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AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 907
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 02, 2004 - 4:33 pm: | 
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Thanks Robert,
great answer, you know I thought long and hard to get something to rhyme with tainted blood and that bloody worm in bud escaped me!
I have to admit that I stole the last part wholesale from 'Soft Cell' but it was so appropriate I couldn't control myself.
Natalie, thank you, and thank you for your images. I do plan to comment on them all, now I'm not on a circus wire. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2184
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 02, 2004 - 5:11 pm: |
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Thanks AP and Natalie.
I'm afraid Soft Cell passed me by, AP.
Natalie, is there any way of enlarging these pictures of yours? Oh how I wish my eyes were better.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 372
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 03, 2004 - 4:08 pm: |
|
Hi AP.Looking forward to your thoughts on the rest of them.I have enjoyed whatb I have read so far!
Robert-cant help I"m afraid.Unless you press the bar next to the exit cross and enlarge that way.
Going into "edit" on the top bar may help too.
Best Natalie |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 921
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 4:42 am: |
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Girly-Girly
(in response to an earlier request on another thread for a description of Thomas Cutbush).
He was quite tall but could appear small
And if tripped he was known to fall
He spoke in tongues
God’s will, will be done
Was fluent in Yiddish
With whores was skittish
And started afore he could Finnish
When one heard him talk
He came from New York
And not to perplex us
Had relatives from Texas
And of course
Kin in the Force
He liked a laugh
And had a moustache
Whore a hat
And killed a cat
He was a young blade
In bad bed maid
Had a spot on his chin
Was quite thin
But podgy in the waste
And grim in his haste
Without much care
He carried ginger hair
And managed a pipe
That sort of type
Not quite the leper
Or salt or pepper
Didn’t buy fruit
But had a suit
Carried a bag of leather
With eyes joined up together.
Was fond of kidneys and cabbage
And looked just like Lilly Savage
And acted exactly the same
With his silly little game
Of tying himself to lamp
And acting quite camp
In blonde wig and bright dress
The passing whores to impress
To help him out of his delusion
Silly lad suffered from an illusion
That he was a whirly girl
The soft drip of pearl
And the smother of lace
All over his face
Then out came the knife
To kill his new wife
He was too girly-girly
Had one in the East
And one in the West
One was a little feast
And one cut in the breast
Two were his daughter
Three were his kin
Five did he slaughter
And one did he skin.
Yeah, man he too girly-girly…
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2194
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 6:27 am: |
|
But sometimes he would go out in disguise
And then if you saw him, you'd get a surprise.
Large handle-bar moustache
Thick enough to store
The organic tosh
He took from a whore,
And ton-up jacket made of leather
Because he would always and for ever
Ride motorised penny farthing
When out at his carving.
He walked around with a limp all day
But what was limp I shall not say.
He looked a bit Jewish
And killed whores who were shrewish.
He was unsure about his gender
And marked all trousers "Return to sender".
But every time he received a dress
He scribbled "Not at this address".
His eyes together were far too near
Because they both were nailed to his ear.
He believed his organs were in motion
And swore that his liver once crossed the ocean
To US of A
Just for the day
Returning by cattle steamer
By way of Peru and Lima.
Sometimes he was stout
And sometimes he was thin.
Sometimes his tongue went out
And sometimes it went in
Depending on whether it would rain
Or whether the sun would emerge again.
He chained himself to a lamppost once
But several dogs soon proved him a dunce.
This very strange fellow
Had feet of bright yellow
His hands were blue
And his nose was too.
His cheeks were green
To add to the scene
And what do you think?
His clothes were bright pink,
And everyone who ever saw him
Had epileptic fit right there before him.
His clothes were loud
And oh my word
For twenty-five miles
They could be heard.
His socks played tunes
And were patterned with runes
Which, translated, "Moss Bros"
(Either that or "Dear Boss").
But I realise my song
Is overlong
So I'm off for a cup
Of Kearley and Tonge.
Robert
|
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 395
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 12:11 pm: |
|
AP very funny and dangerous.Suddenly given this new insight into Cutbush and his predilections
I was lost in the whirligig of words and fantasies.
Seems then we are trying to find the identity of the killer in more ways than one.
Hi Robert,glad to see you back in action.
Very Skilful as well as gruesome.
