OMG! Arse! Tourettes2Txt whatthefuckisthat? I'm blagging this post Live! & direct from Broadway Market, Arse! on my mobile telephonic apparatus, so bare with me, Arse! if there r any mustard gas cos they didn't have this potlatch in 1666 an i'm also fucking cunting using an organic, bio-degradable, puddle-based, Zola Budd carbon footprint, exclusive to Broadway Market - The 101% Astrology:Tourettes 2txt Killer-App!:¬(), lol™Arse!
The Police have closed Broadway Market the cunts! It's hemped off. The market was fair-trade organick buzzing with expectation this morning, when a rumour spread like the inevitable destruction of Gaia, that Spirit or the spirit of Spirit or the coconut man formerly known as Spirit had returned and was somewhere on or near The Market!
A frantic search entailed, which I must say felt more like a Hue and Cry as if Mumia Abu-Jamal had escaped death row, than the return of the second coming of the prodigal son, the founding father, the progenitor of all our dreams to make Hackney, Goa, not Gaia.
Andrew Veitch downed a huge bottle of whisky - the kind that gets filled up with punters spare coins for blind-dogs in a shit Hackney boozer until some clever Robin Hood smashes it & redistributes £19.11p + 1 used condom & an index finger - in 1 gulp & began howling: 'He'll spoil the party! He'll piss on everyone's ontological smoothie the 1-Love, I&I On&Onanistic, Jah Rastafari, Babylon shite he spouts! Put 1 of these fucking Spirit bags over his head! He's a fucking nuisance! A terrorist! Kendo Nagasaki! Where's Charlie Collins? Charlieee!
Andrew Boff, soon to be knighted um, King of Hackney... And the man who has championed Spirit's cause, right from the very moment it was as clear as an egg is not an egg, (that's being Stalinist, eggs come in all shapes and increasingly expensive sizes) that Spirit had not a hope in Hackney of staying in his shop, and that the very process of kicking him out, would if 'we' don't mm queer the pitch...enable sundry/saturday parasitic vermin to organically coin it.
Boff quickly commissioned an off-duty police helicopter off soulmate Brian Paddick of the backyard & has dropped thousands of flyers over The Market like a massive inter-racial money-shot! Churchill-like in Sydney Street, disseminating the blackest of black propaganda -think Simon Hughes in Bermondsey & his homophobic smearing of Peter Tatchell in 1983 (if Spirit is not Jesu, then maybe Tatchell is, for publically forgiving that bastard, there's no way I would, I'd have got Charlie Bronson in...):
Asked by the Independent whether he was gay, he replied: "No, I'm not. But it absolutely should not matter if I was." On Thursday, Mr Hughes said his reply had not been untrue, saying his relationships with both men and women meant he was not easy to "pigeon hole". But he said: "I apologise if I misled people, I apologise if I unintentionally gave the wrong impression."But I hope people will understand why people in public life try to put that sort of fence around them."And I hope they will understand that it shouldn't disbar people - not just me but anyone else - from public office or doing a job which I want to do and want to do well." Mr Hughes was elected to Parliament in 1983 in a bitter by-election battle in Bermondsey against gay Labour candidate Peter Tatchell.In one election leaflet, the Liberals presented him as the "straight choice".
The flyers are suggesting that Spirit was no longer the same man! He has variously been: Possessed by fleeing Haitian zombies, a Philip K Dick automaton, a bit like that bloke who said he'd drowned in a canoe, MP Shiel & the Kingdom of Redonda, Billy Wilder's The Fortune Cookie - where Walter Matthau's crooked lawyer fast-talks Jack Lemmon into an insurance fraud. Or even like the CPGB full-timers who got summoned to Congress in Moscow & returned able to speak perfect Russian but with no English whatsoever & necked a bottle of vodka a day slurring to the wife with slashing motions, to shave their backs.
But if Spirit was not here, where was Spirit? Who was the Spirit that was here that no-one could find? That's where the Filth came in! Called by The Broadway Market Tenants & Residents group on the grounds of there being a state of National Emergency in the Principality of B-M!
The most obvious place Spirit would attempt to spirit himself away or seek Spiritual sanctuary like the Dalai handreared Lhama, surely would be the Fin and Flounder. The place he rightfully calls his x-home. Except of course it isn't! Going on & on about 'natural' justice, how tiresome is that! It's a fucking Market for godsake, it doesn't matter whether yr selling snakeoil or organick oliveoil! He won't accept the British legal system (the best in the world I hasten to add), which has repeatedly found against him in his bid to circumvent the iron law of property!
