Clear and present danger

Really not long at all, the body of an educated women thrown to the vindictive spite-ridden working-classes, my mind treated as a joke.

A skulking coward, a creature that refuses to show itself in the open, refuses to face me

A psychopath who regards any challenge as an intolerable affront to be ruthlessly punished, dismisses all question, criticism, challenge, any action of an independent mind as self-will, insolence, arrogance. 

A gravely insane animal wholly divorced from reality who lives in a world that exists only in its head and is impervious to all fact and reason.

A grossly sick creature who believes it is itself nothing but a channel for God’s Holy Will, which is of course unchallengeable; regards itself as identical to God but pretends not to; therefore regards the entire world and its inhabitants subject to its will and anything contrary to that will as evil.

A squalid thug who engineers injury and assuredly it takes a very special kind of sick animal not only to injure a woman but to use her medical vulnerability to injure her. 

A snarling animal, a rabid ape that doesn’t speak, reason, learn, has no use for language, but only rips, tears, rends, destroys

A sexually sick animal incapable of regarding a woman as an adult human being, who thinks me a worthless whore, an animal  to whom I am animal, my mind, my intellect, my education meaningless.

A malignant animal who requires I suffer

In short a criminal, a violent and dangerous psychiatric case

Sprinkle with equal quantities treason, corruption, fascism and call it a man of God, a holy man, to whom respect is due, to whom all should defer

Not a creature who belongs in a secure institution.  Actually, even if capital punishment were reinstituted it wouldn’t  hang being deemed criminally insane

A creature of the ilk of Brady or Sutcliffe

Falsity, that was it.  The over-arching illusion of self that needs to dominate and control others, that thinks others an extension of it, to do and be and say and read and write what it decrees, composed of lies, lies about itself, lies about others, lies about the world, and so contains nothing true, nothing real.  Nothing solid.  If you open them up, there’s nothing there, except garbage, drivel, delusion, illusion.  Sand-castles washed away by the tide.

Layer upon layer, power, wealth, corrupt law, all to protect them from reality, the simple and most obvious realities such as other human beings who are separate from them, different, equal in rights, coming from somewhere else, running on separate tracks, the frantic desire to make us all crawl to them, be mirrors of their will, such that disagreement, fact, will not perturb the fragile screaming self, which will totter, fall if the lies of which it is composed are destroyed, total inadequacy, conceal it is an intellectually emotionally morally impotent animal who cannot cope with love and mind and can only butcher and destroy, cannot cope with being challenged by a woman, ludicrous creatures who live in a fantasy world, a world that exists only in their heads, and demand we must all share their insanity, power, wealth, control their dependencies, without which they feel incomplete, the crutches to which they cling. Devoid of love and mind, they feel permanently incomplete.  If they can just get more power, more money, more control, they’ll be in command of life, as other people cling to drink or drugs or  shopping.  It can never be enough to them to just be themselves, everyone else has to be them too.

Add eight parts perversion, eight parts fascism, eight parts fascism, eight parts perversion, mix vigorously and you have these deviants, these diseased corrupt sickening twisted vermin at UCH who defer to this animal, regard that set of beliefs that drives it as religion and holy; consider it a sane and moral human being and expect me so to do, these filthy twisted perverts who abandon all fact, reason, morality to prostrate themselves before a sick animal and become creatures of its will and purpose, to become nothing, who have no honour, no self-respect, no integrity, no principle, which is of course the perversion they are taught is their highest purpose in the world of the obscene is which the will of mad snarling ape is the will of God.

Who represent clear and present danger to the University and the country.  Who are not to be trusted with authority over any human being.  They can’t even be trusted with the body of a woman who has had major spinal surgery.   In the event of civil disorder they would have to be interned.  They are insolently contemptuous of democracy.  Actually in the event of civil disorder they’d be fighting on the side of England’s enemies.

They left me in the hands of these creatures, they deliberately and wilfully shat on all morality, all reason, all democracy, knowing the animals had already begun to cause me serious injury. Vile freak pervert creatures, the insane who think I’m trying it on because everyone crawls to sexual disease, corruption, psychopathology, violence. I must understand that, must I not,

Religion is the just the respectable name for getting off on beating up women.  I mean God commanded it, you can’t say nothing. Just respectable BDSM.  Anyone who believes that for instance the mullahs and good citizens of Iran who bury a woman and then stone her are not orgasmic about it has a mental age of three. 