I liked thi imaginative box of tricks and disguises.
Best Natalie |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 923
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 12:58 pm: |
|
That was epic humour, Robert, a real jolly of a ride with a lot of hoots, and I loved the ending.
You just managed to pack so much in there.
Must see what I can come up with by reply.
Thanks, Natlie, and thanks for your kind comments about my mad musings on your lovely art. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2195
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 1:54 pm: |
|
Thanks AP and Natalie.
AP, I thought your poem was quite magical, and the last verse read like some sinister nursery rhyme.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 925
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 5:35 pm: |
|
The Twins
There’s one to the East
And one to the West
One is a little beast
And another in his vest
The one he take a dress
He come from the West
Other one take a piece
He come from the East
There’s one of ‘em with knife
He go down for rest of life
There one with an awl
Him go down for nothing at all
Oh man, they too girly-girly
Them judges whirly-whirly
They say one is a bad man
‘nother is a sad man
One is a good man
‘nother is a mad man
One of them is a director
One of them is inspector
One of them rich
He get pay the bitch
One of them poor
He can shut the door
One of ‘em he go home bed
One of ‘em shoot himself head
Oh them too girly-girly
The one he cut the hip
The other he just rip
That one get the blame
The other one insane
But father he make treasure
So it her majesty’s pleasure
To release them fool
And seal them jewel
Them so girly-girly
Like the pearly-pearly
So girly-girly.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2198
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 07, 2004 - 6:34 pm: |
|
Great poem, AP, with a strong eerie feel to it. It does almost appear supernatural, this double business.
MR C AND MR C
Oh, Mr C
Yes, Mr C?
I just dig that crazy ripping that you do.
For you slice them up real slick
Pinch their wombs and nip off quick
And the stupid police can only wonder who.
Well, Mr C
Speaking
It's not too deep, as I will soon make clear.
It helps a lot of course
If you've an uncle on the Force
Who will keep them looking anywhere but here.
Hey, Mr C
Yes, Mr C?
Many thanks for clearing up that mystery.
But I can't stand here hobnobbing
'Cause I want to do some jobbing
A la Ripper, Mr Colicott?
A la snipper, Mr C
Robert
|
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 399
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 08, 2004 - 1:32 pm: |
|
I like the witty form and straightforward contrasts of justice.Also if they were too girly girly it would become clear why the authorities took fright until palms got greased that is in the case of the one.I like the format too that speaks as from a minority or outsider voice.Really good stuff.
Robert,
I liked yours too.
Loved the experimental presentation
and ideas
Best Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2200
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 08, 2004 - 6:08 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie.
I based it on an old jazz song involving Bing Crosby and someone else whose name I've forgotten.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 931
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, March 11, 2004 - 11:20 am: |
|
Uncle Charles goes to Court.
‘Well, Race, this is a rum old do isn’t it?’ said Uncle Charles as he took the seat next to the inspector in the half-empty courtroom.
‘Indeed it is, sir,’ replied Inspector Race. ‘But hopefully we will be able to sort out the parlous situation to our advantage, sir.’
‘I thought this might help that process,’ commented Charles as he passed over a heavy velvet bag to Inspector Race. ‘Oil the wheels of justice so to speak, Race, old boy.’
Race opened the bag and peered inside.
‘My god, Charles!’ he exclaimed. ‘There must be at least 50 gold sovereigns in here!’
‘Forty-nine actually,’ uncle Charles commented.
‘By all that is holy, Charles, consider the wheels of justice not only oiled but in full slippery motion, my dear fellow!’ whispered Inspector Race.
‘So we can expect to see this Colicitt chap banged up to rights for all sixty offences on our books, can we Race?’ asked Charles.
‘Banged up!’ cried Race joyfully, forgetting momentarily that he was in the august and silent surroundings of a court room, and thereby earning a strong look of disapproval from the magistrate’s clerk, and hence dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘I can assure you Charles, sir, that this young chap will be nailed to the mast with his undergarments flying in the wind, and that your, nay, our young Jack will have no charges to answer whatsoever… why, we’ll lay them all on this obvious maniac, to think to go round piercing women with an awl as if they were sheep or fish or something like that, at least Jack had the decency to use a knife!’
