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hysterialevi · 7 years

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In the Smoke pt. 10 (Cobblebats)

From Thomas’ POV

Sneaking through the auditorium, my drones quietly followed alongside me, hovering in the shadows as the debate carried on. So far, there had been no sign of Penguin or his men, and things were relatively peaceful, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. This debate was just a time bomb waiting to go off, and if I didn’t find Penguin before then, both Hill and Dent were dead.

Hopping from one beam to another, I suddenly caught the thick stench of blood and gunpowder, a sense of caution starting to grow in me. Looking down to find the source of the morbid odor, I spotted a grotesque pile of corpses lying in a room, and it was surrounded by a group of unfamiliar men. It didn’t take too much effort to recognize the GCPD uniform adorning the bodies, but I had no idea who the others were. Most-likely, they belonged to Penguin. Shit.

Activating my earpiece, I switched the line over to Gordon.

“Gordon,” I whispered, “I found one of your patrols. They’re dead. They’ve been killed by who I assume to be Penguin’s men.”

The lieutenant cursed. “Christ. That explains why they haven’t been responding. What about Penguin? Have you seen him anywhere?”

“Not yet. Though, I bet if I could get a hold on one of his men, I might be able to pull some info out of them.”

Gordon sighed. “I guess we’ve got no other choice at this point, do we? It’s clear that neither Hill nor Dent are leaving the debate anytime soon, and we don’t have long until Penguin decides to blow this place off the map. All right. Do what you gotta do. I’ll continue to keep watch on the perimeter--make sure no one tries to sneak in. Keep me updated, would you?”

“You’ll be the first to know if anything--”

“So sorry, ladies and gents,” out of nowhere, a boisterous voice on the TV interrupted me, causing me to snap my head towards the screen. I could see Penguin waltzing onto the stage, strutting like he didn’t have a care in the world as he approached the center. “As you might’ve guessed, there’s been a change to tonight’s program.”

Penguin stopped in his tracks, aiming a gun at the moderator. “First order of business--” a violent splash of blood sprayed from the back of the man’s head with a loud bang as he collapsed to the floor, and a choir of screams emitted from the crowd, “--firing the moderator!”

“Batman?” Gordon checked, “you still there? What’s going on?”

“It’s Penguin--” I hastily replied, “he’s just killed the moderator.”

“What!? Goddammit. We gotta get in there. Now. Do whatever you can to keep the people safe. My men and I will be there as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” I switched over to Alfred.

“Alfred, Penguin’s just begun his attack on the debate. I need you to pilot the drones while I deal with his men.”

“Of course, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”

Taking out a smoke grenade, I tossed the weapon into the room below and clouded up the air while Penguin’s men darted around in confusion, giving me the chance to leap down and deal with them up-close. I hurled a number of Batarangs in every direction, and used the grapple-gun to slingshot furniture directly into them, slamming them against the walls as they fired random bullets out of panic.

Dodging their reckless attacks, I bulldozed towards them and threw a flurry of punches, knocking them out one by one as quickly as I could while Penguin continued to terrorize the debate, parading around the stage like it was a damn play.

Once the smoke finally cleared up, I saw one of Penguin’s men weakly dragging himself across the floor in an attempt to reach his walkie-talkie, extending a wobbly arm out. Before he could get any closer though, I simply stomped my foot on his neck and applied just enough pressure to send him into unconsciousness, leaving me alone in the room.

“We need a new moderator,” Penguin announced, stepping off to the side to find a ‘volunteer.’ “You there! You’ll do!”

At first, I wasn’t incredibly concerned about what Penguin was doing at the moment, and focused all my attention on my current task, but when I saw who he had brought with him on stage, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest.

Being manhandled around and held at gunpoint by Penguin, was none other than my son, Bruce. He looked like hell, and judging by the multiple bruises on his skin, it was obvious that he had been beaten to some extent before the debate.

Clenching my fists, I felt a surge of anger flash through me and I almost tried to jump through the TV screen just so that I could strangle Penguin for what he did. He was going to regret targeting my son, and if I had any say in it, he was never going to do it again.

On the bright side though, at least I knew that Bruce was still alive. That meant tonight was my only chance to save him, and I’d be damned if I didn’t take it.

From Bruce’s POV

Oz shoved me towards the front of the stage with an iron grip, making sure that everyone could see me--especially Harvey--and at some points, it almost felt like he forgot we were just acting. I didn’t know what Oz’s plans with Harvey were, but just by glancing over at the man, I could tell that he was about to start flipping tables while Hill was just frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

“Go on, then--” Oz gave me a little nudge, “--introduce the candidates!”

I said nothing in return, just like he told me to do earlier, and kept my mouth shut as everyone nailed their gazes onto me, waiting to see what he had planned next.

Oz leaned in so close that he was right next to my ear, his breath tickling my neck.

“Stage fright, huh? All right, I’ll get you started...but this is your show.”

He flamboyantly gestured over to Hill with insincere excitement, dragging me along with him. “On the left--hard of heart, soft in the gut--our down and dirty incumbent, Mayor Hill! And on the right--always smiling to your face--our despicable DA, Harvey Dent!”

To my surprise, before Oz could continue, Harvey spoke up.

“...bird...mask...guy,” he blurted out awkwardly, “...whatever your name is--”

This man is the District Attorney, I told myself. This is the man running for mayor.

Oz almost lost it right there, but regained his composure. “Call me Penguin.”

“Yes, of course,” Harvey complied. “Penguin then. We will play your game--just, please,” he looked over at me with an amount of care I’d never seen in anyone else other than my own parents, “let these people go.”

I could practically feel Oz smiling under his mask,. “Oh, I wish it were that easy, Dent. But, you see, this city’s got a real problem when it comes to tellin’ the truth. Lie after lie, those at the top of Gotham only get worse with each passing year, and its citizens are still blind to the hypocrisy, but not anymore.”

Oz took out a syringe of the same blue chemical we saw in the footage with his mother and pointed it directly at my neck, the needle just kissing my skin.

“I’m giving you one chance, Wayne. Tell everyone the truth about what your family’s done--what you father’s done--and why you’re really so bloody powerful. Do this, and I might just let you go.”

I did my best to look frightened, and the audience actually seemed to buy it. Our plan was working.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered. “My father’s done nothing.”

He threw a light punch to my stomach, but it was enough to make me cough. Oz was definitely stronger than he looked.

“This,” he exclaimed, “is why Gotham’s so full of corruption! Because no one’s brave enough to spill the truth. Too damn worried about protecting their own reputation.” He flicked the side of the syringe. “Sorry, mate, but it looks like I’m gonna have to force it outta you.”