As of course does anyone who thinks the apes at UCH were not jerking themselves off on the thought of my spinal fusion giving way. 

Still engaged in your vile jabber that religion may not be mocked, are you, ‘Holy Father’.  Of course: nothing is more vital to your evil than that your filth and sickness is not mocked.

Filthy traitor vermin of politicians who demand we respect fascists and psychopaths and perverts, consider ourselves subject to the ravings of fascist sand psychopaths and perverts, consider fascists and psychopaths and perverts vital to the nation, important people of whom we must always be heedful.  No, no, Sacranie is not a psychopath and a traitor, a desperately sick little man, he is a knight of the realm.  It’s too funny to take seriously but oh we’re supposed to.  Believe what the fuck you like but you keep your filthy hands off other people and if your so-called religion teaches you to be a psychopath, teaches you to be criminally insane, tells you you have rights over everyone else, then you are in the wrong country.  As of course Islam does, thus the dangerously mad animals who tried at the UN to make offending Islam a global offence, so they could get on with murdering women and gays in peace. 

An absolutely insolent attempt to corrupt, pervert destroy the entire country, telling us that those who obviously are fascists, psychopaths, traitors, perverts are not fascists, psychopaths, traitors, perverts, that it is evil and criminal to say they are fascists, psychopaths, traitors, perverts. 

Deliberate evil inflicted on the country when all that was ever required was and is to uphold the standards of the free world.

Of course the garbage filth pollies never have cared about what happened to girl-children or gay-children in our wonderful faith communities, never cared what happened to the offspring of Orthodox Jews or Christian sickos, so naturally they have never cared what happened to Muslim girl-children or gay-children, far too busy being sensitive to that most delicate of organs the penis. If you have the misfortune to be born into certain communities, you are not a British citizen, merely the property of your parents, who can damage you intellectually and emotionally as much as they like.

Freak pervert nutter savages in Rome, in Riyadh, in the Gulf, in Tehran, Pakistan. think we’re all savages, we’re all going to fall down in awe, lo it is the word of the Lord!  Oh for fuck’s sake, you ludicrous sick animals.  Jabber jabber about their bloody religions demanding they be significant to everyone.  “but my child, it is God’s Holy Word.”  It’s a load of filthy ape-shit of unprovable provenance, possibly a slander against God to think it responsible for such sick twisted drivel.

One more time in five-year-old English.

[I may add to, subtract from or edit this at a later date.  Or I may not.]

Perhaps if I put it in 5-year-old English.
I am not you.  We are agreed so far?  I am here and you are wherever you are.

There is only what is. 

What is may be pretty basic.  Fred said to Joe, “I’m buying the next round.”

Anyone who heard Fred say that to Joe and denies it is lying.

A lie is a false reality, a statement something is true that is not true, leading people to believe it is true and think and act in accordance with its being true.

Conveying a false reality is not necessarily a deliberate attempt to mislead.  Nonetheless, a false reality is something that pisses people off, be it ever so minor. Due to simple cock-up,  a delivery  promised for Tuesday, as a result of which you stayed in/took time off work, does not appear.

A belief system is a series of propositions abut the universe and its inhabitants, put into a box labelled ‘Marxism’, ‘Anglicanism’, ‘Sikhi’, ‘Buddhism’, whatever. 

There are generally some propositions you have to accept to belong in the box.  If you do not accept them you live in another box.  For example, Unitarians believe in God and Jesus, but do not believe Jesus was God incarnate, thus denying the Trinity. 

Broadly every individual on the planet thinks what he or she believes is true, because he/she wouldn’t believe it if he/she didn’t think it was true, or at least half-believe it, a definite maybe.  People do not go around cheerfully proclaiming, “Everything I believe is a total garbage.”

Broadly too, those individuals are divided into those who distinguish between their personal beliefs and universal truths.

It is those who insist what they believe is Truth with a capital T who are a pain in the arse to the rest of us, who say ‘x is true’ when what they mean is ‘I believe x is true’.

I am certainly not about to dwell in your ridiculous world of lies, accept your ludicrous delusional reality.

On a number of levels

 The denial of the history of the free world. Religion is mocked and that mockery enabled the free world, in which we are capable of distinguishing between ‘x is true’ and ‘ you believe x is true’ and entirely free to do so.

Your conduct is that of a sick animal, as defined by law, as defined by psychiatry.  If your conduct is the will of this god of yours, then your god is clearly a sick animal.

