PAINLESS BUT ALAS PERMANENT
Suicide. Of course I’ve thought of it – at one remove. Let us say a detached consideration of my options, eyebrows raised.. What is the fucking point when they have destroyed my lovely England and made it a dirty fascist cess-pit, when I am faced with a granite slab of unswerving evil bent on destroying me when I haven’t done anything except be the brilliant wittty little puss I am.

But, apart from other points, I shouldn’t dream of giving the vermin the satisfaction. Why did you not intervene, you filthy animals? Why did you not uphold the governing-system of the country? Oh, the supreme insolence of the dirty coward cockroaches that no-one will ever get at them to ask difficult questions. How do you fucking dare do this to me, Blair, just how do you fucking dare?

Not sure if I’ll put it on YouTube, it might be a bit graphic, but I think I shall make that long vid of the state of my body to show all these obscene butchering murdering skulking depraved evil sly filthy cowards what they have done to me. You just don’t want to know, do you, offal.  Or else you’re the obscene perverts who just shrug, so what, women get knocked around, what’s the fuss about, she had to be punished, the creatures who belong in the Zoo What we’re for, isn’t it, punchbags for male monkeys.

And have my own opinions, of course, the result of what I have thought, not what anyone has told me to think, which is very evil indeed.

Yes, it now dangerous and offensive to be well-read, educated, to know more than the most stupid and ignorant.

If you are unable to bear: The world of Ancient Greece, whether its religion, its philosophies, its mathematics, its first startling footsteps in science, its invention of democracy or its invention of the wheelbarrow The religious history of England, with particular reference to Cernunnos, the Horned God, the Triple Goddess, the founding of the Church of England, the English Civil War, the Glorious Revolution The Reformation The Renaissance The Enlightenment The French and American revolutions Marxist-Leninist thought, in particular perhaps if you are the sort of screaming nutter who thinks himself or herself on the Left but freaks at what Marxist thinkers have actually said about religion or capital The ideas of expanded consciousness and meditation, Buddhism, Taoism and Hinduism The nature of the universe as so far revealed by physics, in particular perhaps if you ‘know’ God created the world in seven days and the notion everything including us comes from quarks in deep space causes you to ululate The legal history of England, whether Magna Carta or Blackstone:
The leaft touching of another's perfon wilfully, or in anger, is a battery ; for the law cannot draw the line between different degrees of violence, and therefore totally prohibits the firft and loweft ftage of it : every man's perfon being facred, and no other having a right to meddle with it, in any the flighteft manner. And therefore upon a fimilar principle the Cornelian law de injuriis prohibited pulfation as well as verberation ; diftinguifhing verberation, which was accompanied with pain, from pulfation which was attended with none
II. WE are next to confider the violation of the right of perfonal liberty. This is effected by the injury of falfe imprifonment, for which the law has not only decreed a punifhment, as a heinous public crime, but has alfo given a private reparation to the party ; as well by removing the actual confinement for the prefent, as, after it is over, by fubjecting the wrongdoer to a civil action, on account of the damage fuftained by the lofs of time and liberty.
TO conftitute the injury of falfe imprifonment there are two points requifite : 1. The detention of the perfon ; and, 2. The unlawfulnefs of fuch detention. Every confinement of the perfon is an imprifonment, whether it be in a common prifon, or in a private houfe, or in the ftocks, or even by forcibly detaining one in the public ftreets
BLACKSTONE’S COMMENTARIES PRIVATE WRONGS. BOOK III.
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. OF WRONGS, AND THEIR REMEDIES, RESPECTING THE RIGHTS OF PERSONS. (1765-1769)

If in short you cannot ‘tolerate’ any set of ideas defining the world opposing your own and seek to suppress and destroy both them and anyone who holds them, if you assume people are your property to be disposed of as you will