Oz pushed my head slightly so that he could access my neck easier, and prepared to stick me with the insane drug, until Harvey nearly threw himself over the podium, interrupting the procedure.

“Wait!” He reached an arm out.

Judging by Oz’s reaction, this was exactly what he had in mind. “Ah, got somethin’ to say, Dent?”

Harvey cautiously inched his way to us, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t...don’t hurt him. If you must take someone, then take me.”

Wait. I paused. This was not a part of the plan. No one ever said anything about drugging Harvey--or at least, they didn’t to me. I glanced back at Oz in bewilderment, silently asking for an explanation from my “captor,” only to be ignored as he pushed me off to the side.

“Your compassion will be the end of you, Dent.” Oz said.

Harvey lowered his head in shame. “...I know.” But he wasn’t done yet.

Striding across the stage and over to me, all of us observed his next movements in heightened curiosity as he warmly approached me, leaving only mere centimeters between us. Harvey gently grabbed my hand and began stroking my cheek with the other, rendering me all but immobile. What the hell was he doing?

“...I can’t believe it’s taken this for me to say it,” Harvey whispered in a mixture of sorrow and regret, “but...I love you, Bruce.”

It didn’t look like anyone else was able to hear what he just said, but the news hit me like a truck of guilt. Here I was, taking advantage of one of my closest friends, and luring him into a trap that was most-likely going to kill him, and he just admitted to loving me. What kind of monster was I?

Even after Harvey let go of my hand, I remained motionless and wide-eyed, blinking in shock as the other man allowed Oz to dose him with the drug.

“...no,” I shook my head at Oz, no longer okay with where this was going, “wait--”

Before I could object any further, Roland wasted no time in pulling me off the stage and restraining me with nothing but his own, raw strength. For a moment, I tried to struggle out of his insane grasp, only to have my arms bent in painful directions as a warning.

Having no intentions to get injured, I stayed confined in Roland’s hold, helplessly watching as Oz jabbed the needle into Harvey’s flesh, causing his veins to transform into an aggressive blue and his body to start twitching. What had I done to him?

Just then, the doors to the auditorium blasted open, revealing a line of police officers in the entryway with Gordon in the middle. The other Children of Arkham immediately went to work and started attacking them, a storm of bullets bolting through the air as civilians scurried around in panic, all hell breaking loose within the span of a few seconds. And as if things weren’t chaotic enough already, Batman himself suddenly jumped into the scene as well, swatting our men away like they were flies.

Overwhelmed by the hectic turn of events, I sat off to the side of stage, paralyzed in place even though Roland had released me long ago, watching the hurricane unfold, until a familiar scream reached my ears.

Whipping around, I saw Harvey lying defenselessly on the wooden floor with Oz towering above him, about to smash a detached, searing-hot spotlight directly onto his face. Breaking out of my stupor-like state, I hopped up from my position and began sprinting towards the two of them in hopes of preventing what was about to be a horrible accident--that was--until I was yanked downwards by an unknown assailant, and practically engraved into the floor beneath me.

Straddling me in order to keep me from escaping, Hill locked me in place with his own weight, and snatched the syringe Oz had used earlier, staring at the small amount of liquid that still remained in the tube.

“He’ll kill both of us if one of us doesn’t tell the truth!” Hill babbled in a frantic tone. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This has to be done.”

Not even having the time to resist, a prick of pain abruptly stung my arm, and my vision started to blur with a blue tint as the world around me spun in a slow, disorienting manner, Hill’s figure duplicating in front of me.

I had no idea what was happening or where Oz had gone, but all the noise in the auditorium had blended into a frenzied, echoing mess, and an uncontrollable spark of rage began to ignite inside me.

“...Bruce...?” Hill’s voice bounced off the walls of my skull like a bell.

Without even meaning to, I grabbed at the man’s neck with a level of strength I didn’t know I contained and hurled him under me, switching our positions.

“You,” I growled in almost an inhuman tone as I gripped his collar, “you killed my mother...!” I slammed the back of his head into the floor. I could hardly recognize myself. “You took her away from me!” Another slam. “You’re a murderer...and you’re going to pay...!”

As if my body had a mind of its own, I found myself throwing punch after punch at Hill, unable to stop as my knuckles only got more bruised and bloody, the mayor gaping at me with terror in his eyes, his life draining from them.

No, I mentally shouted at myself, what are you doing!? Stop!

Despite all my attempts to resist it, I kept on beating the fallen politician and only continued to ravage the swollen pulp that was once his face, hammering his head into nothing but a red mush.

Stop, I yelled once again.

I couldn’t.

Stop!

I could hear the voices of other people trying to pull me off, including Gordon and my own father, screaming at me in desperation, but to no avail.

STOP!

Suddenly, my vision started to darken, and I felt myself weakening with every passing moment, my body finally giving in to the drug as I collapsed into unconsciousness, and the world turned black.

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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banana-with-a-bow-tie · 8 years

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A Who’s Who of Unfortunate Events: A Crossover Fanfiction

Characters: The Eleventh Doctor; Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire.

Setting: Shortly after Vincent and the Doctor; the Baudelaire’s first night in Count Olaf’s mansion.

There are many, many things that are better than nothing. A home-cooked meal is better than nothing. A roof over one’s head is better than nothing. And a place to sleep, even if the bed is very small and the blanket damp with tears, is better than nothing. But being raised in a violent and sinister environment by a man more interested in one’s fortune than comfort and well-being is not better than nothing. And as the Baudelaires would discover, there are some things that even a long night of introspection cannot change.

Although the room was creaky and damp, cold and drafty and their small bed left no room for comfort, the physical and emotional exhaustion from that day’s events finally began to take over the Baudelaire children. However, as the children descended into fitful dreams, they were suddenly startled awake by an unearthly noise, resembling the sound of an asthmatic frog choking on a whistle. In the center of the room, directly in front of the Baudelaire’s rickety bed, where there was once empty space a bright blue, wooden box materialized before their very eyes.

Now, it is conceivable that some people in the world that would not be shocked by this occurrence. It is possible that, for them, foreign objects magically appear out of thin air on a regular basis. As for the Baudelaire children, this was a singularly eccentric experience; so Violet and Klaus got up from their bed with Sunny in tow to examine this strange oddity, a word which here means the quality of being odd; a singularity, strangeness, or eccentricity.

The box was approximately eight feet tall. It had a small glass dome on its top that housed a light that emitted a pulsing blue glow. Two groups of six rectangular and translucent windows were could be seen on two doors. Above the doors were four curious words, “Police Public Call Box.”