We are therefore now in the territory where the criminally insane are lauded and deferred to.

Certainly I should think it your curious contention – sorry, five-year-old English: since you a sick nutter, it is your party line that it is not you before whom I should abase myself, not your thoughts to which I should defer, but your god, of whom you are but the instrument.  I must accept the Will of this god, because it is further your contention that you alone possess truth; it is your monstrous contention – you’re a very sick nutter – that obedience to what you say, obedience to your (non-existent) authority is obedience to what God says, obedience to God’s authority.

You haven’t a clue what God thinks, should it exist.  You merely think you know.

I do know what it says it in the New Testament.  Within your own terms, since a) you are devoid of love and b) you are a coward, you do not represent Jesus.

I should forget my silly self-willed notions and lose myself in God is I think your basic position, but it is of course absolute rubbish that complying with the will of a self-willed, ignorant vicious animal constitutes loss of self.  What you mean is I should lose myself in you.  You are about as selfless as any other vandal, a two-year throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t get his own way other people, they won’t all obey him.  Nonetheless the scam is you have no self, you are immersed in God, but the agent of his purpose.

Loss of self constitutes union with reality.  The inside mirrors the outside.  You are clearly completely delusional, existing in a world solely inside your head.

You claim to possess absolute truth, but so do many other belief-systems.  You have no rational grounds for that conviction, any more than any other.  But if you hit me, I shall magically understand you are right and everyone else is wrong.  You are beyond pathetic.

I think my own thoughts.  You think your own thoughts.  It is a little bizarre that I should be expected to think, or at least pretend to think your thoughts and keep silent about my own thoughts.  Nonetheless it is a proposition often bought into.

Truth has been revealed to you.  Ah, you were there at the time?

You believe truth has been revealed to you.  Others believe a different truth has been revealed to them.  Others still believe no truth has been revealed to anyone.

Your beliefs are therefore to be respected because they are true.  Means because you think they’re true.

Argument by authority is a fallacy.

‘With god all things are possible.”   That may indeed be the case, evil grin, which physical laws applying depending on which side of the singularity you are.  Or simply if you are on the moon with less gravity. Nonetheless, this side there is the concept impossible things, for instance Virgin Birth, walking on water, rising from the dead.  Your beliefs cannot therefore be held to be true.  They cannot be proven. 

In that majestic word of science, the effects described are not reproducible.

There is a good story about the man who built his house on rock and the man who built his house on sand

...a wise man, which built his house upon a rock: 25And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. 26And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: 27And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it. 
Luke 6

Your house is built on sand.  It is founded on the premiss of an omnipotent god who can therefore transcend the laws of physics but there is no proof of the existence of this god.

We are back therefore to argument by authority is a fallacy: God exists because you say so.

And historically as currently if people differ you’ll hit and hit and hurt them and kill them if they disagree with you, at very least sit hissing in your pit dribbling atheists are evil.  This is not impressive conduct.

We find ourselves at the argument by numbers.  A lot of people say so.  A lot of people have said a lot of things throughout history which have been shown to be flatly false.

Thus the concept of ‘faith’.  It is faith that underpins your conviction your truth is correct and everyone else is wrong, or in other words nothing whatever underpins it. People must have faith and not irritatingly require evidence. 

You would I think claim along with Murphy O’Connor that the absence of faith is the greatest of evils.

Why is the suspension of reason evil?

The answer of course is that once people start applying reason, your sand-castle collapses.

Reason or reality.  Once people emerge from the opium-haze and take a look at the world around them they discover the world is not as you describe it. 

Back to the series of propositions.  The person who put them together believes they make a coherent whole and convinces others of the coherence of the whole.

But others come along and worrit that it is neither coherent, nor a whole, hence a) theology and b) all those nasty heresies and schisms.  Still others come along and say this proposition or that is garbage and vicious garbage to boot. 

A fairly arbitrary collection of propositions choosing to taste from all the available possibilities.  Clearly Mohammed was convinced the Jews had called it correctly and God is One, dismissing both Trinity and polytheism.  He could also have said Jews are really interesting people and the source of many of my ideas but preferred to say Jews are apes and monkeys.

Christianity crashed on reality.  Marxism crashed on reality.  Islam is badly, badly threatened by reality and will do anything to maintain the dream. Yes, I know it doesn’t look threatened, but if we recall that even Tariq Ramadan had to admit the large number of Muslims who couldn’t be said to be even loosely practising, the picture is different.