Well, yes, you are a screaming nutter, basically fit only for Broadmoor.
Certainly you have no place in any real university in the Western world.
Help is at hand! Yes, you can crawl out of some dirty bookless mindless animal-nest,where no-one questions, no-one thinks, where ‘communication’ is by hitting people, keep pristine and unsullied by thought or reason or morality or argument the sad sick dirty brain of a peasant, a butcher, an animal, a witch-burning savage and become a doctor or nurse. Pretend to be sane! Pretend to be human! Maim and cripple and destroy women! Eliminate intelligence and creativity! Crown yourself lord of creation! Democracy does not exist because you say so! Pretend to be academics and be respected as such. Get positions of authority whereby you can freely impose your evil, your sickness, your sexism, your psychosis on civilized life.

There is not only one book in the world defining reality. A belief-system is simply a collection of ideas that seem to make more sense to someone than other collections of ideas. The ceiling on thought placed by fascists, whether clerical or Maoists, Stalinists, Nazis is arbitrary and ludicrous, claiming all that it is sane to think is enshrined in their One Book. There is the repeated claim everything was fixed in one time and one place. The historical Moses is thought to have lived in around 1400 BC. In the 1500 years or so between him and Paul, a multiplicity of world-shaping events and perspectives on being human occurred elsewhere on the planet, the whole of Ancient Greece and with it the birth of democracy, most of Classical Rome, the Upanishads, Confucius, Zoroastrianism, Lao-Tzu, none of which is significant to the orthodox Christian, other than as error or sin or at best feeble gropings for troof. This is first order lunacy: discuss. It worked when there was no mass communication, when the nearest city was an alien land many leagues distant. It doesn’t work now.
It is worth being precise about what hardly anyone believes, because actually it is possible to be entirely precise about what people do not believe, whether they be hard-line materialist atheists or flutterby flower-children. We do not believe there is only one book in the world. We are not a largely illiterate society of desert tribesmen thousands of years ago to whom one book was an all-encompassing explanation. We live in a society with access to millions of books and other sources of information; if we do not read much, we may surf or watch Life on Earth. We form our views based on what we read together with our experience of other human beings. We do not believe one book dictates what we must think; clearly millions of books, the content of which is contradictory, cannot dictate what anyone thinks.

Where the content of books conflicts with reality, we do not believe reality is necessarily over-ruled. Where the content of books contains ideas conflicting with ideas in a 'holy book', we do not believe the 'holy book' necessarily true and other books false.
Indeed, we live in a society shaped by a Trinity, that Trinity being broadly symbolized by the combined content of the Philosophy, Religion and Science sections of a major bookshop.
We may prefer to believe that which is demonstrably false or distinctly less likely but on the whole I think have an awareness of the thing called fact; one of the things that distinguishes the religious nutter from the religious non-nutter is whether he or she accords the Virgin Birth or Mohammed's Night Journey the status of fact, on par with water boiling when heated sufficiently.
Clearly also people who are not illiterate, who read books the content of which is contradictory, come across views that repel or otherwise offend them and do not run around screaming and shouting about it.
It being the case that some views on life the universe and everything directly oppose others, unless you live in a hole in the ground you are going to meet people who think what you think is crap and if you then cavort and scream a) you are mad and b) your ignorance, your self-obsession and your total intellectual and emotional inadequacy are your problem. You seek to annul the external source of your distress because you are an animal with neither self-control (ability to contain your feelings) nor self-command (ability to change your feelings). Go talk to a priest. Or just try thinking of others as equals and individuals, independent, separate, not an extension of your bloody sick self, not your bloody property.

There are millions of bloody books in the world and thousands seeking to describe it or how the author thinks it should be, or another
way of looking at it is any book describes a fragment of it or how the author thinks it should be, even the wishful thinking of a romantic novel. If you read only one kind of book you get a very skewed view of things, whether that kind of book is Mills and Boon or the works of Lenin. You need to expand your horizons fast.

