You know when you’re in the mood to fight evil, and then the Queue seems just too long to bother with, so you leave it too late, then you figure, well I may as well stay in. No point now, right? It’s the big movie event the boys are all talking about, but the traffic’s just hell out there, is an excuse that all your friends will surely understand, or if they are particularly energetic, and just don’t get it that, baby, it’s cooollllddd outside, you could always pretend you were there, somewhere down the back of the Queue, while you tappity tap away, and bring up a nice good vs evil movie to watch from home instead, while pretending to be on the way, and just having some last minute issues with your google map, for finding your way down a straight highway. If you’re too lazy for even that much action, but managed to click once to get here, and haven’t worn yourself out too much, maybe you can manage one more click, to bring the battle to you.
A fun movie for a quiet night in. Who would think it evil, if you snuggled up tight as a Tootsie Roll in your favourite blankie, with the cosy feet built in, and your teddy for comfort, during the really scary bits, for this big battle between good and evil? It feels good to know you don’t even have to go out in the cold, to find out who wins that one.
Yeah. I’m at it again. Writing another book. To be more specific, the second part of “The Q Affaire”, which recently hit my little shop’s shelves over here. The second part can be read as a stand alone novel, or as a follower-upper, as we used to say, on de mean streets of Dublin libraries, when we were scoping out those shelves like secret spies, peering through books, pacing the aisles in anticipation of some new thrills to keep us off those same mean streets, our collars turned up, and hat brims dripping puddles as we stalked the tiled flooring, searching out a comfy spot to slump, with brims pulled low, to hide out from the rain for a while.
Yes, you guessed it. Book two’s a little moodier in atmosphere than the first novel, with the first part a comedy thriller with some psychological twists guaranteed to melt your head with madness, as well as keeping you in a sub-hysterical state of mild giggles throughout. I think you’ll find the second part sucks you into the heart of the maze pretty quickly though, and presents many interesting puzzles, and you’ll be sorry when you finally find your way out again, at the end of the book, after being amazed and dazed, for at least some of the rest of it, I would think.
No more Q for you, though, after that. Two books are quite enough, and although Q tries to lead you through an endless maze of confusing twists and turns, and keep you lost, and puzzled, my job is to help you escape it, and give you a map of the territory. Take my tiny paw in yours, then, and we’ll claw our way in, before taking the journey to finding the keys that let us solve the puzzle, and get out in one piece again, but let’s start with an insight into how the book’s being constructed. I’m just hammering it out now, you see, and you might like to see how the thing’s being constructed. Big bits of paper are terribly important, you know. Very. Highlighters, fun, but not essential. Good ideas a must. Well, you probably know what a plan is already, but might glean something of the plot from the themes and metaphors I explain, while trying not to give away too much of the workings of the plotline, when discussing my creative process for writing the book, here.
Q pushers are starting to notice that there are big bits of paper everywhere, as they stalk the thriller section of the library aisles, while I take up the round table with my square papers.
The MuppetOfOz employs his handy Wafflinator , to foil rational conversation yet again, then departs confidently with his pals from the office, earing sparkling, to see if the latte post lunch is frothier than the breakfast one, which put him in the bit of a mood, to start with. pic.twitter.com/752VqP4MVI
I think you’ll find “The Q Woo” a lot hotter a read, a less stale bake, and certainly less hackneyed affaire than what Q has evolved into, in his second part, somehow. He’s got a oddly dragging gait these days, is distictly wooly smelling from being out in the rain, and generally looking a bit down on his luck. Don’t feel too sorry for him, though, as he’s still got some company, even if the birds don’t fancy him any more, a few coins in his pockets from last payday, and he still can parley vous oh la la the lads and ladies over on other platforms, admittedly in less salubrious surroundings. His rag tag band of patriots soldier on in their fantasy world, between snoozes, and manage to forget how wet their socks are, until the librarian moves them on, come closing time, with the rest of us. Where we go one, we go all, huh? Breathe in, on the way out, ‘cos you don’t want the smell of Q pressin’ up on you.