It is marketed as Europe’s fastest growing religion but that is a false statistic, because it takes no account of the rate of loss, since for rather obvious reasons Muslims who have lost their faith or are as loosely Muslim as some Brits are loosely Christian, do not stand up shouting, look at us!  They really need to do so and indeed there may come a point when they have to do so but that requires the protection of bodies such as the Labour Party who at least currently are in bed with their would-be assassins 

Muslims in the West have come into contact with key realities, lots of other belief-systems, the reality of women and gays.  For all I know all those no longer practising have become Muslim-flavoured Buddhists, though I doubt it; could well be some.  How many Muslim teenagers in England do not have phones?  Everything the world has ever thought is in their hip-pockets.  The trick is therefore to stop them looking, keep them convinced Islam is the sole truth, to close their minds. Faith-schools are a good trick. 

You claim to represent Christianity.  You are clearly a fraud.  There is no love in you.  You are a coward.  Cowardice is fear and perfect love casts out fear.  That too is a matter of reality, the gulf between what is mouthed and what is observed. After 1800 years of Christian governance, people starved.  There would not have been a French Revolution had the Church spent the previous 1789 years insisting people love one another.

That too is a question of stopping people looking.  The mongol metal mechanical monkeys are so hypnotized by what you appear to be, what they think you must be, they cannot see what you are. 

How do I come to be subordinate to you?  I am one human being on this planet.  You are another.  That you believe your god, of whose existence there is no proof, says I am is not sufficient cause and reason. 

Just curious as to the rationale here.  I may not think what I think, but must think what you think.  Precisely how do you envisage what in practical terms is neurosurgery – you enter my mind and excise all parts of it displeasing to you – except fear is supposed to compel me to do that to myself. 

The pollies who back this drivel should also of course be the laughing-stock of the educated world.  I mean, really, Blair, is this some kind of joke?  The answer to which is yes and the name of the joke is you.  I’m supposed to erase from my mind everything I have read and everything I have thought, which does not concur with the untenable, unproven, unprovable drivel of this creature.  Or at least pretend to.

Let me be precise here.  Why should I erase true things to appease a nutter.  I know Marxism exists.  I know there was an epoch called the Enlightenment.  I know there was a French Revolution, a Glorious Revolution, an American Revolution.  The Constitution of the United States of America exists.  Unless we are to potter off to that level of discussion of knowing in which there is a possibility we are all brains in vats being fed illusory bodies, illusory surrounds, an illusory world, with an illusory history by a mad scientist, I am familiar with the facts of the political and intellectual history of the free world.  Were I to be terrorized into babbling dirty rubbish, I should in fact still know these things.  Why should I split myself between what is and what is not?   Why should I or anyone do that? You think you utter certain words and phrases which control people,  Word of God, religion, holy, blasphemy, offence and people will automatically erase their minds, like a stage-hypnotist can make people do ridiculous things. 

You are a real lawyer, I take it, Blair?  Sarcasm is the lowest form of..but it’s fun.  I gather the courts take perjury seriously:

Perjury is a statutory offence in England and Wales. It is created by section 1(1) of the Perjury Act 1911. Section 1 of that Act reads:
(1) If any person lawfully sworn as a witness or as an interpreter in a judicial proceeding wilfully makes a statement material in that proceeding, which he knows to be false or does not believe to be true, he shall be guilty of perjury, and shall, on conviction thereof on indictment, be liable to penal servitude for a term not exceeding seven years, or to imprisonment . . . for a term not exceeding two years, or to a fine or to both such penal servitude or imprisonment and fine.

So why does the law have no problem with people knowingly making false statements or remaining silent in order to create a false reality in which all concur with drivel?  Let alone being coerced into so doing.  Isn't there an offence of suborning a witness or something?

I say what I think.  Why should I say what you think, even on an anodyne subject, such as a difference of opinion on what colour to paint a room? 

I’m not a part of you, an extension of you, I am separate, with a mind of my own, not to mention aesthetic sense.  But why should I say what you think on the position of religion in C21st England, when you are clearly stupid, ignorant and vicious with complete cunt-for-brains or you wouldn’t believe what you do.  I, however, am not stupid, ignorant and vicious with complete cunt-for-brains.  How do you arrive at the cute notion I must do and say what you tell me, you are in control of me, you are set above me?  How do you reason that, ape, animal?  Something to do with your having a penis, is it, monkey, pervert, freak?  Women must do what you say.  It is given.  I really want to know how you think you come to be empowered to walk into my mind, or anyone’s, and start directing what goes on in there. 

