Hey Ladies and Gentlemen,

I gotta say I’ve started this Drudion so many times now, yet each time it just gets heavier and heavier and overwhelms me. I don’t think I can really relay all the gravity I’m feeling at the moment because each point I wanna make feels both earth-shattering and outrageous. Perhaps I’m still in shock at the manner in which the US government Grozny-ized New Orleans without seeming to care about how their vicious over-reaction to looting and prevaricating with regard to feeding the survivors would appear to the wider world. Perhaps it’s seeing the look of horror on the face of poor Mrs Menezes, away from Brazil for the first time in her life, as she descended to the point on Stockwell tube station where her unarmed son was shot eight times in the head by Metropolitan police officers because he couldn’t understand their words and was clearly not of Caucasian origin. Perhaps it’s both the manner in which suicide bombers have, after July 7th, reached into our lives on the British Mainland AND the callous liberals who have attempted to justify the actions of these sick fucks by saying they were driven to it. Or perhaps it all fits into that catch-all feeling; what Colin Wilson has referred to as ‘astonishment overkill’ – in other words those mixed-up feelings that take place when so many weird things have happened all at once that you can no longer respond appropriately, so you just stare off into space or even, like little children at a funeral, laugh uncontrollably at the farce of it all.

Perhaps I’m also a little scared that my years of railing against invisible Sky Gods and taking the piss out of the Pope, the patriarchy, Jehovah and the Christian God is inevitably leading me – as a Feminist and proud – down the path towards conflict with that other gargantuan monotheistic religion known as Islam. We in the west, even fervent believers, are used to humour being directed at religion. All my Jewish friends – most of whom are New Yorkers with a savage sense of humour – have all their days lived with the vileness of anti-Semitism. But they almost consider it par for the course because, irony of ironies, they are Jehovah’s Chosen Ones NOT because they consider themselves to be any more special than anyone else, but because Jehovah himself chose them and won’t let them out of the deal. Christians too, despite their self-righteous belief that they alone have the franchise on doing good, present no threat to we religious refuseniks – except for America’s Bible Belt Neverland – because Christianity is so long-in-the-tooth that the clergy spend more time pleading with moderates not to leave than they do ushering new believers through the doors. Which leaves all we Multicultural Westerners with a wicked sense of humour KNOWING in our hearts that we ain’t racist, but still fearful of unleashing savagely humorous broadsides against Allah in case moderate Muslims cry just that. Worse still, some touchy and hitherto unknown Muslim extremist may now follow the current vogue for donning “The Backpack”, scattering both himself and us across England. As Irsad Manji, the Muslim authoress of THE TROUBLE WITH ISLAM has commented:

“Our freedom will remain incomplete as long as we don’t make jokes about Allah and his messenger.”

Anyway, I shall conclude on a lighter (and much more righteous) note, and say a big thank you to all the beautiful and bountiful women who made it to the Donor show on the boat in Bristol. In no way do I mean this as a curt dismissal of the gentlemen of the audience, but I know that the presence of foxy ladies who made it to that stinky rustbucket added considerable heft to the performances of both Om and the Heads, because the band members personally told me so, as did Paul the promoter. Also a big thanks to Psychedelic Paul’s new lady Carrie for allowing me temporarily to appropriate the ‘CUNT’ belt that she had just 24 hours before made for Paul. Cunted up as I was, it was particularly poetic, therefore, that Donor chose to perform two songs from the forthcoming DARK ORGASM album that are both dedicated to womanhood and her mistreatment by the male. The lyrics of both “White Bitch Comes Good” and “She’s Gotta Ring On Her Finger (& Another One Through Her Nose)” challenge the notion that the modern male has any real intention of handing over any more power to the female, and performing both in a roomful of rock’n’roll ladies reminded me that the perpetual fight against monotheism is worth every grudgeful step.

Love On Y’all,

JULIAN (LORD YATESBURY)