‘Quite right, Race, and you must also take into account that most of the girls Jack stabbed in the eh? … nether regions so to speak, were Catholics, so that lessens the seriousness of the crimes and charges against him, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Certainly Charles, you have a valid point there but not quite so valid as these splendid 49 gold sovereigns I’m about to place in my jacket pocket. In fact I shall go and have a word with counsel now before proceedings begin.’
‘Good man, Race,’ chortled uncle Charles, lighting up an evil looking Habana cigar and taking a snort from his hip flask.
Inspector Race crossed the courtroom and engaged both counsel for defence and prosecution in earnest discussion which was followed by much nodding of heads and shaking of hands, but as he returned to the pew by uncle Charles he was waylaid by a small silver-haired man of noble appearance in a smart suit and once again an earnest discussion began only to be eventually interrupted by the magistrate making his regal way into the courtroom.
‘Everything taken care of Race?’ asked Charles as Race took his seat.
‘Handsomely, Charles!’ cried Race as he tapped his jacket pocket and placed a finger along his nose.
During the soporific hearing, uncle Charles bored of proceedings of which he knew the result, dropped off and began snoring gently, and as the to and fro of the court continued, a juror unable to refuse Charles’ contented slumbers in the front bench began nodding his head and eventually dropped off, sound asleep.
Inspector Race was immediately on his feet.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt, sir,’ he told the magistrate. ’But that juror is sound asleep, sir!’
‘Good god!’ cried the magistrate. ’You are quite right, sir. Usher, wake that man.’
Amid much tumult the sleeping juror was ejected out of the court.
‘Well this is a rum do indeed!’ exclaimed the magistrate once the court had settled down again. ‘I’m not sure that I know how to proceed with this case now that a jury man has been dismissed.’
‘If I could offer a suggestion, sir?’ asked Inspector Race, again rising to his feet.
‘Please do, my dear inspector,’ instructed the magistrate.
‘Well, sir, this happened in a case I was prosecuting at the Old Bailey sir, and another man from the audience was simply sworn in and proceedings proceeded, so to speak, sir…’
‘Splendid idea, Race!’ roared the magistrate. ‘Who would you suggest we swear in, my dear inspector?’
‘Well, sir,’ replied Race, blushing up a nice red. ‘I do believe I would be eminently suited to the position, sir.’
‘Capital idea, Race,’ cried the magistrate. ‘Come up here my dear boy and take the weight off your feet.’
Inspector Race did as he was instructed and joined the other worthy eleven members of the jury on the bench, and he at least managed to stay awake during the proceedings against young Colicitt.
After several hours of rather vacant prosecution and defence submissions the jury was asked to retire to consider their verdict, and it was here that Inspector Race was able to use his expertise in the matter to convince the other jury members of a suitable verdict.
‘Of course,’ he explained. ‘It is all a case of mistaken identity, you see we have apprehended the real culprit - a certain Thomas Cutbush - and he sits behind bars as we speak awaiting trial for these despicable offences against the flower of our Victorian maidens. So to be fair to all concerned we should release this poor half-wit into the care of his father on a small surety, as there is no evidence whatsoever that this young man injured anyone, the poor chap was just confused and was attempting to get the ladies to show him the way home, it is obvious…’
‘But what about the identifications made by thirty of the ladies,’ interrupted one elderly juror. ’Who swore on oath that Colicitt was the very man who had stabbed them in their particulars, surely we cannot dismiss…’
‘A mere bagatelle my dear Major!’ cried Race. ‘You see Colicitt and Cutbush are like identical twins, you see, why, if I were to march Cutbush in here now you would swear blind that it was Colicitt stood before you, or vice versa… no, no let us pursue the course I have recommended and see that justice is served.’
With this decision made the jury filed back into the court room and made their decision known. After the magistrate had conferred with defence and prosecution counsel he announced his verdict of a Ł200 surety and that prisoner should be given over to the care of his father.
Colicitt’s father - a wealthy city jeweller - stood to thank the court profusely for the humane treatment of his poor baffled son, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the court - apart from uncle Charles who was still soundly snoring away - by the time he had finished.
As the court was cleared Inspector Race went over to thank the magistrate and lawyers for their cooperation and understanding in dealing with such a delicate case.