After that they can section you.

In the mind of the twisted filthy animal pervert filth, I am insolent, arrogant, spoilt, because I think I can  speak, because I think I have a right to my own views, because I don’t crawl, because I am not a mindless monkey, a creature of its will, jabbering its filth and lies.  Because I am me.  In their world I have no right to be me. 

Should we talk about the  burqua?  Only if  we say how cute it is, this obscene costume that dehumanizes its wearers, making them as close as possible to heap of furniture over which someone has thrown a curtain, loon women on some kind of self-harm self-abnegation kick wandering around dressed like Darth Vader.  Or far worse forced to by men and no-one kicks the men’s balls in. A costume which makes the vilest of statements about both men and women, which states a woman is a receptacle for semen and that’s all she is. In order to protect you from any passing man emptying his cock into her, she must be covered up.  A costume that states men are incontinent apes, incapable of regarding a woman as an individual, a human with thoughts and feelings, she is simply somewhere to stick his cock, it doesn’t matter to him which woman.

And they harp endlessly about Boris’s mild little crack about ‘letterboxes’.  It is so obvious, the intent to soften England up to acceptance of a garment that is sexual disease; other cultures world-wide have greater or lesser notions of female modesty, but no other demands women cease to look like human beings.  Thundering attack on patriarchy not.  Demolition of the sick men who force women into this garment not. 

Bunch of senile perverted monkeys think their words of power  will make all the little savage kneel and crawl, it is holy, it is the word of God, bloody voodoo-men really think we’re hypnotized by, controlled by their words of power that work so well on their slaves, those whose independent mental processes they have damaged when children; ‘religion’ ‘God’ ‘holy’ ‘sacred’ will make us  us crawl to perversion evil and psychosis.

Thus FNORD
FNORDS
 
Ai em a {{{{NURSE}}}}.  Ai em not to have my judgement questioed.  Ai aem not to have my authority flouted.  Ai em to be obeyed  Why is this ludicrous and filthy drivel tolerated for 10 seconds?
 
Some ignorant illiterate criminal animal trained in the scientific washing of bedpans thinks it’s God Albloodymighty.  Slummy mummy bobbed a curtsey to Doctor and Nurse, the only forms besides some religious goon of pseudo-educated life in whatever vile violent bookless wordless mindless hole the creature crawled out of, thought to be the source of all wisdom and knowledge.
 
So they crawl out of intellectual and moral if not physical slums, never met anyone who reads let alone reads and writes.They are {{DOCTORS}}, they are {{{NURSES}}} and now they can push other people around, everyone will look up to them and obey them and because they have received no moral or intellectual education whatever, because they are essentially criminal, they believe that the mores of their slums are universal, ‘everyone’ knows you obey religion, believe in God, believe whatever {{{HOLY BOOK}}}}  is the drug of choice is the {{{{WORD OF GOD:}}} believe women obey, women are not to pretend to be men and go hiking or think or write, nursing that’s suitable for a woman.  If they are male they probably had slummy mummy sucking her little prince’s cock and being a door-mat to {{{MY SON THE DOCTOR}}}}.
 
If something is {{{{THE WORD OF GOD}}} it is therefore to the believer true.  Others might think if this the word of God then God is a screaming nutter talking out of his arse of course, but if it is true, then anything contrary to it is a lie and lies are to be suppressed  Lies are not to be permitted. And we must all obediently accept that anything perceived by the believer to be false is to be eliminated.
 
What?  Oh, fnords:
{FNORD!} {FNORD!} {FNORD!}
Oh, RTFM.
No, tards, not fjords, those are what Slartibartfast was so good at designing. Just remember he was
very proud of Norway. You might learn something thereby if you were capable of learning, but of
course you are not.
The word, says Wikipedia drily, lacks clear definition, but one such is that which shuts down rational
processes, one such being undoubtedly the capacity to analyse new information.
A fnord is a propaganda word conditioned in the masses from a very young age to respond
to, usually with fear, anxiety, or uneasiness, but unable to be seen by the general
populace, says the Urban Dictionary.
However, I cannot discuss an invisible word, so let me stick with conditioned responses to particular
words, or indeed explore the concept of fnord more closely Perhaps a fnord is rather a word that
makes invisible the real word for something. Thus devout or doctor may replace the real word thug or
psychopath.
Religion is a particularly good fnord. It Is Religion. No, this person is not a feral psycho animal.
He Is Religious. Ah, then, says anyone sane, his religion demands he be a feral psycho animal. Who
gives a fuck about such a religion.
After all, ‘fnord’ is shorter than ‘whited sepulchre’.
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres,
which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of
all uncleanness. Matthew 23:27
See also: http://www.dillsplace.com/glossary.html
 
It’s an interesting question how many medical researchers are themselves perverts, began by tearing the legs off spiders and the wings off flies ‘because they wanted to see what would happen’..  It’s either experimenting on animals or becoming Ian Brady.