“Maybe it belongs to the police?” Klaus pondered.

“I don’t believe the police are in the habit of leaving their phone boxes in the homes of untalented actors,” Violent responded, “or installing them with teleportation.”

Before the Baudelaires could speculate any further, the police box door opened with a creak, and a peculiar man stumbled out into the open.

“Well, I suppose I’ve had worse landings,” the peculiar man declared, his accent noticeably British.

The Baudelaire children stared at him quizzically. He had a young face with a strong chin, weak eyebrows, and a floppy mess of dark hair. Though his face appeared young, his attire seemed more befitting one’s grandfather, complete with a tweed jacket, suspenders, and a decidedly unfashionable red bow tie. The peculiar man reached into his jacket, producing an unusual mechanical device. He pointed the device away from himself and pressed a button on it’s side, creating an eerie green light in the dimness of the room and an inharmonious sound similar to that of a chorus of cacophonous crickets.

“Excuse me,” Klaus said, hoping to get some answers.

The peculiar man acted as if he hadn’t heard as he wandered about the room, pointing his strange mechanism in all directions, when suddenly it popped open. The peculiar man examined his device interpreting information that evidently only he could understand.

“Sir, what are you-?” Violet began to inquire, but was interrupted by the peculiar man’s subsequent exclamation.

“Blimey!” He shouted. “What year is this? You can’t tell where the 16th century stops and the 21st begins! It’s almost as if three timelines have collided, into a big wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey mess!”

Sunny then made a sound like, “Germo” which most likely meant, “I thought I spoke in baby talk. That dumb bow tie probably cuts oxygen off to his brain.”

"It's not dumb; it's cool." The peculiar man insisted. Taking notice of the children for the first time, the peculiar man asked, "Who might you be?"

“My name is Violet Baudelaire,” Violet announced. “This is my brother, Klaus, and our sister, Sunny.” After a slight pause, Violet questioned in return, “Who might you be?”

“I’m the Doctor,” the peculiar man answered.

“Doctor” is a word intended by most people to mean, “a person licensed to practice medicine, as a physician, surgeon, dentist, or veterinarian.” It was clear to the Baudelaires that the gentleman before them was not licensed to practice medicine as a physician, surgeon, dentist, or veterinarian, nor would it appear that he had ever attended any schooling to become so. One might find it odd to meet a person calling themselves “Doctor” when they were neither a physician, surgeon, dentist, nor veterinarian. However, “odd” was one word that seemed to describe this man completely. Therefore, an odd name for an odd man would make perfect sense.

“Well... Doctor,” Klaus began, “how exactly did you get into our room?”

“Oh, is this your room?” the Doctor replied. “It’s very... erm... quaint.”

“No, it isn’t,” Klaus retorted bitterly.

“You’re right, it’s gloomy and dreadful, but I was trying to be polite,” the Doctor answered. “Well, I’m sorry to impose, I came here rather by accident. I was just passing by when-”

“You were passing by in a police box?” Violet interrupted.

“Well, it’s not really a police box. It’s called the TARDIS. It can travel anywhere in time or space.”

The Baudelaires were skeptical, a word which here means, “inclined to skepticism; having an attitude of doubt.” The Baudelaire children had good reason to be inclined to skepticism and have an attitude of doubt about a man that claimed he could travel through time. Then again, who were they to question a person that could conjure a telephone booth out of thin air?

“As I was saying,” the Doctor continued, “I was just passing by when for some reason the TARDIS dropped out of the vortex. It was as if it collapsed under the gravity of some horribly depressing situation that eliminated its desire to go on.”

The Doctor stared at his box in puzzlement as the Baudelaire children shared a knowing look. “If anyone knew anything about ‘horribly depressing situations,’ it would be us.” Klaus noted.

“Really?” the Doctor remarked. “How so?” The Baudelaires proceeded to relate to the Doctor all the terrible things that had happened to them. They told about how their parents were killed in a fire that destroyed their childhood home and everything they owned. They told him about how they were being handled by a incompetent and sickly man that had more concern for his promotion than insuring that the children were in a stable home. Finally, they explained to the Doctor that their caretaker was the grotesque soul known as Count Olaf, the man who only supplied them with one bed and a pile of rocks, the man who treated the children as slaves in an impoverished country, this vile and despicable human being who would stop at nothing to satisfy his greed with the Baudelaire fortune.

The Doctor observed the Baudelaire children’s tale with horror and dismay. “This is quite the series of unfortunate events, isn’t it? You kids are a lot stronger than you look. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Maybe you can,” Violet proclaimed with a glimmer of hope in her eye. “If you are really a time traveler, you could go back in time make it so none of this has to happen in the first place. We could and save our parents!”

The children were elated at the prospect of seeing their mother and father alive and well once again. You could stop scrolling here and go on with your life. Imagine that the Doctor immediately agreed to take the Baudelaires back in time in his TARDIS to stop the fire that brought about their parents’ untimely demise. You could live with that picture of a happy family reunited, whose lives never had to be stained by the countenance of the wicked Count Olaf. If that’s how you wish this story to end, I encourage you to cease reading now.

Regrettably, the Doctor’s true answer to Violet Baudelaire’s request was far less uplifting. “I’m sorry, Violet, but I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Klaus challenged, frustrated.

“This entire time period is incredibly unstable,” the Doctor answered.

“Mankoo.” Sunny expressed, which most nearly meant, “You are incredibly unstable.”

“Think of it like Jenga,” the Doctor explained. “You have a tower of blocks all unevenly placed yet perfectly balanced. If you remove just one block the entire tower collapses. This time period has been corrupted with so many anachronisms, if I change even one event, reality could collapse. It’s too dangerous. I’m sorry.”

Violet and Sunny were crestfallen, a word that here means, “dejected; dispirited; discouraged.” Klaus, on the other hand, was not merely dejected, dispirited, or discouraged. No, Klaus was also feeling strong displeasure at what he considered unjust, offensive, and insulting. Some would say that Klaus was indignant.

“NO! You’re not sorry!” Klaus fumed. “If you can really do the things you say you can, then you would help us if you were sorry. But you won’t. You’re just like everyone else, too blinded by your own little world to see or care about the problems of someone else.”

“You don’t understand, Klaus, I-”

“No, Doctor, who ever you are. I understand everything. We are living under a roof that belongs to a monster, and you refuse to do anything about it. If you aren’t going to help us, then you might as well get back in your magic box and go back to wherever it is you came from. We’ll figure this out on our own.”