‘I say, sir!’ exclaimed Inspector Race to the magistrate. ‘What a marvellous gold Rolex watch you are sporting on your wrist, I do believe it to be the same model that I happen to have on my wrist!’
‘Well, well!’ commented the magistrate as he peered closely at Race’s watch. ‘What a coincidence, my dear chap, for it exactly the same model, well I never!’
Counsel for defence also held his wrist up for the inspection of the others.
‘Good grief!’ screamed Inspector Race. ‘You’ve got one too! What a devil of a coincidence, that all three of us should be sporting exactly the same very expensive gold Rolex watch… heavens above!’
Counsel for prosecution shyly lifted his wrist for the others to see.
‘Fantastic!’ screamed the magistrate, quite beside himself in astonishment. ‘The very same model again! Unbelievable!’
‘Quite, sir,’ confirmed Inspector Race. ‘Anyway I must be off now, before the banks close as I have a very large cheque that needs to be banked as a matter of urgency.’
‘Now that is a coincidence, Race,’ cried the magistrate. ‘For I too have urgent need to deposit a large cheque in my bank, perhaps we can walk together?’
‘We’ll come along too!’ cried the lawyers. ‘For just by some miracle and marvel we too need to visit our banks as a matter of urgency.’
‘Come along then gentlemen, we can all walk together,’ suggested Inspector Race. ‘Perhaps we can take a glass of beer afterwards?’
‘What about Superintendent Cutbush?’ asked the magistrate. ‘Surely we should wake him up?’
‘I think we shall let poor old Charles sleep on,’ suggested Race, tapping his jacket pocket where lay the weighty gold sovereigns. ‘The poor old chap has had a hard day of it, and I should like to place a certain amount of distance between us before he awakes.’
An usher poked his head through the door and asked:
‘Sorry gents, but could anybody tell me the time?’
‘Two o’clock!’ screamed the pack in joyful unison.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2207
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, March 11, 2004 - 1:47 pm: |
|
A masterpiece of sunny cynicism, AP. Enjoyed every minute, particularly the business with the watches. I shudder to think what Uncle Charles's reaction will be when he awakes to find the broom lady dusting round him and the court otherwise deserted, but I hope the watches are shock-proof and bullet-proof.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 411
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, March 11, 2004 - 2:49 pm: |
|
Although caricatured and exaggerated in a Dickensian sort of way, this has the same ring of truth about it.The strangely uneven hand of "justice" as differentially handed out to Cutbush and Colicott-outrageous when viewed from here----and why so? A wonderful piece of prose too
AP
Best Wishes Natalie |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 935
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Friday, March 12, 2004 - 1:22 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
I would imagine that uncle Charles would see to it that his old friend Inspector Race was drummed out of the force with a much reduced pension... and then shoot him of course, but perhaps he shot himself first?
Yes, Natalie
the disparity in the sentencing was influenced by 'something' - probably not Rolex gold watches - and the fact that Colicitt appears to have had more offences than Cutbush to answer to is very disturbing. I'd still like to know what happened to dear old James in later years?
I know what happened to Thomas. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 942
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 12:06 pm: |
|
Scare You…by Joe
I asked you not to do it again
Sleep with all those men
They give you cash
But I get a rash.
Last week I derailed a train
And this week I’ll do it again.
The week before I slaughtered a horse
And this week I’ll do it again of course.
I strangled sevens cats
Squashed seven hats
Smashed the lock
& smashed the clock
But you keep doing that thing
And then sometimes sing
That your heart lies over the Irish sea
Well it bloody will if it’s left to me.
So I’ve taken to killing some whores
To settle a few old scores
And I hope you take careful note
Of how I slit ‘em on the throat
And then drag out their guts
To drape on the sluts.
Hope you get me message clear
And from me begin to feel fear
For if I catch you at it once more
You’ll be the next dead whore.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2215
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 1:38 pm: |
|
DEAR JOE
Derailed a train?
And you'll do it again?
Are you drinking too much strong cider?
Or are you a member of Al Quaeda?
Slaughter a horse? Not so fast,
Unless perhaps it came in last.
Five minutes is to short to sleep
With all those men, you fishy creep.
I slept with you, Joe, and there was my crime -
You were making love to me at the time.
Bills have to be paid. I'm a pro. Is that odd?
All you've got is a piece of cod.