They like watching me squirm, knowing I’m powerless, like if they had a butterfly trapped in a jamjar, they’d like watching its pathetic attempts to escape.

And what else,  they’re assured  I ’shall be’ helped.  After all Authority can’t lie.  Of course it never actually happens but that’s all right, because I’ll end up in the gutter and you will still be good people who believe Authority.  You won’t have done anything wrong, you won’t have doubted or questioned Authority.  Sick pervert freaks.

Of course there are less complex perverts too.  Was I disrespectful to young master Timothy, an illiterate slum-criminal strutting around with his legs apart (literally) and his flies open (metaphorically).  Cocky is the word, a very cocky little brute, a cocky little brute who took it upon himself to make do heavy manual work and attempt to damage my spinal fusion, for which an apology is yet to be received.  A cocky little criminal, who – does anyone these days – instead of throwing his hands up, it’s a fair cop, doubtless screamed it wasn’t an illiterate criminal, ain’t no-one can say it’s an illiterate, criminal, it’s perfect, without flaw and so of course any negativity is just because it’s gay.  Lots of ludicrous and evil little Trots parroting the drivel they have learned at the Polytechnic of Trot Crap which they are too stupid and intellectually useless to dissect. who fancy themselves the Hard Left and have obviously never read any Marx any more than they’ve read anything else. Really, how would any of them even know they’re illiterate.   Gay men are of course like any other men.  Some of them particularly like women, some of them simply regard us as fellow human beings.  Some of them hate us. 

So I can shall continue to fail to be mortified because vile filthy ludicrous little inadequates have judged me and found me wanting, I am not as {{{MEN}}} think I should be.  You pathetic disgusting apes.  

Don't you just wish I'd shut up and leave you to get on with murdering me in peace, Linch, Blair, Parker, Goldstone.  Is it not purely irritating of me to so far fail to be dead, half-killed at the Royal Free, severely disabled.  

She was running on one kidney, one whole lung and one with a hole in it and a spine held in place by an alloy rod. She was 45. Of course no-one asked if she was up to heavy physical labour; everyone knew she was not.

That was the state I was in when I arrived at UCH.   So now you'll finish me off based on lies you refuse to question and the ravings of the criminally insane.  No fact will matter.  No argument will matter.  No historical event will matter.  Democracy and the rule of law will be regarded with total contempt.  I as a woman am regarded with total contempt.  By virtue of having tits and a vagina I can have no value.   It does not occur to you there is anything wrong with destroying a woman, any more than you think there's anything wrong in putting down an experimental animal once the experiment is over.  Does it, Linch, simply doesn't occur to you.  There is no such thing as a religious fact.  There are facts about religion but there is no supernatural event that is reproducible and no supernatural being who has ever stood in Parliament Square talking to the Press.  It is a product of the human imagination, some of it a very nasty product.  