The room became silent as the children waited to see how the Doctor would react. At first, he seemed offended and even little bit cross about Klaus’s claims. But then the Doctor’s gaze came to rest on the bruise on Klaus’s cheek from Count Olaf’s brutal treatment that evening, and the Doctor’s expression softened.

“You’re wrong, Klaus,” the Doctor remarked, tenderly. “I do care, and I know what it’s like to lose people you care about. It hurts more than one can fathom, especially when there is nothing you can do to change it. I wish I could help you understand-” the Doctor stopped abruptly with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have an idea,” he announced. “Come with me.” The Doctor turned toward the TARDIS, pushed the door inward, blatantly ignoring the sign that said, “Pull to Open,” and stepped inside.

The Baudelaires glanced at each other in befuddlement, wondering if they should listen to the madman with a box. Tentatively, the children inched forward, unsure of what they would see inside this mysterious blue box. Violet placed her hand on the door and gently pushed it open to reveal the secret of the TARDIS.

It is common for people in our culture to use the phrase, “mind blowing,” or a popular variant, “this is blowing my mind.” Both phrases are used to describe something so shocking, surprising, unexpected, or wonderful that your brain could not comprehend it. For example, if you were to watch a boxing match between a leprechaun and a unicorn, due to the occasion’s shocking, surprising, unexpected, wonderful, and incomprehensible nature, you might say, “Woah, this is mind blowing.” Or, perhaps if you were to meet a man with a box that was bigger on the inside than on the outside, you might be inclined to think, “this is blowing my mind.” This was exactly the situation in which the Baudelaires found themselves.

“It’s... it’s... “ Klaus sputtered in astonishment.

“The box... it’s...” Violet stammered likewise.

“The TARDIS is dimensionally transcendental. The interior exists in a different, relative dimension to the exterior,” Sunny stated, slightly less struck with awe. Although to most people, her explanation sounded more like a cheerful, “Biga inseye!”

“This is what I wanted to show you,” the Doctor said, emerging with a magnificent painting of the night sky. “A good friend of mine painted this for me. His name was Vincent. He had to go through some unfortunate events himself, only his monsters were trapped in his mind, so he couldn’t escape them.”

The Baudelaire children gazed upon the marvelous painting in amazement The sky was not dark or black or without character. The black was in fact a deep blue and in another area a lighter blue. The Baudelaires witnessed in the painting wind blowing through the blueness and the blackness, swirling through the air and then, shining, burning, bursting through were the stars. The complex magic of nature blazed before the eyes of the Baudelaire children, incredibly captured in this stunning painting.

“Vincent had so much pain in his life,” the Doctor recounted, “and yet, in the midst of all his monsters he was able to transform that pain into something truly joyful and ecstatically beautiful in a way that no one else has ever done. I know you kids are suffering right now, and I suspect things will get worse before they get better. But I wanted you to see that even the darkest of circumstances can bring good things.”

"What happened to Vincent, Doctor?" Klaus inquired.

"We had a fantastic adventure together. I did everything I could to help him overcome his monsters and he helped me to overcome a few of mine. In the end, though, his pain was too much to bear."

"That's so sad," Violent mourned.

"Yes, it is," the Doctor solemnly agreed, "but the way I see it, every life is like a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things. But vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. So, my advice to you, Baudelaires, is find your pile of good things, because they are there. Once you find it, cling to it, fight for it, cherish every precious moment until the next one comes.”

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny paused to consider this. The children thought back to a time when their family was whole and happy; a time when the children sat by the fireplace with their mother as their father read them stories; a time when their family took trips to the beach and competed to see who could skip a stone the farthest. They tried to remember each and every heartwarming memory that they could and treasured them with all their hearts. Above all, the Baudelaires knew that even though their pile of good things may be very, very small, they still hadn’t lost what was most priceless: each other, and that was greater than the largest pile of bad things in the world.

“I can’t stop the monsters this time,” the Doctor said, “and you will have to face them eventually. But right here, right now, for this moment in time, you are safe with me.” So the Baudelaire children spent the night, not in the dilapidated and depressing home of Count Olaf, but in a vast and spectacular wonder under the watchful eye of a kind, if not a bit eccentric, stranger from another world. The next morning, the Baudelaire children bid a fond farewell to the peculiar man that had miraculously appeared in the middle of the night.

“Thank you for everything, Doctor,” Violet acknowledged. “It meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Violet,” He answered. “I wish I could have done more. You deserve better than this. I want you to know that if anyone can overcome this series of unfortunate events, it’s you brave Baudelaires.”

“Funny, I don’t feel very brave,” Violet admitted.

“Courage isn’t a matter of not being frightened,” the Doctor stated. “It’s being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway. And I assure you, that you three are the bravest, most capable children I have ever met.”

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny exited the TARDIS and waved goodbye to the Doctor one last time as that wondrful blue box faded from sight. Nothing had changed. Their mother and father were still dead, and the children were still under the care of the deplorable Count Olaf. The Baudelaires, however, were ready for Olaf’s wicked schemes, because now: they had hope.

The End.

#fan fiction #fanfic #a series of unfortunate events #asoue #Doctor Who #violet baudelaire #klaus baudelaire #sunny baudelaire #the eleventh doctor #my writing

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newsnigeria · 6 years

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Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/the-waves-of-time/

The Waves of Time

by Jimmie Moglia

That all the world is a stage and all men and women merely players is a familiar and generally accepted proposition. But many, prompted by curiosity and helped by new information previously unknown or uneasily available, would like to know more about the play they are the unwitting players thereof.

Which transforms the frame of mind of the curious into that of a historian. In turn, this exposes him to the immediate problem of interpretation. Interpretation of the historical facts themselves, often accompanied by a likely change of his worldview, following the discovery of new facts. For historians themselves can modify their views, when forced by the train of circumstances.

Here is an example. Friedrich Meinecke was an eminent German historian, with an unusually long life span, during which a series of revolutionary and extraordinary changes affected the fortunes of Germany. His books reflect four different Meinecke(s), each the spokesman of different times, and each speaking through one of his major works.

In his first, “World Citizenship and the Nation State,” published in 1907, Meinecke sees the embodiment of German national ideals in Bismarck’s Reich. And like many 19th and 20th century thinkers, he identifies nationalism with the highest form of universalism.

Here is dramatic evidence of the revolution of the times. In the parlance of current Western European & American elites, nationalism, rather than a higher form of universalism, is labeled as ‘fascism’ or ‘racism’. And since the characterization is ludicrous, a new word has been coined, ‘populism’, to demean and disgrace the idea.