The first part of the book, which came out at the end of Nov., 2020, can be purchased here, in digital formats, with instant download. The next part I’m crowdsourcing funding for, to publish as one big blockbuster, comprised of the two volumes together, in paperback Kindle format, after part 2 is released as a digital version, for those who read part 1, over on Etsy. You can read about what the funding goes on, not just getting it to paperback, but getting that all important ISBN number, and other important bits and bobs, on the main post, over there. So, hopefully, there’s something to appeal to everyone, format wise, without having to go to the library in the rain, although, who knows, it may hit the shelves there, some time, too. “The Q Woo” will hopefully have reached the completion stage, anyway, with all editing done, by April, 2021, and I’ll be sure to let you know, here, too, when part 2 is available to read on Etsy. A big adventure for 2021. The next part of the adventure started here, and you’re in on it, like a secret library spy! Shush!!!!
“Watson, I simply must tell you, old man, the most extra-ordinary thing. You remember Moriarty dropped around yesterday, while I was at my pipe, poking around for information, as usual?” “Why, yes, um, yes, I do Mr. Holmes (hurumph) That awful man.Was he trying to find out why that attractive lady visitor was here yesterday? (thinks, pretty little thing, smiling).”
“Yes, and while he was trying to get information from me, I noticed something flew from his pocket as he retrieved his handkerchief, to blow that large snout of his in. It fell in the fire, as bad luck would have it, but I managed to distract him by cunning means, which, as you know, I’m a master of, and pointed out some new slides I’d obtained of dancing Gibson girls, at a side table. While he was busy rustling about in my intellectual mess, I reached quickly into the fire with a poker, and rescued this!”
“Oh, jolly well done, Holmes. Um, ah, what does it say? It’s rather scrappy and why’s it torn up?”
“Exactly, Watson! WHY IS IT TORN UP? It’s quite clearly something he doesn’t wish to get into the wrong hands, Probably intended to burn it himself, but doesn’t have a Mrs. Hudson about the place, to clear the fire out and light it, and such. I mean, he doesn’t have my charisma, and charm, when it comes to getting ladies to do things for you, when you want.”
“He he. Quite, Mr. Holmes (clears throat). Will Mrs. Hudson be serving buttered crumpets and tea soon, incidentally?”
“Try to concentrate for a moment, my friend, while we await the afternoon tea. This is a bona fide mystery, and I have been furiously playing my violin trying to cogitate on it. I believe I have decoded the document, after carefully unencrypting the scraps, and piecing the information together.” “Oh, really? What does it say, Holmes?”
“It’s an invitation, to a very secret affaire. That’s why he intended to destroy it. Allow me to read it to you.”
(Dramatic pause, while sounds of a teatray rattling downstairs can be heard)
“You are cordially invited to a “Portrait of Q” Art Auction Event, to celebrate Q’s favourite number, and the recent release of the new novel by Donna Emerald, “The Q Affaire”. This exclusive event has been arranged to thank customers who bought the book. Customers who bought the book are now eligible to bid on the only known portrait of Q in existence. Wish to own this beautiful Oil on paper portrait, signed by the artist, Donna Emerald? Then come along to the event where we officially party (and grift off Q) hard, via livestream, to open the one day bidding war in style, so you can start placing your bids on Etsy, and having fun in chat. This is your top secret Q clearance level invite, to the auction of the year, at 4.30pm GMT (check your coordinates, and synchronize your watches, for a zero delta) which promises to go down like an epic stQrm. Be there, or be square. Good luck, Q Patriots!”
“Goodness, Holmes. Q! Why the whole of London has been seeking him. They’ve been seeking him in Bankok and Mexico, too, with rumours of sightings from San Francisco to Moscow, and still he eludes us all, even Moriarty, who is not half so stupid as immediate appearances suggest.” “Yes, Watson. Someone knows his whereabouts, and someone wants to meet in secret. I’m rather curious to get a look at this Q character, finally, aren’t you? Where are my dressup costumes?”
