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Growth Needn’t Be Cancerous

… Unlike the kind pushed by TurboCapitalism and its minion, the IMF. Look-see, The Family grows in a non-profit, non-threatening &  recreational sort of way and nobody’s got to buy into it if they don’t want to. Meet the Squirtle. A distant relative of the Mystical Turtle (featured), it is, as the name indicates, a cross between a squirrel and a turtle. It lives in one of the many borderline territories -or Soft Places, as Neil Gaiman calls them- surrounding the merry old Plateau of Leng and the Cold Waste. A vastly powerful creature, it also suffers from a congenitally kind heart and a compulsively helpful nature. It gets on with almost everybody in the barrio, in part because nobody dares mess with it; if threatened or irritated beyond endurance, the Squirtle can be a terror.  Soft it may be but not dumb. Which doesn’t stop the Shantak birds from pushing their luck when it comes to fucking off to Nyarlathotep’s birthday party and leaving the Squirtle to babysit. Then again, we all know the Shantaks are born chancers, do we not? Update 26/06/12 A break from the Mining Co. It’s Elementary Particles again! Them and their impossible behaviour wot has driven more than one scientist to the bottle. The Observer in the picture has since: 1) resigned, 2) requested political asylum in my cellar (claims the Shoggoths are far, far more tractable) and 3) taken up bird-watching. It’s recovering fine. Slowly but steadily. Update 06/07/12 And here’s some sound advice from Primus. Update 07/07/12 And here’s my tribute to the CERN lot, who knowing they’re fighting a loosing battle, they still fight on. Mind you, I’m sure they’re having a whale of a time doing it. And they’re getting paid for it! Still, I raise my cup to them. And to the wee particles, naturally… Update 11/07/12 I’ve been meaning to do something for Greece and the Greeks. Here it is. Kalispera, folks. Wake up, smell the rot and kick some asses. The right ones, please… Update 16/07/12 And so we come full circle. The Family has a new member. The Errant, or Lapsed Golem. He was made by a slightly dyslexic and highly eccentric rabbi who lives just off the Mile End Rd. An excellent conceptual Kabbalist, he’s nevertheless a bit erratic when it comes to practicalities, so instead of a mouth, he gave his Golem a nose. To cut the story short, all that alephed scroll sticking in & out, got up the poor creature’s nose, pardon the pun. Also, one murky dawn, when he had been sent off to fetch some bagels from the all-night bakery in Brick Lane, he met a bunch of carousing Shoggoths on their way back from visiting some friends who inhabit the Forgotten Places under Liverpool St. Station. They introduced the oversized clay chappie to Emiliano, the Rats and bacon butties, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history. The dyslexic rabbi’s still waiting for his bagels…

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Name: Dolores

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