Drag out their guts?
You must be nuts.
Squash my hat and I'll squash your head.
One more threat and you're in the shed.
You're just a harmless failure
With a touch of echolalia
Whose idea of getting p*ssed
Is ginger beer and a game of whist.
You Jack the Ripper? Don't try to be funny!
PS. You got any money? |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 943
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 4:11 pm: |
|
But I did it I do solemnly swear!
Ripped ‘em up without a care
Cut ‘em deep with me knife
Just wanted her for me wife
I know I’m just any old sod
I know me real job
Is selling old cod
But I wanted me moment of fame
That’s why I derailed the train
I wanted me name in the paper
To say that I raped her
And then stabbed and sliced
Even killed twice
Ripped out her heart
And that just for start
For I killed them all
Although I’m small
I stood on someone’s shoulder
And that made me much bolder
I pretended they were but fish
And their blood but part of the dish
I’m just a runt
Me knife was blunt
So I called them a rude name
But they called me the same.
I don’t want to be an old fish filleter
I just want to be a sexual serial killer.
Please?
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2217
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 5:04 pm: |
|
Serial killer? No you can't,
Not unless you apply for a grant
And do a course of training
Daily without complaining.
So leave those locomotives
And buy a book of motives.
Blunt knife? Then sue the cutler.
Big cash, then hire a butler
Who'll bring you a dagger
To make you stagger
All nice and sharp -
You can practise on carp.
And when you finally take to the street
One of our guides will be happy to meet
And show you the way
To make crime pay
For when you're banged up behind them bars
You'll still be able to sell memoirs.
We've listed serial killing as an alternative lifestyle
And we'll give you a badge with a face with a nice smile
Saying "Proud to be killing"
And so if you're willing
Send your application -
You could be the next sensation.
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 944
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 5:35 pm: |
|
That's a brilliant idea, Robert.
One of them Jack the Ripper walks and then all them tourists start slicing up whores while Begg, Fido and Rover try to say 'well, here it was where Eddowes met her fate' and there's body parts flying all over the place as Japanese tourists take in the real JtR experience.
Reality collides. Yes, I like that.
Good responses by the way.
We both like Joe so much. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2218
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 14, 2004 - 6:02 pm: |
|
Hi AP
I enjoy these to and fro sessions. I particularly liked the bit about the heart and the Irish Sea.
I think Por Old Joe is a much maligned man. The weird thing is, there are only three posters who really go for Joe as JTR - but they're so active (well, two of them are) that I sometimes feel Joe's been crucified 500 times - and it isn't even Easter yet.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 442
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 15, 2004 - 11:38 am: |
|
Hi AP and Robert,both these go together like twins somehow! Is that intended then?
I enjoyed the wit in both.Terrific.The puns and dizzy dance AP does with words is brilliant.
So too for Robert-I loved the spoof on "society" and its nonsenses which you so gifted at!
Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2220
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 15, 2004 - 2:04 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie. Every now and again AP and I have these exchanges, which we both enjoy. It's nice to know someone else does too!
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 945
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 15, 2004 - 2:14 pm: |
|
Social Terror
As one looks downward from a great height you would see patterns, swirling motions as the colony goes about its normal day-to-day business, these patterns would be determined by time and natural consequence, the arrival of night, sunset, sunrise, the tides flowing in and out, weather patterns and so on. Such natural influence would be charged with social patterning, the pubs would get busier after nightfall, low tide fishermen would be about their business at night if the tides were favourable, prostitutes would use the cover of darkness to ply their entirely trivial but enormously popular trade; lights would cut the darkness and provide points of reference so that social patterning was able to continue, fires would be lit on a cold winter’s night and windows would be opened on a hot summer’s day, and the swirling motions of humanity would continue unabated in every nook and cranny of the colony. There is a comfort in such a concept, there is social order and hierarchy, there is law and order, there is an essential rhythm to the beat of life and death. Even accidents and natural disasters do not halt the constant swirling of humanity, they are acceptable diversion and the mass may have to move around them for a short time period but eventually the mass swallows the whole of the accident or natural disaster and by the morning things are moving along as ever.