(Door bursts open, making Watson jump, and Mrs. Hudson appears, panting heavily from the climb up the stairs with the teatray, laden down with tea and buttered crumpets, little pots of jam and sugar cubes, tiny milk pitcher of floral design etc.).
“Mrs. Hudson? We need to borrow your best dress. And bring me some glue, immediately.”
I bet you know a lot about Q by now, if you hang out in this bookshop much. We’ve got acres of pages written about him already, but did you know there’s a new Donna Emerald novel, too? Oh yessy, indeedy, and not only can you admire the artwork and sit on the squeaky leather seats under my reading lamps, considerately positioned on side tables with hot tea freshly poured at your elbow, while you peruse my journals, but there’s also an invite to a special auction, for special customers.
Q loves a good grift, so I feel sure he would approve heartily of my auctioning off the portrait I did of him while he performed “The Q Woo” for me, which you’ve no doubt read about in one of the journals at your elbow, or sliding from your lap, as you snooze in your cosy alcove, lulled by the ticking of the Q clock.
You see, Q doesn’t come ’round no more, and since he’s absconded rather hastily, from various parties hot on his heels, he’s left his portrait behind, much as he adored looking at himself. You’ll adore it too, dear reader, since he was a cutey, with nearly a whole tube of ceruleum blue used up, just to get those baby blues right, and two palette knives worn down in the chiseling of his cheeks. Wouldn’t you like this framed on yer bedroom walls, ladies? Or gents, wouldn’t this just make you feel like saluting, after waxing your mustachios and straightening your epulets? Yes Sir!
Now, I’ve never turned down a cash paying customer at my bookstore, and browsers are also more than welcome; after all, wasn’t it Donne who said..? “They also serve Who only stand and wait.” But honestly, some just come in and spoil the whole atmosphere, without even wiping the mud from the street off their shoes first. This lady kicked up such a fuss about that scandalous book, which she erroneously believed contained instructions for how to kill her (banish the thought!) that I thought I was Donne, but now I find that “When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more…” Pardon my loquacity, but I do like my poetry and prose, and the muse can’t be stopped, even by elderlies, who imagine the plot is about them. Don’t fret, she will not darken the bookshop door again; the library will deliver the novel to her on a trolley, no doubt, instead:
So, you see, it promises to be a fun event, and when we reach our 17th customer (we’ve passed one of Q’s other favourite numbers, 10, recently, and shared a Q secret to celebrate that) we’ll let you know, because we value your custom, and want to find out which sherry you favour with which cheese, for the reception. That’s why your invite doesn’t have the date on it, just a big 17. It won’t be long now, though, so pencil it in, in your moleskin dairy. See you there, and thank you for your custom.
(Discretely nudges an interesting journal article on “The Q Affaire” towards you, to whet your appetite for the novel)
Oh, look, who’s this, droppin’ over to her place? Q himself, in deep, deep, disguise, in his “Jack” character. She must have left her groceries behind her, in aisle one, or somethin’, that he’s doing special home deliveries of the eggs she left behind, to her comments sections. So friendly, too, when he’s in the murder gang, that kill, according to her. Making omelettes from the broken eggs together, no doubt. Hope she has a few dozen in, as she’s got other friends with nowhere else to go, at the moment, too. They must have misbehaved in reading rooms, or something.
If you’re on hols for Thanksgiving, or don’t do Thanksgiving, but free to go to the movies, I’d love to meet you there. Starts in five minutes, and I’ve saved you a seat. Hope you like Westerns, and I’ve left a ticket at the ticket office for you. (settles in with a bag of non-cattle-rustly sweets, and a soder pop.
A reblog of a trackingtheleopardmeroz post, where Ms. Weaver plots out the tangled machinations of the mind of Truth Convoy, as she adds yet more members, erroneously, to the international stalking gang. Let’s get warmed up with this morning’s epic rant, speaking in tongues, or in ecstasy, a la Teresa of Avila. A doozy, and the quality of content we’ve come to expect.
