Wednesday, 9 June 2021

Nobody Knows you are a Mustelid

He's a nutter
What's going on? Three posts in three days. Surely, the esteemed Flaxen is complying with his full medication programme.

I recently received an email criticising my prose style. The thrust of the missive suggested that my writing is too florid, too ostentatious and peppered with unnecessary embellishment. I'm guilty as charged, me Lord. Some folk take 'The Blogging World' far too seriously.  

Yes, my style is all the above. The affectation is in keeping with my blogging persona. In the real world, my prose is tight, unencumbered and sparsely fashioned. This reflects my professional writing style. In other areas of endeavour my writing is also clipped and my sentences crisp, short and devoid of ornamentation. I'd rather use the simple Anglo-Saxon word than the Latin; my blog is the exception, not the rule. 

It could be said that my 'Blogging Peculiarity' is designed to be admired rather than understood. On the internet no one knows that you are a sad old man with a tenuous grasp on sanity teetering on the brink of bleak despair and endowed with a ferret fixation. Truth can be stranger than fiction.     

The blogging world is a strange odd place, indeed. Tis an eclective market place of diverse interests and motivations. All is paraded in serried array. All can accessed at the click of a ferret, err, I mean mouse.

Nothing on my blog can be understood in the context of serious intent, although many of the topics addressed contain serious content. My frivolity of expression is meant to be entertaining while delivering an important message (perhaps, sometimes). I'm sure many of my readers can see through the façade. However, the real Flaxen Saxon will not stand up. I value, and acknowledge my creativity and eccentricity as a gift from my schizophrenic mother. And who said nothing good comes from madness? To be honest I'm quite nonconformist, odd and eccentric in real life- just ask Shagger. Although, when required I can be serious, but not for long.

The downside of my genetics is that, sometimes, I'm stalked by the melancholic 'Black Dog' of despond. It snaps at my heel, and on rare occasions, draws blood. As for the cacophony chasing through my mind, I will say this: it can be a solace and a curse. It is unceasing and cannot be tuned out or turned off. Tis something I've learned to live with. I've been informed, by professionals who should know better, that the incessant 'thought jumble' can be stopped with drugs. I've eschewed treatment as I realise that my whole being is predicated on my deviation from the norm (two standard deviations). 

Even in this piece, which is supposed to be a serious explanation of my online persona, I can't escape that persona.   

So there you have it. Perhaps not a full, annotation of my off-beat personality but tis all I'm willing to give. Otherwise, you would gain entry to my mind. This, I can't allow, for undoubtedly, frank unmitigated madness would ensue.    

Say hello to Shagger


  1. Aah. Hello Shagger.
    I like your (fair Saxon, not Shagger) style, your wimsy, your ramblings up the byways of life.
    You amuse and inform, and spread a little sunshine.
    Like Beachcomber, Milligoon, Lear, Carroll.
    Now pollies are a different matter. Matter, as in what comes out of a squeezed plook.
    They ramble and disseminate in order to mislead, confuse and pontificate while saying nothing. Hear Peter Sellars Party Political Speech.
    How I long for a politician who answers some long, convoluted, sycophantic or hostile question, in the meedja or in parliamentary debate by just saying "Yes" or "No" and then sitting down. The House, Senate, whatever fancy name they give their high cost talking shop would be stunned.
    The meedja correspondents speachless. Like somebody dying, what did he mean by that?

    1. Politics and politicians is a rum affair. The folk who aspire to lead are generally not fit to 'serve'. They are there for self aggrandisement; to line their pockets with gelt stole from the populous; they obscure and lie. A wretched bunch indeed. How can democracy work under these circumstances when our so called 'leaders' are all self serving cunts.

  2. Hello Shagger.

    "On the internet no one knows that you are a sad old man with a tenuous grasp on sanity teetering on the brink of bleak despair and endowed with a ferret fixation." That's me, that is. Apart from the ferret fixation. :-)

    1. Sorry, I forgot to sign off appropriately.


    2. Hi Frank, I'm working on the ferret fixation as we are not allowed to have ferrets in NZ. Supposedly they were killing the native wildlife. Tis all bollocks as ferrets are tame and do not thrive in the wild. But what about cats? Of course wise politicians don't go there- would lose too many votes. Hypocritical bastards. As for Shagger, he lives in my mind only. He is long gone sometime in the 1960s. He was my granddad's ferret: cute but vicious. My hands are covered in a network of livid scars as a testament to his 'snuggles'- I loved that ferret. My grandpa, not so much.

  3. A belief (or realisation) that at best your grip on sanity is tenuous is proof that you are indeed, unfortunately completely sane.

    It's all the other buggers who profess to be normal and rational who turn out to be complete screwballs upon closer examination.

    1. Indeed Ted, I'm sane. I've seen true madness in my mother and it scares me so much that I decided not to go there. But of course, sanity is a diverse spectrum upon which all of us are placed, and hopefully fixed. Guess which end I'm on? I've embraced my eccentricity and don't give a fuck what other folk think. It might not bring happiness (tis an elusive bastard at best) but I am content with myself. That is the best a man can hope for in this fucked up world, don't you think Ted?

    2. Being content with yourself is the best hope of being happy in this world. I agree totally that sanity is but a part of the entire spectrum of mental/emotional/intellectual states, and I strongly suspect that both our positions on said spectrum are probably very close - it must be something in The Black Country wot does it. I have received more 'slings & arrows' in the last six months than in most of the preceding 70 years: and although I am well aware of any of my doings which have been contributary, I won't wallow in self-pity or think thal life is unfair. Life itself is supremely indifferent, neither fair nor unfair - life just 'is'. There are a (very) select few whose opinion of me matters but they're very few and far between. I neither seek nor need the approbation of others. To some this might sound like arrogance but it isn't. I expect the great majority have as little concern for my thoughts as I have for theirs. One can aspire to a change of circumstances in any way but if it's going to be the end of your world if it doesn't happen, you'll probably never be happy. Contentment, to me, really means acceptance - overlaid with a good coat of reality.

      Apropos of nothing, might I introduce you to 'The Britisher' - - should life in your antipodean Xanadu leave you the time, this chap is (non-academic, I believe) entertaining and usually unerringly accurate in his observations. His reviews of the week just past, and his 'Woke History of the World' are deserving of a wider audience.

      A bientôt

  4. Whether it was Boaks or another, I remember seeing an electoral candidate cycling with a kennel on wheels and the slogan 'Every Dog Should Have A Warm Bed.'

    1. A great English eccentric. May they continue to reign.

  5. Re Shagger, his move strapline: "In the warren no one can hear you scream."