Quantum immortality Proponents of the idea point out that while it is highly speculative, there is nothing in the notion of quantum immortality that violates the known laws of physics
An easier to understand example is the one given in quantum suicide where a physicist sits in front of a gun which is triggered, or not triggered, by radioactive decay. With each run of the experiment there is a 50-50 chance that the gun will be triggered and the physicist will die. If the Copenhagen interpretation is correct, then the gun will eventually be triggered and the physicist will die. If the many-worlds interpretation is correct, then at each run of the experiment the physicist will be split into a world in which he lives and one in which he dies. In the worlds where the physicist dies, he will cease to exist. However, from the point of view of the physicist, the experiment will continue running without his ceasing to exist, because at each branch, he will only be able to observe the result in the world in which he survives, and if many- worlds is correct, the physicist will notice that he never seems to die therefore proving himself to be immortal, or at least according to quantum immortality. http://www.biologydaily.com/biology/Quantum_immortality
Funny old world, isn’t it. Very strange things happen in the quantum world. That is not to say they are necessarily replicated on the large scale. There are some rules governing this planet and I don’t think it would need scientific experiment to prove it would collapse if they didn’t exist. Take gravity. I think we’d all notice if the operation of gravity became random. The electron wave is amazing (Cox and Forshaw: The Quantum Universe: Everything That Can Happen Does Happen) and also real

Everything is corrupted and twisted and made sick and dirty and vile. The grovellers, Jesus fucking Christ, the filthy grovellers. At the mercy of sick dirty animals, disgusting filthy subhuman slave-monkeys who crawl and grovel to evil and expect me to, disgusting animals for whom the only criterion governing human affairs is violence, power, force, who abandon all fact, reason and morality, corrupt disgusting dirty filth, bags of rotting flesh, sly sordid cockroach coward vermin who crawl around behind closed doors, evil insolent vermin who think they can abolish the governing-system of the country and replace it with their sickness and corruption and evil.
And have so done
They obviously feel no shame and so at best deny all responsibility: we were only doing what we were told. That particular imbecile whine, evasion of being a moral agent, evasion of being a thinking human (not forgetting that independent action of heart and mind are evil in their filthy death-cults of obedience but isn’t that just tough), merits some sympathy in a police-state where the Gestapo or KGB is liable to break down your door but is unforgivable in London today.
They obey. I don’t know what it’s like dealing with. They believe. Told something they believe it. Told to do something they do it. Nothing moves between the ears. Nothing questions. Nothing argues. No matter the evidence, they are impervious. The only crimes they recognize are describing their crimes and not doing what one is told by one of their fuck-up criminal number.
If Authority has told them something is The Good, then that thing is The Good, regardless of how vile and corrupt it is. If Authority has told them something is true, then true is must be. Bloody zombies, walking dead, androids. Programmed murder-machines. I call them subhumans too because they have abandoned being human. There’s nothing going on in there. I don’t suppose they do like it. Flesh-eating zombies covers it.  Another analogy is those columns of ants that devour everything and everyone in their path - like one of the less soothing Attenborough nature programmes where you got to see some poor baby giraffe or something being devoured alive.  Never seen myself as a baby giraffe.  I must think about that one.

The idea of insolent vermin who clearly think democracy is optional, within their remit to ignore, cunt-faced filth like Naylor, being in charge of anything is obscene and horrifying. The idea of asking some sick mad animal if it might deign to allow a little democracy, to which of course the answer is no, and everyone going along with it.