In his second book, “The Idea of the Raison d’Etat,” (published in 1925), Meinecke speaks with the divided and bewildered mind of an observer of the Weimar Republic – where the world of politics has become an arena of unresolved conflict between the reason-of-state and morality. Morality, of itself, seems external to politics, but in the last resort it affects the life and security of any state. For morality is written in the human heart, even of those who hold it in contempt.

To frame the issues in today’s terms, since the end, in the 1950s, of the “Legion of Decency” act in American Cinema,” Hollywood’s productions have set the standard, planted the roots and sowed the of seeds of shame and iniquity, in just about all domains of collective and personal behavior.

In the Weimar Republic, as we know, it was the state of universal degradation, promoted, inculcated and imposed upon Germany after her defeat in WW1, that prompted the birth and growth of National Socialism.

In his “Development of Historicism” (published in 1936), Meinecke laments the idea of a certain view of history, which seems to recognize that whatever is, is right.

In our days, examples of this ‘historicism’ are many, from the totally unbelievable official explanation of 9/11, to the physical destruction of the Middle East, the ongoing farce in Ukraine, the grotesque Russophobia, the idea that Western European and North-American states can exist without borders, and so on.

Finally, in 1946, after seeing his country defeated and leveled to the ground, he published “The German Catastrophe,” where he exposes the belief that history is at the mercy of blind and inexorable forces.

That the times we live-in weigh on our thoughts and judgment is as obvious as saying that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun. Nevertheless, our individual evolving point of view also influences the selection of the facts needed to produce an acceptable explanation of causes and effects, or of causes and defects as the case may be.

That is, the historian and the facts of history are necessary to one another. For a historian without his facts is futile; and facts without a historian are dead and meaningless.

Finally – and I hope the strenuous reader will forgive the long preamble, though I hope there is method in the meandering – not all facts are historical. History begins when the historian selects certain facts and declares them endowed with historical value.

But the distinction between historical and unhistorical facts is not rigid or constant. Any fact may become historical, once its relevance and significance is recognized. If so, that fact generates its own historical wave, whose effects may be felt after a long time and with enormous power, unimaginable when the fact occurred.

In nature an analogy is the tsunami, where, at the point of origin, the waves are only about 3 feet high. But travelling at incredible speed across incredible distances, they finally release their apocalyptic energy on touching land.

As someone ‘curious about history’ and not a professional historian, I experienced a change of outlook on historical events when the United States declared war on Iraq and destroyed it. For I knew the country well and I could personally attest that all that was said about Iraq by the organs of mass persuasion, was false. And while accepting the inherent murkiness of politics, I could not reconcile myself to the idea that the two Bushes, one of whom is dead, could be some of the lyingest knaves in Christendom.

As it is universally accepted, the US destroyed Iraq to satisfy Israel’s ambitions. And given that curiosity is the mother of explanation, I took up the doubtful challenge of locating the original historical fact, the trigger and the source of the wave-of-time, which eventually led to the Iraqi Armageddon and beyond.

In this and similar instances, opinion reigns supreme. Other ‘curious about history’ may choose another episode or fact, and with good reason. But sometimes, lesser-known events, singularly representative of the reality and culture of an era, can offer a perspective different from the conventional and usual narratives.

In the instance, I pinpoint the source of the topic wave-of-time in Napoleon’s emancipation of the Jews in France, following the French Revolution.

Actually, already in 1791, in the midst of the Revolution, the National Assembly had granted Jews full citizenship. It was hoped that, by so doing, Jews would stop acting like a separate nation within France. But soon there were complaints that the Jews were stuck in their old ways, particularly in Alsace and Lorraine, where their majority lived. Their ‘old ways’ referred to usury, or, as we would say today ‘financial engineering’, or ‘banking shenanigans’.

The situation remained fluid and uncertain till Napoleon, converted from a servant of the Republic into an Emperor, convened, in 1807, what he called the Great Sanhedrin, to resolve the controversial issues arisen from the emancipation. The Great Sanhedrin refers to the governing body of the Jewish community, notably during the Roman Empire.

To a council of 71 Jewish leaders and rabbis, Napoleon posed 12 questions about their laws and customs. Some questions were amusing – for example, were Jews allowed to have more than one wife? The main issue, however, was whether Jews born in France, and now treated by law as citizens, would regard France as their country. They answered that there was nothing inherent in their religion preventing the full integration of the Jewish community into French life. This was enough to confirm their full recognition and emancipation, along with an obligation to take up French names.

Perhaps Napoleon ignored that if a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, a Shylock, by any other name would still call for his pound of flesh.

In fact, there was immediate widespread opposition to the move, in French-ruled Europe and in France itself. Even one of Napoleon’s famous generals, Francois Christophe de Kellerman, whose name is inscribed in the Arc de Triomphe, recommended strongly that the Jews be prohibited from dealing in commerce.

With easy hindsight, Napoleon, like all who like to anticipate futurity and exalt possibility to certainty, might or should have avoided this adventure, so linked to chance. For, in this and other similar instances, disappointment must always be proportionate to the breath of the original hopes.

The pressure became so intense that soon Napoleon restricted the terms of emancipation, via the so-called “Infamous Decree” of 1808. The decree annulled, reduced or postponed all debts with Jews, and imposed a ten-year ban on any kind of Jewish money-lending activity.

As an aside, the official public face of a notable politician or ruler, often conflicts with his private persona, as seen in his diaries or confidential papers. In a letter to his brother Jérome Napoleon, dated 6 March 1808, Napoleon writes, “I have undertaken to reform the Jews, but I have not endeavored to draw more of them into my realm. Far from that, I have avoided doing anything which could show any esteem for the most despicable of mankind.”

“Give me ten thousand eyes, and I will fill them with prophetic tears” – said Cassandra predicting the fall of Troy. The most Cassandra-like admonition given to Napoleon came from his uncle, Cardinal Fesh, who told him, “Sire, by giving the Jews equality as Catholics, you wish for the end of the world to come.”

But the onrush of events, including Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo, inaugurated a new era. When an atheistic ideology, molded in the Age of Enlightenment, and strengthened by the impact of the French Revolution, took hold and spread at large throughout Europe.

For the 19th century saw an upsurge of anti-clerical movements and ideologies in the Western world. This is not a wholesale defense of organized religion. Nevertheless, religion also acts as a bulwark of the moral law. And irrespective of specific customs or ceremonies, religion – without disrespect – is metaphysics for the people, an intelligible intimation of eternity, an unthreatening glimpse of the infinity, a psychological safeguard from the despair of mortality.

In this context, it is not accidental that the rebirth of Russia, earlier ravaged, debased and plundered by the dissolvers of the Soviet Union, has seen the resurgence of her religion, which was dormant but never died.