In this video rant against a number of persons who Denise Matteau claims are connected to Thomas Schoenberger, Shadowbox Strategies, Inc., the Lincoln Group and the Lincoln Project, etc., Matteau tells her audience at the 25 minute mark to “Google all the names.”
At the 26.19 mark, Matteau mentions the Iraqex group as connected to Schoenberger, Joseph Burkett, Brian Birmingham, the Sweigerts and “Professor Jacqueline Weaver in Houston, yeah I’m going to get to her.”
Around the 52.19 mark, Denise Matteau goes into more detail, stating “Jacquelyn Weaver was a name that I thought was a pseudonym.”
At the one hour mark, she moves to her computer to bring up the Tracking the Leopard Meroz blog. Matteau declares, “…But this is a…
Some of my readers will remember Truth Convoy. She isn’t easy to forget, as she’s the lady that haunts YouTube’s dankest corridors, looking for folks to spook. These days, she seems to be the only one spooked, as she awaits a knock at the door of her Interior Castle, and rather like the drunken porter in Macbeth, the final knock may come when she’s sleeping, as it did, one afternoon recently.
The original livestream “Knock at the Door”, with a second of the same name up now, after the first being set to private, was a doozy, and 30 people got to hear the Halloween tale she told the Elderlemon Care person that called to her door to investigate claims of moldy walls and cockroaches, within the dark castle’s interior. In fact, we got a glimpse of one of the wee beasties, scampering up the wall, in alarum, when the stream went live suddenly.
The dead awoke from their drunken slumbers, and the rusty door hinges squeaked (well, not really, but I’m keeping to the spooky Halloween theme here), and the invader was held off from entering, ’till another day, with this tall tale (and, according to Truth Convoy, afterwards, a request for a warrant), before shuffling back inside, to get dressed, and set the stream on Private. I’ve summed up the wonderfully entertaining Halloween horror story told by Denise, here, in an abridged version, since it’s gone now, and you mightn’t have been able to follow it well, in the first place. What’s really scary is that I can follow her fancy horror stories at all, but she’s been telling the same story, with new actors, regularly. The plot features gay jewish nazis, forced abortions, and murder. Classic Halloween horror. Denise never disappoints, with her imagination.
If you are a glutton for horror, you may wish to hear the unabridged version, which is quite an old story, retold with embellishments, from a 2010 forum post, that she came across again recently, and still stands by. We learn about the secret “forced” abortion she insists the gay nazi cult carried out, for their evil pineal gland harvesting purposes, and her own simultaneous pregnancy, which may well have yielded two extra pineal glands for sale for the cult, for all I know, since Denise didn’t specify whether the con-joined twins were joined at the head, or elsewhere. Denise, of course, used to be in a kidney donation cult herself, so she’d be an expert on all the gay nazi cults’ shady shenanigans. Here’s the rambling tale, told by the cult lady herself. She’s not mad, she points out, although she’s a habit of calling anyone who questions her stories mad, telling us again what we heard her tell the visitor at the door, that she did have a stay in an asylum, all expenses paid, curtesy of her family, once, after a “nervous breakdown“. I wonder did they have internet there, to help relax her (ahem)? This is not fit viewing for the childer, and there is some doubt that Denise’s daughter actually lived with her after her tender years, as Denise was only married for five years, and was displaying paranoia that the daughter’s teachers were out to kill the daughter, even while she was a very young child……..so yez will have to click on the image, to be transported into the mind of the spooky Ms. Matteau, for the full horror, in this tragi-comedy of horrors.
