the third act of Illuminatus!, word up Karl, I owe you a email I know!), and I am enjoying that shit deeply. Rah though, if it didn't go and fuck it down on my head in an entirely biblical fashion as soon as I got out of the tunnels. Fuck this Summer almost as hard as last summer. What baffled me was where the hell everyone got their brellas from. It was sunny when I left the house, in a vest and tracksuit, then I surface at Oxford Circus amidst a fuckin' monsoon, and everyone's all brolleyed up. I guess people that, like, leave the house daily are in tune with this sort of shit. Not me.

Anyway. I linked with hotpants and we got down the Social in time to catch Martin Carr La Superstar and Sweary Preggers Mary's set.Which was grayte, especially the song Mary sings on her own about how shit it is of Martin to bring her "all this rain" (church!) and Running, which is my favourite song at the moment. Check a stream of it out right now, you lucky monkey, I'm sure Martin won't mind. Although he is kind of old, and old people don't always get this inernet malarky, do they? Shit, who am I kidding? I'm fuckin' old. Somebody drag me out back and shoot me.

Stream: Martin Carr - Running

Another nice thing about the night was seeing the homie Huw Stephens. Word to Huw Stephens! Weirdly, the headline act, who were called Cats In Paris and were pretty dope, especially when they were focusing on the violin, and whose bassist was gloriously stoned, anyway, their singer looks just like Huw Stephens, but not as handsome obviously, so there you fuckin' go.

Lorry was out too. Usually its nice to see Lorry, but this time he was the bearer of bad news. This American TV show that was supposed to be using two of my songs and thus paying my rent and my sibling-debts got cancelled. SO LAME! I am going to have to get a job cleaning chimneys now or something.

Still. We had a nice pint afterwards. Mary and Hotpants talked about the Batman film, and me and Martin talked about the Batman comic. Martin knows his Batman. Martin knows Batmite, for fuck's sake! Do you know Batmite? Saying that, Martin hadn't read any of Grant Morrison's recent run (check the blobblog for a look at the next ish), which is deliriously awesome, so he loses points there.

Oh, WEAK. I just burnt my fuckin' muffins.

Cops Batter People In Philly Shocker

Hot off the heels of the Sean Bell verdict, here's some footage of a fuckwad of coppers beating the crap out of some people. News quote:

More than a dozen police officers will be taken off the street as authorities investigate a video showing three suspects being kicked, punched and beaten after they were pulled out of a car during a traffic stop.

Moral of these stories, ala Mendez, The Empire Does What The Fuck It Likes. Now Shut The Fuck Up.

Game: "I Aint Tellin Anybody To Kill No Cops"

From Playlouder:

Self proclaimed gangsta rapper The Game has suddenly decided that violence is rubbish and has dressed up in some Dead Presidents inspired clown make up and made a song and a long ass video to express his point.

"I aint tellin anybody go kill no cops," says Game in the video. "What good is it for me to make jusic if there isn't a message in my music... I'm gonna use my music to preach to my people, to let 'em know these senseless killings, these dumb acts of violence... today, from here on, our voice will be heard as a unit. Old young, wise and dumb, this drama, this violence, it's gotta stop. It's gotta stop today man. There's a lesson in my words. There's a lesson to be learned in Sean Bell's killing. You gotta ask yourself, are you ready to learn that lesson? Cos I'm ready to teach it."

TEACH, Game! Teach!

However, a cursory listen to the song, 911 Is A Joke finds Game shouting "I'm a cop killer! 911 is a motherfucking joke!"

Dude is so bi-polar!

The tune kinda bangs though. The beat is a slightly-updated jack of Deep Cover, so I fucks with it.

Which is true. I do. Game's message is a bit convoluted mind, especially with that lipstick. Don't get me wrong - dude looks dope, but I just can't really take him too seriously on any level.

Still, the tune is fresh. Cop it here.

For the intelligent hip-hop artist's take on the situation, check Immortal Technique's blog. Sample:

Scooter Libby is a criminal, he broke the law, and so did Oliver North. But I'm sure if someone shot them both tomorrow that person wouldn't be exempt of the charges because of the victim's status. I watch people often implant these ideas in our mind to justify what happens to drug dealers, to thieves, to people that come from a community that is persecuted or to people whose politics are adverse to our own. We are media-trained to see ourselves as a threat, rather than the system as one. Perhaps that's why even when the cops are of color they feel more threatened by a Black or Latino person. They feel like they're less concerned with the consequences of doing this is in our communities vs. other places where they'd be more accountable for their actions by the governing council. Who all need to be voted out by the way, immediately!

Immortal Technique is the truth! Although he did pull some sleazy moves on a female friend of mine at south by south west last year (or so she said). Lookin' for some revolutionary action...

Police On My Back Video

Wow, look at that! See what that is? That is the sound of Fruityloops and Acid! In full effect!

Yes yes yes, more brand new, Akira The Don produced Lethal Bizzle goodness. I am told this stuff is being hammered in New York right now, which is HEAVY.

Pow!

Oh, I forgot to mention - I got a song in this new movie about footie called In The Hands of Gods. I haven't seen it yet though, so I couldn't tell you if it's any good or not. But it's got me in it so it must be!

Yes.

PS - you heard Bashy's new joint?

Seriously, this is one of the best rap songs I have ever heard.

Made my belly go fully and the hairs on my arms stand the fuck up like Buckingham soldiers. Serious as fuck. Damn damn DAMN, homie.

Lush

So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.