Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Monday, 22 March 2021

The Centre Cannot Hold

Touring the blogs today, there seems to be a theme or pattern setting up. I like it. And I hate it.

Awhile back my elderly father bragged that he stays current by reading the local rag sheet newspaper “cover to cover”. I firmly shut my mouth. Mom kept up with the times by watching day time TV like The View, Ellen Degeneress, Orca Winfrey, and whatever other harridans and hags that get on TV. Rest assured, they have their fingers on the pulse of current events today. They never have to leave the safety of their entitled baby boomer retirement suburb either.

We don’t speak anymore. The reason is that my mother found out my daughter was gay, and I did not have the correct opinions about it. We had our last discussion about it a year back and it didn’t go well. 

With a few tweaks, this is basically my daughter’s story. We don’t speak anymore. I don’t think my daughter looks good in frooty coloured clown make up, nor do her grandparents. Mind you - I am toxic, but let us have some honesty about who it was that poisoned me.

No one more than I appreciates the need to escape the madness. I’ve stopped drinking and smoking. I often sleep at nights. My house is clean, I do my dishes and chores, my marriage is back to what it used to be, and I even sleep at night from time to time. I don’t need booze or nicotine to cope. I no longer sweat the score on head games or worry about passing shit tests. There’s my dogs, my guns, my camper, my Maker and His weather. Life is simple here. It’s good. For now, my heart and soul are clicking along for the most part.

But out there? Oh man... we are assuring our future prosperity and saving our children from Mr. Potatohead and Dr. Seuss. The president of the United States is (or was) a pedo. Now he’s a frail old man. His VP is a whore. She’s also a race whore. What race is she now? Asian? Biden’s surgeon general is a man in a dress. None of that is me being a partisan with political opinions. They are matters of public record. They’ve turned a bad flu into a global pandemic.

The old nickel goes that people that can’t resolve their differences peacefully will resolve them violently. How do you have a conversation with these people? How long will it be until they eff themselves up so bad, that they have to go after others to bail them out? What happens when they clean their victims out and there’s nothing left for them to disrupt, challenge, or overturn? They burned down their families, and none of it was their fault. They’re burning down their cities now.

At some point... we are going to have to have a talk.


  1. I think the time to talk was a while back. Too bad we kept a polite silence through their monologue, instead of telling them to siddown-and-shuddup.

    Not much talk time left.

  2. At this point, there is nothing we can do. Our officials don't care. They should know though, that when they finally do come for us - they ain't leaving...

  3. The blog post title comes from here, and it is most appropriate:-

    The Second Coming
    W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again; but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?