Ah, the Hospital:
Cut to David Attenborough voice-over, ebullient with delight at the curiosities of nature. And here we have yet again an example of a parallel universe, The Hospital in its bubble, life sustained by the pink froth around it, thinking itself self-sustaining. Those of you who saw my last series will remember the remarkable events surrounding UDI when The Hospital cut loose from the fabric of the nation. Looking at it under the microscope, you can see the tiny amphibians that populate it. No out-dated notions of accountability hamper them here, where staff are warned that contacting their MPs may be a disciplinary offence. Contact with the Press is of course similarly frowned upon. Here is the final proof that dinosaurs did not in fact die out, merely mutated. In these tiny amphibians we have the direct descendants of tyrannosaurus stalinus. Secrecy.exe and Paranoia.exe were key files throughout the Program. So long as open communication is forbidden, different versions of events may be told to different people. Risk to the Program lay in the possibility of crash, were informed persons to bombard the controllers with unpleasant and offensive questions, outsiders who could not be silenced. For the awkward squad, Punish.exe usually sufficed. People could be cowed. They could learn it was unwise to argue. The controllers were unaccountable. There was no requirement to answer questions. Nothing must interfere with the Program. The Hospital, a flagship Trust housing the cream of London medicine, has one problem: no-one has told it Stalin is dead. 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.
Both of them:
Dez was asked why was there a pornographic magazine in her room. It turned out to be Vanity Fair. Really, one expects some degree of sophistication - she wished it had been the Tatler with a naked Anthea Turner draped in a large python on the cover. We must be blunt about this (if not Philby): Dezzi said her colleagues were lazy, pretentious, egotistical, dishonest incompetents, whited sepulchres, Pharisees, fundamentally corrupt. Devoid of taste, of style, of education, of culture, of integrity, of mind, they flaunted their supposed superiority, before which she was supposed to genuflect. Her attack was misconstrued, of course. Undoubtedly people of merit should advance, her point (unbelievable!) that people of little merit should not be permitted to think themselves remarkable, carried by those who actually possess talent. Senior staff wrote the grant applications. Senior staff wrote the ensuing publications. What talent was displayed in between, one for reading the instructions on assay-kits? Later, Dez said a lot of things. They were what Dr Greer meant by female eunuchs, cases of arrested development, walking corpses. She tried to understand, and that of course made it worse, because that was class or its cousin, background. They came from homes without books, without ideas, without debate. No-one appeared to have told them that people differed widely in their views and argued about it. None of them would last two minutes with her old tutor. Faced with an alien proposition they burst into tears. Particularly they burst into tears faced with the alien proposition that not everyone takes six months to produce six pages summarizing what the research charity's grant had enabled, and a few sensible lines of discussion and conclusion. Later, she was to meet those so stunningly illiterate that they formed the plurals of common nouns with apostrophe-s and had no idea what a sentence was, but this was a more sophisticated illiteracy, born of an inability to order data and determine relevance.
Finally, no, not finally, but critically, there was the waif, employed to analyse milk-yield, but the waif had said insufficient data were available. Strange that, there were the cows, but no-one questioned. Guess who did the work. Of course she did her own job as well. It worried no-one except Dez that the waif was paid full-time to do the project. Dez worked over the Christmas and New Year break, and then it seemed to her she was getting flu. She bought patent remedies and retreated to bed. The next day she could barely get up to go to the lavatory, but it was a Sunday. On the Monday she forced herself onto a train, one of the benefits of hospital employment being on-tap doctors. Chest x-ray revealed pneumonia. She collected her prescription and retreated to bed. After a couple of days she felt fine but then those wonderful drugs you can nowadays which happened to be the wrong wonderful drugs began to give up an unequal struggle. Death stood in the doorway. No! she said. Death shrugged. Not yet. Hell, you mean not yet. Death has a taste. This is it. You may think you have never tasted anything so virulently revolting in your life. Unfortunately, if you don’t taste it, you don’t have a life. When consolidation has nothing better to do, it deconsolidates and floods your lungs. Drowning is not a viable option. Dezzi learned terror. Terror is not closing your eyes in case you don't wake up again. Terror is the inexorable closing of the wind-pipe, as though someone has pulled the plug on your life. This is significant for what follows: after you have nearly died, you are remarkably hard to frighten. They decided she had cancer. It was easier than finding out what she did have or changing the drugs. She was admitted to the Royal Brompton, put on intravenous antibiotics, and got better.