But then one poises over this great map of a developing humanity in the year 1888 and watches in awe as for each individual and still unknown event, the patterns actually grind to a halt for a few moments and society becomes a headless chicken that rushes hither and thither to no effect or avail, the swirling patterns are interrupted and the colony for a few brief moments loses contact with its natural masters.
From up high it is like watching small missiles raining down on Whitechapel and hitting specific targets designed to cause the maximum interruption of the social flow of the colony. The colony is used to missiles raining down on them but they always know where those missiles are coming from and this is comforting, it is these missiles that arrive out of the blue of unknown origin and design that do disrupt the natural flow of the colony beyond all recognition of their real destructive power, for they are but harmless squibs when matched against the enormous potential and power of the colony. But nonetheless these little warheads are extremely effective.
The colony in its efforts to understand what is happening to their social structure draw on comforting and well known labels and brands that have always served it well in the past, hence these small warheads are comfortably thought to be but the bizarre sexual desires of individuals within the society, they are not an attack on society but rather an attack on a socially unacceptable grouping within that society.
But is that true? Can we not see in these crimes a frustrated but nonetheless successful attempt to bring the entire colony to a complete halt for a few moments of time in its relentless pursuit of the future.
To scupper it socially rather than sexually?
Then I float above present day Madrid and I see exactly the same thing, massive social disruption, okay more modern, more effective but the same little warheads raining down on the colony to disrupt the swirling patterns, and the further I climb the more I see, the sexuality of the situation disappears and the social context sticks out like mountain ranges.
So when I fly this high I see Jack as a social anarchist rather than a sexual serial killer. I see the first terrorist.
|
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 448
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 15, 2004 - 3:09 pm: |
|
Hi AP,A thought provoking piece and I can follow what you are saying.I may be wrong but I think
GB Shaw saw these events from a similar perspective.
I myself do not see Jack the Ripper as a terrorist.
For me those who would have been called terrorists in those days would have been the assassins of Pheonix Park.Or those who took part in the Sydney Street Conspiracy etc.
Also while I feel the very greatest sympathy
for the victims of the Spanish tragedy I also feel
great sympathy for all those innocent citizens who have died in Iraq as well as the armed forces we have sent there they now total in excess of
12,000 dead.
No for me Jack was either someone so mentally sick he wasnt really responsible for his actions
[which I dont accept was the case with terrorists]
or he was someone who decided to murder because he simply enjoyed it[which I dont think is the case with terrorists].
But It really is a case of what you are looking for because I can see your approach working from a purely anthropological point of view if thats the right word.But isnt Jack more like the delinquent aberrant chimp that Jane[sorry to have forgotten her name] wrote about in the 1980"s?
Best Wishes Natalie |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2221
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 15, 2004 - 4:00 pm: |
|
Hi AP
I think you've put your finger on part of the reason for the slightly supernatural aura that has enveloped Jack since the time of the murders.
Psychiatry, psychology, profiling etc are attempts to understand people like Jack, but ultimately we may have to rely on a thorough knowledge of the brain and how it works if we want to predict their next move.
A story about one of Shaw's relatives may be pertinent here. His grandfather, or uncle, or whatever, used to give tramps and vagrants work on his farm. If the tramp or vagrant gave a sob explanation for being down on his luck, all was well. Shaw said the only person who ever roused his grandfather to incandescent rage was a tramp who said that he wasn't working because in all honesty he was too lazy to work, and therefore didn't want the job offered him! It reminds me of your interview piece a few days ago.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 946
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 16, 2004 - 1:19 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie, for showing some sympathy for my wacky thoughts.
I too relate to what you are saying about the innocent citizens who died in Iraq, but the fragile point I was aiming my rubber-banded bow at was that at least that section of the colony were fully aware of the labelling of what was happening to them, it was ‘war’ - another one of those comfortable labels and designs that ensures great violence is permitted to be committed by the colony on its members with very little moral reckoning. I was attempting to link such attitudes now to such attitudes in the LVP when prostitutes were also clearly labelled products of the colony, disposable that is.
But perhaps more than that I was attempting to capture the sheer shock of events which have no labelling or design, so that the colony is originally at a loss to explain them, eventually sacrificing the reality of those events to the nearest comfortable label, in the case of Jack: ’sexual crimes’; in the case of the Iraqis: ’war’.
And of course in the case of the Madrid attacks: ’terrorist’.