Compare this with America, with her enforced and compulsive secularization, the banning of religion in schools and the prohibition of public display of religious symbols.

But I digress. Let’s return to the subject at hand. After 1815, Jewish supremacy, especially in the banking field, asserted itself in Europe, spearheaded by the ubiquitous House of the Rothschilds. In the second part of the century, England even had a Jewish Prime Minister, Disraeli.

During that time, with a pronouncement that today seems impossible, the Vatican declared that any country that abolishes the Christian religion will be run by Jews.

It’s worth transcribing an extract from a 1890 issue of “Civilta’ Cattolica,” the key media organ of the Jesuits and the Vatican,

“The XIXth century will end, in Europe, leaving her in the throngs of a very sad issue, of which the XXth century will feel consequences so calamitous, as to induce her (Europe) to drastically deal with it. We refer to the improperly-called “Semitic Question,” that more accurately should be called “Judaic Question” – which is connected via an intimate link, to the economic, moral, political and religious conditions of Europe.

How fervid at present and how much this question perturbs the major nations, is manifest by the common cry against the invasion by Jews in all spheres of public and social life; by the leagues formed to slow its advance in France, Austria, Germany, Italy, Russia, Rumania and elsewhere. By the calls for action in various Parliaments – by the large number of newspaper articles, books and pamphlets that are constantly printed, all showing the need to stem the growth of this plague, and to combat it, showing evidence of its very pernicious consequences….

Naively, some try to show that the ”Judaic Question” is the result of a (Christian) hatred of the (Judaic) religion or sect. Mosaism (read ‘religion inspired by Moses) in itself could not be an argument for hatred…. for it was the antecedent of Christianity… But for centuries Judaism has turned its back on Mosaism, exchanging it with the Talmud, quintessence of that pharisaism, many times blasted by Christ…. And although Talmudism is an integral element of the Jewish question, we cannot say that (Talmudism) is all that relevant to it (Judaic question). For in Talmudism the Christian nations detest not so much the theological part, almost reduced to insignificance, but the moral one, that contradicts the elementary principles of natural ethics…. “

Incidentally, and as another aside, it is customary to describe the roots of European culture as “Judeo-Christian.” Many contend that a better description would be the “Greek-Christian” tradition, as certain important tenets of Christianity are actually derived from Plato. For example, he suggested that a trinity of forces shapes the cosmos and he struggled with the idea of a Being, purely incorporeal, executing a perfect model of the universe and molding with his hand what was but a rude chaos of random forces.

As an explanation, or at least a theory, Plato considered the divine nature of the universe under three modifications. There was indeed a first cause, the Reason or Logos, the soul of the universe, along with three subdivisions.

Readers may recall the beginning of St. John’s Gospel, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” where ‘word’ is an imperfect and narrow translation of the Greek ‘logos.’ For one of the meanings of ‘logos’ is indeed ‘word’, but not with sense that we usually attribute to it. A better translation could possibly be, “In the beginning was the Reason of the Universe.”

Plato conceived of 3 original principles, incorporated in the Logos, different, but linked to each other by a mysterious generation.

The important point is that the mystical and mysterious concept of the Trinity is the Christian rendering of Plato’s idea. The Trinity may still remain mysterious, but at least the mind can understand a Father, a Son, and a Holy Spirit, better than Plato’s more symbolic rendering.

Back to the main subject. During the early XXth century three events, distinct but important affected the wave-of-time begun with Napoleon.

One was the establishment of the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) in 1913 – at first in America but now practically extended and enforced worldwide.

In fairness to its founders and all subsequent members, it should really have been called the ‘Jewish Anti Defamation League.’ Though by astutely avoiding the qualifying adjective, ‘ADL’ suggests impartiality, thus evading suspicion among the majority of the gentiles, who rarely or superficially follow the details of political events and institutions.

The actual purpose of the now ubiquitous and wealthy ADL was and is to aggressively prevent any criticism of Zionism and Israel, by crushing the critics, destroying their career, often depriving them of a livelihood and even removing them from the Congress or the Senate.

Observers may have noticed that when the Prime Minister of Israel addresses a US joint session of Senate and Congress, he routinely receives a record number of standing ovations. And, after an ovation, no one wants to be the first to sit down – presumably but also probably – for fear of being suspected of weaker Pro-Zionist sentiments.

Readers familiar with the Communist world will easily detect the stunning similarities between the new-speak of Communist Eastern Europe and ADL’s new-speak and thought-crime – in America but also in Europe and the English-speaking world at large.

As an example, in December 2018, the owner of a pleasant yet unostentatious house in the Italian provincial city of Aosta, installed a metal gate at the end of his driveway. The gate carried a decorative wrought-iron winged eagle, reminiscent of a National Socialist emblem, though without a swastika or other disturbing symbols.

But it was enough for a rabbi in Turin, 100 km away (and presumably a member of a local ADL chapter), to have a judge issue a search warrant and dispatch the Italian police to execute it against the shocked, bewildered and disbelieving house-dweller.

The police carried a thorough search of the premises, removed his computer, various personal effects and books from his library. In the end all the ‘incriminating’ evidence they found – besides the eagle on the gate – consisted of some books about the history of WW2.

Curiously, the event leading to the founding of the ADL had nothing to do with defamation and all to do with the sexual assault and murder of Mary Phagan, a 13-year old girl in Atlanta, Georgia. Mary worked for the National Pencil Company, and in May 1913 went to her place of work to collect her $1.20 earnings from the company superintendent Leo Frank. She was never seen again. Her body was later found in the basement of the company, mutilated, bruised and with her undergarments torn off. She had been strangled and Frank was the most likely suspect.

At the trial, Frank pleaded innocent and declared himself a victim of hate. But after a thorough investigation, Frank was found guilty. That is when Adolf Kraus, president of the Jewish-American order of B’nai B’rith founded the Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith. Its charter reads:

“The immediate object of the league is to stop, by appeals to reason and conscience and, if necessary, by appeals to law, the defamation of the Jewish people. Its ultimate purpose is to secure justice and fair treatment to all citizens alike and to put an end forever to unjust and unfair discrimination and ridicule of any sect or body of citizens.”

Sometime later the outgoing governor of Georgia commuted the sentence from death by hanging to life imprisonment. But the leaders of the town were enraged by what they rated a corruption of justice. They dragged Frank from the courthouse and hanged him.

Ever since, Leo Frank is viewed by the ADL as a kind of patron saint; a man whose death serves as a reminder of the depths of depravity to which men can sink when in the grip of xenophobic hatred.