I’ve added a nice picture of Denise’s daughter’s besom (witches broomstick) on the left there, because, apart from the cockroaches and mold, her kitchen sink didn’t look spooky enough for Halloween, I thought, although she threw pretty much everything but the kitchen sink, into her story, pulling out all the stops, to get the verbal boot in, on her imaginary enemies, from down all the years, and all the dead ends of her dank and murky maze of memories ( I know – Shakespeare, I ain’t, but I sure give Proust a run for his money, with the length of my sentences, wha’?). Sadly, neither the broom nor the daughter exist any more, with the daughter having killed herself (not been murdered by the gay nazi cult, surprise, surprise, as Denise claims), and the broom literally gone up in a puff of smoke, as this photo was taken at a consecration ceremony by her pals in the coven, and published on her memorial page. It’s now taken down, probably Privated because of Denise inadvertently drawing attention to its existence , while pushing the murder story, and trying to hide the fact that it contained a suicide letter, and other letters distributing her items from her Wiccan altar to her pals. That didn’t fit in with Denise’s Christian lady image she was pushing on her channel at the time, nor her murder plot, but in a stroke of audacity she claimed the grave (which, I discovered from the memorial page, featured a slab with a pentagram on it, as well as a curved indentation from being run over by a lawnmower) had been desecrated by Satanists, and casts another friend she calls David Coagn (no such surname exists, in the real world, that I can find) as a jewish gay nazi murderer she owed money to, at the time of her “murder”. Riiiiight.
In a stoke of crazy genius, and that chutzpah she’s so well known to display so frequently when under pressure from murderous gangs, bent on taking down ordinary decent American families, she tried to put the imaginary dagger in my hand, and say I’d blood on my hands for the murder, abortion(s) and broom stick carrying, instead of taking ownership of the entire plot as her own work of theatrical tragedy, using items from her daughter’s and her own biographies as the raw ingredients, and her own persecutory fantasies to add some extra gore. Her Halloween fake dagger points at a lot of people, as she plays Pass the Pumpkin with it, going way way back in time, in her imaginative story, to link many entirely unconnected characters, accusing them all of murder, and it makes for a hilarious bit of theatrics, on her channel, as she plays the victim, constantly, while attacking others, then uses her own daughter’s dead body as a shield, to protect her against criticism. Reality, though, sometimes comes knocking at your door, reminding you that the outside world can intrude on your delusions, and plots.
Let’s hope Truth Convoy has some more convincing tales to tell, if she hears knocking at the Gate again, and has to run to hit the “Go Live” button on this livestream, up for a few days now, just waiting, because she points out that if she’s not quick about getting the bathrobe on this time, they might “crash the door in”. Perhaps she’s just being dramatic, in the spirit of Halloween, or perhaps we’ll get another exciting chapter in her Halloween story, yet. If not, the stream might stay up, as she says she finds it handy, as she’s too poor (oh, the poor ting!) to afford a high tech security system for her paper thin and funkily filthy front door. She would buy one if she had the money, she points out, in a subsequent livestream, looking meaningfully into the camara at us, in her best helpless, harmless, cookie baking elderlemon role. Perhaps she’ll flog some of her home-made stage jewelry, instead of having to beg for it, as Truth Convoy’s Wednesday nights are sales nights, online, but I’m not convinced the potential clients might like the look of the brown stones in those earrings, if they start to move, on delivery. Oh, the horror.
Denise, three days on from the first “Knock on The Door” livestream, is out of the bathrobe, and in her best moo-moo and chakra-calming stage jewelry, and up at all hours of the night (though, like many a keen thespian, not so keen on mornings), as she seems to think she may have visitors at any moment, and wouldn’t want to leave them waiting for more than a moment. We in the audience wait with bated breath, too, in anticipation of the plot getting even more convoluted, and impossible to follow, with the introduction of more characters.
The dramatic tension is building nicely, on the darkened stage. Will it be a cliffhanger, like this longest-ever up YouTube livestream, or will the story move along further?