What do you absolute vermin expect me to do, confess to non-existent crimes, beg forgiveness for non-existent crimes on my knees from a dangerously sick animal jabbering about some figment of his imagination on which he projects his sickness called God.

Possibly of course the entity most defamed in all this is God. If there is a God, if it is actually a psychopathic sexually diseased impotent incontinent ignorant inadequate, I think I’d rather talk to the other guy.

It does not of course compute that an omniscient deity knows nothing about the universe it created but then nothing they babble does.

About conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, overthrowing democracy, giving aid and comfort to the Queen’s enemies, causing grievous bodily harm, suppressing material fact, attempting my physical and mental destruction and gross sexism law and State are entirely silent.

About the State’s refusal to impose democracy on a part of public-sector London that clearly fancies it has proclaimed UDI, seceded from England, and runs on opposing rules, the law does nothing.

About the State’s complicity in attempted murder the law does nothing.

About the State’s refusal to intervene when it was obvious what was happening to my body, obvious I was having no effect, and obvious the absence of democracy, the total contempt for the norms of a free, democratic, rational and civilized society.

About the State’s refusal to get me out of there, out of the hands of animals who were crippling me. I a woman who has had major spinal surgery have been routinely bestially physically abused by public sector employees and am now grossly disabled. No-one thinks it matters.

I have been sentenced to destruction without trial, without court, without language, without fact, without reason, without even being told my crime. No-one thinks it matters.

By sick dirty filthv vicious cunt-faced subhuman vermin, cockroaches, offal crawling around in filth and squalor behind closed doors, madly waving their antennae and lying and manipulating and paying off, dirty cowards who won’t show their faces and have no legitimate authority whatever.
 
Tell the sick cunts there would be a public enquiry, and if they won’t take part, then they won’t get heard. Oh no, couldn’t possibly do that. How did you fucking dare, Milburn? 

Without being told my crime or knowing the identity of the degenerate ape holding me guilty of it.
The world of the invert
The world of the psychopath
The world of the criminal.

Something that could have been sorted in five fucking minutes were it not for the wanton evil of five men, Blair, Milburn, Goldstone, Linch and Naylor.

Oh yeah, the great academics who reject all fact and reason. Couple of baboons sitting scratching their dirty arses. They very badly didn’t want their freak-show disturbed.

Medicine is absolutely criminal, which doesn’t of course mean that there aren’t thousands of upright and honest junior hospital doctors and GPs toiling until they drop in their tracks. It means the corridors of power where the big beasts prowl are composed of psychosis, ego, fascism and money. They put on a good act, until of course you upset them in any way.

Of course the dirty animals in Rome know they have no rational foundation, no compelling argument acceptable to anyone rational, that all they can do is compel by force, get their slave-monkeys in politics to do it for them. The last thing they want is intelligence and reason and learning, just a nice docile, stupid, ignorant irrational illiterate serf-class like the scum of nurses who believe what they’re told, are incapable of analysing it, have no concern for niceties like fact and reason and will turn on anyone who opposes them.

Why were these vermin not immediately told to speak in the open? Why were the facts not immediately publicly established? Instead they all fawned on lies, protected filth and sickness, hung on every fucking word of scum. Oh Christ how you filth all fawn on evil, fawn on sickness. Do anything to make sure evil and lies and corruption rule.