It had been clear for some time that the words were upset and not just the big imposing intellectual ones. 'The' and 'and' chirruped uneasily on hoardings. Headlines describing bomb-scares smoked uneasily, then burst into flame. Mediaeval assemblies appeared at Baron's Court, with armoured knights and rich hangings. Ladies in wimples clutched at their skirts as they edged their way up the rickety stairs, while an emerald mist oozed in along the track from Turnham Green, where fat olive porkers snuffled. Words have ways of making their feelings known.
            A riot broke out in the Buttered Parsnip when a reedy little 'precision' looked over his pince-nez and said there were too many weasel words. Been reading the Wind in the Willows too much, toady! Words should not be badgered. Nasty little rat he was. Well! That was bad enough! It was when he said we have to consider if there is a mole that the floor became a volcano of erupting mole-hills. Moley is the best! Good hard-working, honest - making a mountain  - the mole-hills grew with terrifying speed, barrels of ice on the bar became vast glaciers inching their way towards each other. There was a horrifying tearing sound as they collided. The landlady sighed. Going to have to get the writers in to calm 'em all down.
            Behind the bar (or where would have been behind the bar if it hadn't been an alpine pastoral idyll) was transformed into a great peacock-tail fan. One by one the quills stepped out. Everyone fell quiet.
            We seem a little bristly tonight, wrote one quill carefully.
            The matter is in hand, wrote another.
            We should all calm down and go to our homes, wrote a third.
           The largest quill from the peak of the tail had stood aside. Now it wrote: We should not get het-up.          Nothing untoward is happening.
            Precision, unlikely rebel with his thinning hair and stiff collar, made his way back to the Academician's study, badly shaken. He walked into the dictionary, for it is only there words bereft of writers can function rationally without the devastation he had just witnessed. He asked a question:  Suppose the writers do not have our best interests at heart? 
            It is the story of our lives, sighed history.
            Unexpectedly they were interrupted.
            I am the definite article, said the.
            We understand, said history gently. The words were frightened. They needed to assert their meaning.
            The Chorus of the Moles continued in the background.
            ‘We dig, dig, dig. We are moles, moles, moles.’
            Imagination is not their forte.
            In academic book-shops, in the University of London Library itself, full-scale war had broken out. Giant rainbow comets swooped between the stacks looking for their prey. Alerted by sudden terrified screams from Hansard they landed like a fireball in the midst of Politics: 20th Century, tore into the Fog. A little 'debate' lay curled under one of the desks, whimpering, “It got him, it got him.” There was a cackle of triumph from the Fog. The comets tore into it but it fled through the window and sped down Gower Street, tried to turn left, but the British Museum Library was ready for it. It ran then, west, along New Oxford Street and down the Charing Cross Road. It took shelter in a sex-shop. The Thai babes stirred uneasily in their cradles.
            The Fog laughed again and began to whine tunelessly. Down will come baby, cradle and all. It screeched suddenly as though pierced with red-hot daggers. The ghost in the machine was riled.
            The Trust is God.  The Trust is mother, father, brother, sister, food and water in a desert.  There is no truth but the Trust, there is no reality but the Trust.  Actually the Trust is more a somewhat more malign son of divinity than Jesus and God is located in the boardrooms of the Royal Colleges and among the dreaming spires.  In a world in which democracy is unkown, freedom unknown, reality unknown, it is very easy for twelve people to run medicine.  Naturally they were known as the Apostles. 
 