Already, she’s adding new touches, with me being added to the gay nazi cult as a regular paycheck receiving employee, mentioned in an im-por-an’ court case, which sadly, or perhaps happily, like the rest of her “proofs”, she doesn’t produce for us, but leaves to our own imaginations, clearly thinking they are as fertile as her own. I wonder am I supposed to be on the pineal gland shipping end of things, or installing bugs, or what? I’m slightly more unsettled, ‘tho, by the discussion of my Irish troll underwurs, by Denise, on her subsequent video, than these puzzling details, because of the gay end of the cult, and Denise’s recent big girl crush on little ol’ me. I doubt I even have a suitable gay nazi costume to throw on, for that Halloween party, if she invites me. Perhaps the gay nazis are a bit of a psychological projection, when the truth is too horrible to imagine ( am I the Alice B. Toklas to her Gertrude Stein, in her mind, with all that claiming to be “channeling” me, and all that wondering about whether I was getting my underthings bunched? Yikes!). No wonder I wear trousers, and not skirts, when out and about, as these gay nazis are circling everywhere in the ether, trying to get their hands on your body parts, particularly at Halloween, it seems (is paranoia catching, do you reckon?), and they sound a fright. Happy Halloween, dear reader. Enjoy the tricks and treats.
Whenever I’ve been unfortunate enough to have to do business with the dole office, to try to access payments I’m legally entitled to, I’ve had a bit of bother, as Frank Spencer would say. He wasn’t as good in the skills department as me, I imagine, and his CV wouldn’t have extended to one page, let alone the two and a half that the dour-faced and depressing-to-look-at pen pusher behind the interview desk frowned on, as being far too much longer than the one page she thought a tech job CV should be. She shared her top tip, keep it to under one page, when casting a look that could turn clients to stone, first at me, then my CV, which she handled as though COVID-19 was already here, last time I was called for a “Job Activation” interview. Never mind that I had taught CV preparation myself, as part of my work, before, or had done a top-up module in CV skills, on a digital media journalism Diploma course. No. She knew best, Ms. dole office, or at least hoped I thought she did, as she struck me as a lot more grim-faced after she’d seen my CV, which I imagine had a lot more qualifications listed than hers would have (not that she would need to be producing hers for some sour wagon at a pointless dole interview, since she already had her pen-pushing gig) . It didn’t get me a job of course. In my mid fifties, in a job market dominated by imported workers from EU agencies, and a gap in my CV showing I was unemployed, I wasn’t terribly surprised. I’d even applied for jobs overseas, ‘though I baulked at the few that were advertised that I had some chance of getting, teaching jobs in Saudi Arabia and China. Nah. I thought. I’d just shake some guy’s hand the first week, and it’d be downhill quite quickly from there. Even three hots and a cot wouldn’t be guaranteed, either, I’m thinking, in those sorts of regimes.
Mind you, our regime isn’t much better, if they insist you hike it out to attend a going nowhere that results in a job session, in the middle of a COVID-19 lockdown. I had already been getting letters every couple of weeks from them, to attend meetings cited over 50kms away, with no public transport route to get me there. I don’t drive, of course. I’m unemployed, and was a zero-contract dispos-a-worker type, when I was getting the crumbs of work left over from what the foreign agency workers hadn’t time for. I was the first to go, and last to be respected, as many Irish employers seem to prefer agency workers, who provide the quick turnover needed, to Irish employees, who, let’s face it, answer back, ‘cos they speak English. They might also have a super CV, which could put you to shame if you hired them, and make you look like the complete thicko that you are, just there because you slept with the boss, and know where the tax money is hidden, or maybe your actual daddy’s the boss. Small companies like to keep things in the family, while larger ones like to keep things as impersonal as possible, preferably by not having anyone Irish working there at all. Hence the bewilderment of visitors to Irish shores who wonder why there are no Irish staff in hotels or restaurants. They’re probably busy completing a series of Job Activation interviews, for jobs they have no hope of getting, in which they are berated by being told they are just not trying hard enough to get one of those jobs there are so many of, according to the massaged figures, which count the various work schemes the state runs as employment.
