Ramble, rant or reminisce, this is an artist’s opportunity to pen their own Clash article.
This issue, Echo And The Bunnymen’s Ian McCulloch pens a seething tirade entitled ‘Fakery’.
“I wonder when it happened to mankind; the point of no return, the death of trust, and hope, and faith, in itself to evolve into a species of just the right kind of man. And the right kind of women. Sho’ nuff. Nuff said. Somewhere between the patent truth and the blatant lie; between good and evil, between right and wrong, the whole human race stopped believing.
Then stopped trying. Then stopped noticing. And then stopped caring.
Every institution is run and ruined and defiled and defined by those who live in it and live off it, everything from churches, governments, banks, armies, charity organisations, even the football association, ALL THOSE FUCKING TEAMS CHEATING ON US. And poisoning everything that once, a long, long time ago, was sacred.
The world has turned off and turned on itself, digging up its own roots and now, where anything fucking goes (more of that sooner), evil is the money of all routes.
There was a time when you could choose who, what, and how to be, but now you are actually encouraged in daily newspapers to keep your socks on and get your rocks off to some gummy, gurning granny and her friend. What next? The fucking curly pig-dick problem page? Now we live in a time when none of us have any real choices in any real matter because the powers that be have long since decided or realised that any choice we have as individuals doesn’t really matter. You cannot petition the House of Lords with prayer. Because whatever the definition of democracy is – in the dictionary or in the clutch of any politician’s hands – are just words spoken louder than actions.
Democracy has become such a paranoid and frightened tyrant, so riddled with deceit and desperation that it has left us asking ourselves to make a non-choice, between abiding by, or breaking the law. BREAKING THE LAW! BREAKING THE LAW! You don’t know what it’s like!!! Thank you, Judas Priest.
If I was the Prime Minister of the World there would only be three laws and three laws only: Yes, Yes and No.
Maybe four: No Maybes. And no more fucking Tony and Cherie Blairs, Mandelsons, Ingrams, or Prescotts and Tebbitts.
And most definitely no Margaret and Denis Thatchers.
And that Jack is the last fucking Straw.
HOOHAH!!!
But I’m not the Prime Minister of the World. Boo hoo!!!
The theme and title of this indulgent cul-de-sac of a rant was meant to be, and maybe still, is, ‘Fakery’.
The world doesn’t revolve or orbit round the sun. We don’t evolve into anyone. We’re resolved just to spin and run – on parole – pardon, the pun.
“Knock-knock”
“Who’s there?”
“Walter”
“Walter who?”
“WoaWoaWoaWoa…Walter Who!”
Ha ha ha!!!!
I’ve been asked to write eight hundred words about any subject I felt like. I chose to choose the second thing that came into my head. I had no choice.
The first thing (which I obviously chose not to choose) I felt like writing about was the same as my second choice.
Which was Fakery. Really!!!
I’m from God’s land, otherwise known as Liverpool, or the Monaco of Merseyside, where most people know where the truth lies. You can’t kid a kidder. They ain’t Faking…just a whole lot of shaking going on!!!
To get – bluntly – to my point I’ll just pose the question: if you have to be one of two things in life – a liar or a fake – which one would it be?
Honestly? You?
Sincerely. Me?”