Today, as universally acknowledged, the ADL is the lay arm of the Zionist inquisition and a patently obvious instrument for censorship and the abolition of free speech.

The second momentous event I referred to was the publishing of the so-called Scofield Reference Bible. Which is a Bible annotated by Cyrus Scofield, a man of questionable background though an able manipulator of souls and money.

Scofield and his Bible are responsible for the birth and expansion of Christian Zionism. If there was ever a contradiction in terms, Christian Zionism is one. It created a class of unpaid and obedient political eunuchs at the service of the Zionist state.

Specific and central to Christian Zionist belief is Skofield’s comment on Genesis 12:3 (the words in Italics are the comment). ‘I will bless them that bless thee.’ In fulfillment closely related to the next clause, ‘And curse him that curseth thee.’ Wonderfully fulfilled in the history of the dispersion. It has invariably fared ill with the people who have persecuted the Jew—well with those who have protected him. The future will still more remarkably prove this principle.”

Though a struggling born-again preacher, Scofield became a member of the exclusive New York ‘s Lotus Club, where he was befriended by the Wall Street lawyer Samuel Untermeyer. Untermeyer was instrumental in having Scofield’s annotated bible published.

In Scofield’s biography, written by Joseph Canfield, we read that Scofield’s theology was “most helpful in getting Fundamentalist Christians to back the international interest in one of Untermeyer’s projects—the Zionist Movement.”

Israel holds the Christian Zionists in utter contempt. The Talmud considers Christ a heretic boiling in excrement for eternity, and his mother a whore. Jehovah allows goys to exist so as to be like donkeys in the service of the chosen people.

But according to Fundamentalist preaching, at some unspecified time in the future, there will be what they call a ‘rapture,’ during which the Messiah will return to earth and all Jews will convert to Christianity.

If Fundamentalism were played on a stage it would be condemned as improbable fiction. Even Greek-Roman paganism contains more truth than Fundamentalism and its absurd ‘dispensations,’ as they define their ranting.

For the extravagance of the Grecian mythology proclaimed clearly that the inquirer, instead of being scandalized or satisfied with the literal sense, should diligently explore the occult wisdom, which had been disguised, by the prudence of antiquity, under the mask of myth and the display of follies practiced by the quizzical dynasty of the Olympian Gods.

The Fundamentalists are a large congregation. Israel supplies their leaders with money, endowments and private planes, while feeding and securing their lavish lifestyle.

The third event, whose momentousness and importance is gradually being recognized, was Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi’s launching of the plan for the creation of the European Union, with extraordinary, new and revolutionary characteristics.

He was the son of the Austrian Ambassador to Japan, Heinrich Coudenhove-Kalergi, who was also a great friend of Theodore Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism.

In the 1920s Heinrich’s son, Richard Kalergi, published a few books, the most important of which is “Praktischer Idealismus,” never, as far as I know, printed in English. The book is important because what Kalergi prophesied, promoted and predicted about the fate of Europe is occurring under our own eyes.

Kalergi envisioned a unified Europe, invaded by Africans, who would miscegenate with Europeans, creating a new negroid population, similar in appearance to the characters depicted on the inside walls of Egyptians pyramids and tombs. Ruling over them would be a class of “the best of the Jews” some of whom would intermarry with the best of the European nobility.

In his autobiography Kalergi states that when his book was printed, it came to the attention of the Jewish banker Schiff, who along with the American Jewish banker Warburg generously financed him to carry out his plan. From then on Kalergi would undertake a massive lobbying operation, which – temporarily halted during WW2 – was restarted immediately afterwards.

An Italian history professor, Matteo Simonetti, has published a very interesting book, titled “Kalergi, La Prossima Scomparsa Degli Europei” (Kalergi, The Forthcoming Disappearance of the Europeans) – available at Amazon. In his book, Prof. Simonetti included the most critical pages of Praktischer Idealismus translated from the German. What transpires is even worse than the disappearance of the Europeans.

I quote directly from the translation. At pages 21-22-23 of Praktischer Idealismus we find that “the future race, negroid-caucasian will be composed by people without character, without scruples, weak in their will, without respect (for one another) and untrustworthy. The new race will replace the multiplicity of people with a multiplicity of individuals.”

As for the ruling Jews, Kalergi describes them as “close in blood”, whose “strength of character and sharpness of spirit” predestines them to become “the race of (the new) Europe’s spiritual leaders,“ the “carriers of the nobility of spirit,”…. endowed of superior intelligence, a race of lords (Herrenrasse)… the chosen people (pages 28, 33, 49-51 in the original German book).

But it gets worse. The only free marital union will apply to “the most noble of men and women.” Inferior men and women will mate with their societal equivalent. The “erotic style” of the lower classes will be casual mating. Only the upper classes will enjoy the free formation of families.

The new cultivated nobility of the future will emerge from the divine laws of erotic eugenics. “It is here, in social eugenism, where the new nobility will achieve its historical mission of excellence” (pages 55-57).

The new miscegenated race of the lower classes will live in “factory-cities,” where the factory will be the new “cathedral of work”, the center and object of devotion of the new race of miscegenated goys (page 110).

As for the elimination of genders, Kalergi hints at the formation of a Brave-New-World society. “Today men of both sexes (sic) command political and economic power. The emancipation of woman is but the triumph of the feminine man over the real feminine woman. With the emancipation, the feminine sex is mobilized for a technical war and regimented into the army of labor.” (page 119)

As for democracy, Kalergi says it is an instrument to be discarded, as soon as the new Jewish nobility will be established and in charge. (page 36).

In summary, there we have it – the predicted apocalyptic end of the tsunami – helped and driven by the ADL (at work to criminalize free speech), the fundamentalists (a docile army of spiritual eunuchs in the service of Israel), and the Kalergi Plan (a Europe of Negroids ruled over by Jews).

As universally acknowledged, Jewish elites and politicians are at the forefront of the push for illegal immigration and the abolition of borders, worldwide.

And the Left, deprived of its reference class, the proletariat, has made of the migrants a sort of fig leaf to prove that they still side with the weak. Indeed, migrants are the new proletariat, because their identity (or consciousness thereof) is not here, but elsewhere. But the original inhabitants of the poorer districts of Europe and elsewhere have the right not to be uprooted from their customs by a culturally heterogeneous immigration. The migrants do not reside in London’s Chelsea, New York’s Upper East Side or the posh districts of other cities. Nor they steal the jobs of bank managers and corporate directors.

The chosen elites have decided that people are ugly, dirty, bad and xenophobic because they do not want to accept migrants by the millions. But it is the people who bear the weight of immigration and the loss of manual work.