I’ve been shoved onto those as well, and if I don’t get a job, can be expected to bounce about from one type of work scheme to another, until I am an old age pensioner, as although each type has a maximum timelimit, it’s easy to get around that by having lots of differently named ones. Usually, they involve picking up litter, sweeping roads, or freezing your behind off in the rain in a range of ways that seem designed to destroy the individuals dignity, and health, but keep an army of supervisors on a good wage, while the person on the scheme gets none of the training in skills suitable to their existing skills, which the schemes promise in the small print, nor the training grant that they are entitled too either. I know. I’ve asked, as I figured learning to drive might increase my ability to get work, but my question was brushed under the carpet, as I almost was too, when they put me on a scheme which said it was an office job, and turned out to be a janitor’s job. I had to go home that first day, to change out of smart office clothes into my oldest jeans, as no work wear was provided. I refused to go up on a roof to clean a gutter on that job, and kicked up a stink, arguing that I had never worked in the janitorial arena, so had no existing skills there I wished to build on. My teaching and digital media qualifications, as well as my rather super, if I don’t mind saying so myself, communications skills, persuaded them to get me off the roof, and into an office, to teach web design. I learned nothing, and had few students, but it’s about keeping the little gulag going, as this cheap labour helps provide services for councils, and keep the unemployment figures looking healthier than they really are.
I find I have to remind dole office workers, and the companies they liase with, of Irish law, regularly, as they have broken their own department’s rules several times already with me, e.g. insisting I work on a scheme while already having a real job . Now it seems, they’d like to again push the boat out, by ignoring Leo Varadkar, who’s going hoarse telling everyone to just stay at home, to observe the COVID-19 restrictions. The foreign contract workers must think we Irish are stupid, for paying them €350 for 12 weeks, to sit at home during the crisis, so the company they worked for will hire them back whenever the crisis is over, while the people like me, who were made unemployed before the virus sent the country into lockdown, get the old rate of jobseeker’s benefit, and told to risk infecting people by traveling to even-more-pointless-than-usual job activation interviews, for what, exactly? To work on a CV again (oooo, maybe we could shorten it even more, and leave out those three qualifications), and be asked why I think I haven’t gotten any replies this week from employers, I suppose. Em, because we’re on a feckin’ lockdown, you complete idiot.
Update: I discovered I shouldn’t have been asked to do JobPath at all, since I haven’t been unemployed for 12 months yet. They started insisting I go to JobPath interviews, however, as soon as I signed on as full-time unemployed. They’ve tried illegal things on me before, like insisting I do a community employment scheme when I was employed; those schemes are also only for those unemployed, for over 12 months. One finds oneself having to do battle with these dishonest people, just to get one’s legal rights upheld, as they will insist black is white, even as you show them their own rules, off goverment websites. Perhaps the fact that there is a lot of money involved in the schemes is a factor in their stubborn hostility towards unemployed people, but it’s certainly made difficult for unemployed people to access the payments they are entitled to, without having to put up quite a fight for them.
It’s a lazy Sunday, and what could be nicer than a sci-fi fantasy movie, with beautifully shot scenes by that master storyteller, Stephen Spielberg? This is one of my favourites of his, about what it means to be sentient, and whether humanity is possible in an age of artificial intelligence, where AI have developed sentience, and whether that is a desirable future. I warn you, bring a hanky, because there are some sad bits, as well as a lot of beautiful as well as challenging ones, and many beautifully shot scenes. A very thought-provoking film, that you will also lose yourself in, and think about for a long time afterwards.:
Here’s a trailer, so you can decide if it grabs you:
Now, to the movie. Click the link to view the movie. It’s a freebie, with no login required, but you might have to close an ad window before it’ll play. Sorry, it’s the best I can do, but, hey, it’s free!
If you’re not understanding the ending, wanting to see what the director’s overall vision was, or just want to find out more, but are too busy, here’s a short clip of Stephen Spielberg discussing the ending.
If Stephen Spielberg is a bit to sweet for you, and you like your heros to be grown-ups, this sci-fi movie is one that I’m sure you’ll know, and love, Ridley Scott’s Bladerunner. No matter how many times you watch it, it always delights with its sumptuous evocation of a dystopian future, where replicants are everywhere. This movie, like replicants, just never gets old or tired. Just don’t stay up late watching them back to back, or you won’t feel human when you have to get up for work tomorrow.