If Spirit had won his case, just imagine all the different buildings dotted round Hackney that were formerly schools, libraries, laundries etc, that obscenely now house luxury bhurgers who weekly munch exorbitant burgers in the comfort of their gated luxury hutch. All that land that was grabbed could be grabbed back! What! The compulsory & immediate requisition of Hackney council-owned buildings that were sold off without the citizens of Hackney agreeing? It would be the end of the Market, the party, the organick granary bun-fest comrades! The end of the fucking world!
No! No! No! Find where Spirit is and shoot the fucker!
Yet hours have passed and still no sign of Spirit...
And then in an inspired move, Hackney's Churchill - Luke Akehurst was Ironsided onto the crime scene and called without hesitation for the Ghostbusters! The Spooks! Harry Houdini! Anyone actually, who could locate Spirit & debunk the Spirit-myth, without of course revealing the extent of the charlatanism, skulduggery, buried bodies & recycled brown paper bags containing some mm, quantitative easing.
Tony found Spirit. When he heard over the fence, that Boff was offering a reward of a field of organic cucumbers for Spirit dead or alive! He smelt a new smoothie coming on & pinball-like bounced his glass eye up & down & round & blurted out - 'Spirit's holed up in me shop!'
Spirit oh Spirit! What a falling off was there! Instead of coming back as Jesus, Odysseus, Paul Gadd, unrepentant & triumphant - Spartacus heading for yr spiritual home opposite the Cat & Mutton, you clamber down from Tony's roof into the very bowels of the Greatest Hackney Occupation since The Vortex in Stokey...actually that was 2 years later wasn't it.
But Spirit is not coming out! He keeps shouting out through a bollard that he is 'Doing an Eli Hall!' and that he has taken the 2 most beautiful & peaceful members of the Broadway Market community, The Gaffers - James Ó Nuanáin & Alistair Maddox hostage! And that, if he is not returned to his rightful place as the sole & only purveyor of foreign muck on The Market within 3 hours, 'The 2 cockney wide-boys bastards get it!'
Let no-one be in doubt, Spirit is serious! Mad of course, but serious. We've all heard and endured the awful blood-curdling screams & howls of anguish coming from 1 of poor James or Alistair's orifices, it's not that clear which...If only it were the hatchet he was burying! No, Spirit is systematically burying various very expensive organick produce he liberated from The Market earlier, (people were either too kind, too polite or shame-faced to ask him to pay materially not Spiritually out of his non-existent, hard-earned. They buried Bob Marley in a paupers grave! Hang on no, that was Jacob Marley) slowly but surely, one by one, deep, deep, deeper down, down where the sun doesn't shine...Aaaaaaaagh!...(I think that was Alistair, you begin to pick up the different timbres of the screams after a while).
The last thing I heard Spirit declaim through his bollard was - 'Time to play hide the sausages, bratwurst, deep-fried saveloy! You name it, it's going up their arse! Give me my emporium back now!'
And that's where we are as I blag to you now via my bastard shitting mobile. There's an impasse, a stand-off. Like Jesus in Arimethia, Spirit's in Tony's caff. We await the the symbolic rock being rolled back! The roof being lifted off by the Scotch Guard, who are wheeling about now in the fading light - helicopters, parachutes, unmanned drones, tactical airstrikes, covert intelligence gathering...
I can just see now the star of the Dragon's Den & International Celebrity, Hot-Pepper Jerk Sauce Manufacturer - Levi Reggie-Reggie Roots! Along with other influential figures from the black community - Jim Davidson, Lenny Henry (aka Ainsley Harriot), who have been brought in specifically to talk Spirit down or out & flog various Water-rats, Celebrity Squares, 1984 Grand Hotel Brighton freebies, because after all this is a Market! If we ever forget that & get ideas above our stall, where would we be? Walter Benjamin lugging 10.000 pages of The Acades over the Alps & still committing suicvide, that;s where! And now conjoined by the spawn of good people from the Divine Church Kingsway International. Who's Pastor, Mumbo-Jumbo-Burstyerheadlikeayam Jnr, has started to holler & bear witness...
Oh Lord, this is the moment of Judgment! A Revelation! Day shall turn forever to Night! T'is Spirit's 2nd Coming! Not bad for an old man who worships the Dwarf Sallasie! Good taste in pets & moors though! The End of the World is Nigh! Let our Holy Kingsway Buckets ooze & overbrimmeth with filthy lucre! Not water into wine my friends! But Holy-Buckets into Nigerian Rolls Royce's, kidney-shaped swimming pools. And kidney-shaped kidneys wrenched out & fed to Murder Mile for anyone who crosses us! Hallelujah! Praise The Hoard!