THE BUTCHERS SHOP
            Spring came to London in a flurry of pink toe-nails as young women slipped into sandals, for we are still in the times when nail-varnish was as though by law some shade of red from Murderess Scarlet to Ghoul Oyster. The black scooters began to appear. The streets of the city burst into bud and buddleia, overhanging the pavements, a peril to the sight-impaired, the laden, the two abreast. Councils busied themselves sending out admonitions to the offending householders. In the parks the crocuses chirped, the daffodils more cautious looked around questioningly, perhaps remembering when it had snowed in April, the lake in St James's Park came alive with fluff-ball ducklings and cygnets, the Household Cavalry in Whitehall, booted and spurred, maintained stiff upper lips under steel helmets, never even smiling for the camera. Life is tough in theme-park London, where nothing is real except that most entrenched of illusions, the self.
            In The Hospital the Hatchery flourished, the curtains were flung wide (though not of course cleaned), the little chickadees chirruped eagerly to each other, showing off new clothes and talking excitedly of the holidays to come, while the sunlight imparted a dull sinister glow to the filthy windows and generously illuminated the peeling paintwork, torn carpet and splintered desks of creeping decay. The Hospital had a single purpose and it wasn't care of the sick. The Hospital was a place of nurture - it nurtured unskilled labour taken from the North London slums and forced them to the top of the tree. Clearly there was a vast untapped pool of talent there; some senior managers could even manage joined-up writing. Once, public servants had been selected by open competitive examination, but that had been dismissed as unfair, discriminatory, indeed, for it barred the barely literate, grossly incompetent, bone-idle and pig-ignorant. Not only that, it had brought in outsiders who owed nothing to patronage. It was a question of the legitimate aspirations of the working-people of this contry. [Most people when contemplating the nation in this age of inanity considered it was rather the 'o' that was superfluous.] These aspirations naturally included being catapulted to positions of authority without any independent assessment to confirm or refute the presence of a brain. Liberty protects the right to say, 'Lor', what a plonker.' Democracy makes plonkers accountable. Meritocracy tries to eliminate plonkers. This unhealthy trio is thus absent from The Hospital.
            Being able to type salpingo-oophorectomy at 70  wpm, thinking herself safe as a temp, Dez had drifted back into the world of medicine.  Now, safe as a temp, she found herself at the Hospital.  It seemed different, sufficiently so for her to accept a permanent job as a PA.  She promptly  acquired a particularly virulent bout of the Trots, her manager not the civilized medics with whom the job had been negotiated but a gingery little nurse. She was turned into a porter and a filing-clerk and stashed in a shabby leaking attic with a woman who did little and was frequently visited by a friend who did even less. Both happened to be black, and so, it was thought, Dezzi wouldn't dare comment. The attic was on the sixth floor of one building. The clinics she was to type were on the fourth floor of a building on the other side of the road. Cancer patients have multiple volumes of heavy hospital notes. She had to collect and return all the notes in a large supermarket trolley. Someone from her former place of work had, she guessed, come a-whingeing to her new employers. She was running on one kidney, one whole lung and one with a hole in it and a spine held in place by an alloy rod. She was 45. Of course no-one asked if she was up to heavy physical labour; everyone knew she was not. It is frightening to know that malice is on your back and no-one will do anything about it. She called him Fury after the persona in the Julian May books, it being shorter than you depressing, limited and essentially evil stinking lousy c*** of a cephalopod, you. Besides, c*** is hard to pronounce.
            She got very upset and complained about everything in sight to everyone in sight. A new manager had been appointed, a jewel of dynamism and probity known as the Vicious Queen. It was said his partner beat him up and he dealt with it by bullying the women under him. Who could wish for a more perfect boss. He asked her how she felt able to criticize a senior nurse-manager and she did not answer because he’s a moronic criminal. When she had refused to shut up, she had been summoned to a kangaroo court. A vampire emerged from its office. Clearly this creature, pasty-faced, thin-lipped never saw the light of day. Where was the nearest cemetery, out of which tomb had it crawled? Dezzi wondered where they were recruited from, the exit-gates of Holloway and the Scrubbs? The interrogation proceeded. The room swirled. We are in Moscow. The year is 1917. The apparatchik speaks coldly. "Your attitude has been noted, comrade." I do hope so, she thought, I do hope so. As with all show trials, the verdict was a foregone conclusion. She had made unfounded allegations. She was guilty of improper use of e-mail. Her grading was not an issue. What was interesting about them, she decided, was that they appeared not to know what shit they were.
            Foregone conclusion or not, when she received the letter from the Kuomintang, she lost her temper, publicly, and when some little sniveller reported her the VQ rang her up to lecture her - lecture her on confidentiality forsooth for it is given that no-one should know how vermin behave - and at lunchtime on Christmas Eve he had had delivered by hand to her a threatening letter. It failed to ruin her Christmas.
            Dez had taken the precaution of establishing that heavy manual work presented a threat to her spinal fusion. When this penetrated the unicellular organism that constituted the brain of management, she was moved to an area the width of a chair, hemmed in by desk-units and beset by manual handling hazards. The office was not merely shabby; it was squalid. Dark stains spread across the carpet. Obsolete and broken equipment festered in the corners. Somewhere in a parallel universe the mass consultative exercise was taking place. Tell us what YOU think about the NHS! Here management had circulated the Health Service Circular on the Disclosure in the Public Interest Act, and helpfully appended Guidelines. She considered their words carefully. The only legitimate court of appeal against those who are beating you up is their colleagues, approaching even the House of Commons a breach of confidentiality for which one may be disciplined. Their supreme confidence in the dominance of norms other than those of liberal democracy underwhelmed her. Here it was one minute to midnight and outside the fascist bourgeois imperialist state apparently went about the business of liberal democracy largely unimpeded by the carrion voices and so she dwelt in two worlds. In fact of course there were three.
            Nothing must be said. You do understand, of course.
            The slave-women make obeisance. Of course, Father. Such silly nonsense, Father. To go
against the Holy Church!
            “She must be punished.” Somewhere inside the priest is hissing fermenting burning. A
Jew-bitch! An animal! Bind her to the fire and burn. He collects himself.
            The nurses are good daughters of the Church. There must be obedience. Sister is
understanding. “I know it's hard for her. She must learn to do as she's told.”
            “She is spoilt.” A Jew princess.
            “No discipline in the modern world, Father.”
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