During the latter years of neo-liberalism and turbo-capitalism, the cultural devaluation of labor has been possible thanks to the reserve army made up of migrants. It is logical that the chosen elites favor immigration. It frees them from relocating in the cesspits of despair, by bringing cesspits and despair to the ugly and xenophobic locals, along with the prospect of a Kalergi-type future.

We cannot know precisely how far the wave-of-time, traced back to Napoleon, has travelled towards its end. For the laws of probability, true in general, fail in the details. But given the essentially unchallenged progress of the wave, I doubt whether the collective consciousness of the European peoples will wake up and prompt them to react effectively in self-defense.

Until historically recently, the Catholic Church provided protection. It preached and prohibited violence against the chosen people, but expected them not to corrupt the culture of the host nation. And she gave them the option of conversion. By converting to Christianity, all true or pretended forms of discrimination would be instantly removed.

But the Catholic Church has lost power and unity. In recent Catholic pronouncements, it is even stated that Jews no longer need to convert to be “saved.” And in current religious ceremonies the brethren are invited to “pray for our elder brothers in the Abrahamic religion.”

Therefore, given that time comes stealing by night and day, I must reluctantly observe that the very shortness of time and the failure of hope will tinge with a deeper shade of brown the evening of our current historical times, and the last act of the play performed on the current historical stage.

The Waves of Time

#IRAQ #U.S.A

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collymore · 7 years

Text

The clear, undisputed and R.H reasoning for not littering in Barbados (Poem)

By Stanley Collymore

That Cleanliness is next to Godliness is a cultural, spiritual and

hygienic mantra consciously, meticulously and assiduously

embedded in as well as purposely drilled into the psyche

of every one of us Bajans is an incontestable fact that

is beyond disputation. A vocation, so to speak, that

having been realized from birth, is willing carried

out during our growing up years as developing

children and teenagers, conscientiously there

afterwards forms a fundamental element of

our normal lives and established adult existence. A situation

that’s constantly complemented throughout all this with a

straight-up, uncompromising, unequivocal, direct and a

no-nonsense admonition automatically and resolutely

managed by our politicians, family and community

elders, social advisors, teachers, cultural, devout

and educational mentors; our many principled,

committed, communal and ethical purveyors

and consequently, not inexplicably against

that permanent and municipal backdrop,

a rather understandable and expected

response were Bajans regardless of

the occurrence or avowed pretext

to thoughtlessly, forgetfully or

intentionally depart from this generally

recognized, freely accepted, widely

observed, profoundly ingrained

unmistakably enduring and

furthermore, a culturally

enduring obligation

and expectation.

So it was always a no-brainer in these aforesaid and

acknowledged conditions to envisage that folk,

either patently local or who otherwise were

themselves holidaymakers on vacation to

our Caribbean island abrogating these

particular, social, cultural, hygienic

and moral exhortations which are

so indubitably immersed in the

psyche of all Barbadians wouldn’t distress, make

angry and even indisputably alarm concerned

Bajans perfectly incensed by this noticeably

thoughtless and utterly loutish behaviour.

And whose natural response in typical

Barbadian vernacular will obviously

be to curtly, but with characteristic

Bajan humour too, energetically

exhort such noticeably selfish

and inconsiderate persons to

unambiguously R.H. well

halt their exasperating actions,

cease littering, and through

this procedure do every

principled Barbadian

a massive favour!

11 October 2017.

Author’s Remarks:

For decades now, and most sickeningly and increasing so, this Planet Earth that all of us who were born and are currently living here, and moreover quite involuntarily from our respective point of view because none of us had any choice in the matter or any participation whatsoever in the acts that initiated and brought about our conception or actual birth but, all the same call home, has shamefully and devastatingly been polluted in a diversity of ways which aren’t just highly detrimental to ourselves and our own kind but correspondingly so to all other forms of life that similarly and with every right and lawful justification to do so as we do, crucially too inhabit the earth.

And the striking thing from my personal point of view and that of others of a similar opinion is that this sort of reckless, despicable and despondently unsustainable conduct need not carry on happening; but does so all the same. And the transparent and principal motivation behind it all is the obviously clutching avariciousness and pernicious greed associated with millions of people globally from mass producers of consumer products, their retailers and quite clearly their mindless consumers. All this insidiously combined with a dishonest thoughtlessness, no concern as regards their really sickeningly and thoroughly disgusting actions by those directly involved in or who otherwise are themselves very supportive of this incredible contamination and mindlessly uncaring destruction prevalently but oh so pointlessly and quite malevolently inflicted on Mother Earth as well as its diverse animal, plant, creature and human inhabitants.

The kind of pollution and mindboggling destruction that not only affects earth’s land species, large or small, that together with ourselves utilize this planet as home and where many other land-based animals and diverse other creatures do their level best to survive, but equally and markedly increasingly so in this strikingly ominous process Planet Earth’s seas and oceans. A noticeable and unmistakably catastrophic situation where all forms of sea mammals and other forms of life that populate the seas and oceans of the world that we all share and have done so for millennia, and in many instances for far longer than human beings have done, are not only and increasingly being put at severe risk but are also dying in considerable numbers from our grotesque inhumanity and barbarity as human beings, a state of affairs which is itself wilfully and uncaringly spurred on, in the most narcissistic manner, by the exclusive birth monster of human selfishness and obdurate stupidity that if not sensibly checked and massively put into permanent reverse will see the eventual eradication of the world’s diverse species of land and see animals, other presently but evidently perilously living creatures, as well as dangerously threaten mankind’s own future existence.

For let’s be perfectly frank and furthermore be unequivocally honest about all this. Animals other than the human kind don’t intentionally plan to or otherwise pollute and destroy their own environment, neither do they purposely attempt to and actually do so without a solitary moment’s thought for or any consideration whatsoever in relation to what they’re inimically doing or worst so what lasting or even permanent effect their activities when carried out will unashamedly and cruelly disadvantageously have on others. A most dubious distinction and seemingly mammoth and perverse pride that only human beings callously claim.

So it’s with tremendous admiration and enormous pride that I both welcome and applaud my fellow Barbadians both in their astute recognition and consummate maturity for tenaciously tackling and maintaining the hygienic integrity and beautiful environment of our cherished Barbados. While, at the same time, in definitely straightforward and robust but classically humorous Bajan terms warning off and likewise exhorting polluters of our country and their ilk, whether they’re local or foreign visitors to our idyllic tropical shores, to R.H well, while there, NOT litter in any conceivable way or despoil the natural and picturesque land and sea environments of our cherished homeland, Barbados.

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