Bloody fuss about nothing, a stupid criminal slum-lout illiterate arse-wiper physically abused me me, caused me pain, a dirty ignorant malignant slum animal Pol Pot Trot made me do heavy manual work, shitting on my qualifications and experience.
Tell them to say it in the open or no-one will pay any attention. Oh, no, couldn’t possibly do that. Tell them to accord with the norms of democracy. Oh no, couldn’t possibly do that. Tell them to accord with facts. Oh no, couldn’t possibly do that.
Rule by hysteria. Rule by psychopaths. Rule by freaks. Did I just describe the House of Commons. Hysterics, psychopaths and freaks who hide behind closed doors, who refuse question.
Oh aren’t they so fucking sensitive? All an evil sham while I’m being destroyed. Everything always to protect and uphold filth and vermin. No sensitivity displayed over the breaking of my body by these filth.
Everything twisted and mad. Could I not possibly as a modern languages graduate of the university of London, a writer, the daughter of an author know rather more about the writing of English than a slum-boy nurse. Inconceivable. All that matters is the hysteria of a stupid cunt of a nurse.
Could I not as a modern languages graduate of the University of London who has qualified for membership of British Mensa possibly be more intelligent that this wordless mindless block of wood McGuckin. Inconceivable. But all that matters to anyone is some severely delusional hysteric is offended.
Delusion is precious. Delusory notions of one’s own ability and probity are prized.

We want to look closely at who I am, do we not. I did, years ago, not that anyone paid any attention, except perhaps those who had already worked it out and who consequently doubled their efforts to slander and destroy me.

I am a quirk of history, the child of my father’s second marriage. He was 49 when I was born. My mum was 35. Consequently the immediate roots go way back into the C19th. Grandpa Howard was born in 1873 and a Fabian, a socialist and an atheist. Grandpa Palmer was a registrar of births, marriages and deaths in the East End when my mum was a child in the 20s and worked to get the first Labour Government into power in 1924. I have a multi-racial family spanning the four corners of the globe. I am me. I might therefore be precisely the sort of woman who would lead female resistance. If I could walk, detail like that. Being alive helps too. Of course I have to be ‘dealt with’.

Everything for hysterics, for criminals, for butchers, for animals, everything for filth and sickness and evil. The only people who matter are criminals, hysterics, freaks, psychopaths, sickos who want to force their dirty animal selves on others.

A round of applause to the fascist fake Left for its attempted obliteration of a moral basis for society and its replacement with hysteria, psychosis and delusion, that what people think and think of themselves should not be challenged and confronted by reality. It’s always been obvious crap of course – fine, Eichmann thought he was doing society a great service – but since the other great contribution of the fascist fake Left to the modern age is total cunt-for-brains, stewed ape-shit between the ears, the collapse of reason, that does not deter its enthusiastic advocates.`
Hey, you’ve adopted this country. Coolest.
Now you’re here, we’re going to do things your way. Ah-ah.
Instead of debate people are to be silenced.
Instead of reason, force
Instead of equality, hierarchy, a few decreeing from on high
Instead of democracy, fascism
Instead of freedom, slavery
Insolent vermin, aren’t you, oh Christ you are so fucking insolent.

Where the ludicrous idea came from that if some people who have decided to plonk themselves in your free country show themselves directly opposed to its values, which of course started in 1989, then the country has to accommodate itself to them, try to make them feel welcome and become less free – the ‘colonial guilt’ of old men, the marked enthusiasm of the Vatican and other clergy for the basic values of Islam and their determination to regain control. How many rials did it take to get it to really take off?

Filth who dismiss all fact and reason, filth who meet words with violence, filth, absolute filth who have no concern whatever for truth, for fact, for justice.

The politicians have done this deliberately, with malice aforethought, to me, to the country. I have been close friends with modern Irishwomen, but I did not invite to my country creatures that appear to have been preserved in a peat bog for four centuries and I certainly didn’t invite them to destroy democracy and destroy me, any more than I invited Khwaja or Mohamedbhai. This absolute insolence of the immigrant I assume is not confined solely to UCH. Gee, they so know how to make themselves loved.

Perhaps not who the hell do you think you are, but where the hell do you think you are, what do you think England is, like Ireland only bigger? That’s quite a big one, isn’t it. I refuse to believe any citizen of Eire does not know England is Protestant.

And the outstanding question is how many of these filthy animals support the IRA? Oh we have peace, hear the violins. Why bother

blowing things up when you can murder Englishwomen with the full support of the British government?