I was just trying to turn things around and give Jack a clear social motive.
It probably didn’t work.
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 947
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 16, 2004 - 1:26 pm: |
|
Thanks for your kind comments Robert.
Yes, we are often happier with a false concept of events and circumstances if it fits better into our scheme of things, and then the truth can often upset us, you are quite right there.
I too enjoy our exchanges immensely, and long may they continue. |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 462
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 16, 2004 - 2:12 pm: |
|
No AP,what you said was understood actually and the way you said it was subtle and also persuasive.I tend to compartmentalise and Jack didnt fit into that particular compartment but its true that Jack"s behaviour was so off the wall
that it stunned everyone and then they brushed themselves down once the initial shock began to wear off and began to try to what?compartmentalise Jack!!![oh and fit his behaviour into their neat little scheme of things!
Natalie |
Caroline Anne Morris
Chief Inspector
Username: Caz
Post Number: 877
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 17, 2004 - 10:58 am: |
|
Pssst!
Stuns and shocks
Shocks and stuns
Man with knife
Or men with guns
Shocks and stuns
Stuns and shocks
Girl who streaks
With bright pink socks
Bombs to get noticed
Bugger the ‘cause’
Hungry press killing
For newly ripped whores
If I might mention,
While passing through
And grabbing your attention,
Terrorists do
Whatever it takes
To grab ours too,
Wherever it makes
The most ado.
Stun and shock
Shock and stun
Was Jack’s way too
Of showing who’d won.
Love,
Caz
|
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 470
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 17, 2004 - 1:33 pm: |
|
Nice one Caz,and oh so true!Best Nats |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 949
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 17, 2004 - 2:00 pm: |
|
Yes Caz
very enjoyable and quite hip-hop.
Stun and Shock for Jack & Shock and Awe for the Iraqis. Connections of a sort to stick our labels on. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2231
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 17, 2004 - 2:08 pm: |
|
Very nice indeed, Caz. Why don't you come on this thread more often? Maybrick isn't going to do a bunk!
Robert |
Tiddley boyar
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Thursday, March 18, 2004 - 2:29 pm: |
|
Caz, would be grateful if you could e-mail me at work if possible. simon.davies@hmps.gsi.gov.uk before saturday night or my home one after saturday. cheers carl . Tiddley boyar |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 950
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Friday, March 19, 2004 - 1:26 pm: |
|
Escape from Dutfield’s Yard
With chicken grease and old sow’s lard
Did I slippery escape from Dutfield’s Yard
Through the old fence I slid and slide
And escaped through slat one inch wide
But in the gutter I pooled into fat
And remained stuck where I sat
A passing copper commented grim
‘here lad you look a bit thin!
You’re nowt but skin and bone
I better carry you back home!’
But when the rosser tried a grip
Right out of his arms I did slip
‘Blimey!’ he cried. ‘You’re all grease
And oiled
Like some boiled
Geese!
Here, let’s get a good feel
You slippery little eel!’
And as I set up to scream and bawl
He wrapped me up in nearby shawl
And with that he lifted me in air
And there I floated without a care
While all around was hue and cry
‘bout some old tart who did die
A most cruel form of death
Quite choked without a breath
And stabbed here and there
By some killer who didn’t care
But I couldn’t give a damn of course
For I was safe in the arms of the Force.
When we reached my street
He set me down on me feet
‘Shall I see you into the porch?
Here, you can see it in me torch
It’s such a dark night!‘
He asked most polite.
So just as polite I replied as I lifted me cap:
‘Kind sir, just post me through the letter flap.’
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2233
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Friday, March 19, 2004 - 2:29 pm: |
|
If I kill there again, I'll be on my guard
And escape down the WC in the yard.
A WC, and not a commode -
I'll just flush myself right under the road
Emerging from manhole cover
Some place or other,
Maybe come out in Mitre Square
And do another one there,
Or Abberline's loo hitting
While he's there sitting
And give him a jobbing
To set his a*se throbbing.
This Victorian underground
Helps me really get around.
'Tis only a penny a ride
And it's nice and warm inside.
It's the Bakerloo Line without the baker,
I find a lone whore and then I take her.
I don't like society
And fake propriety
But as for fare-dodging, I can't stick it
And I never rip without a ticket.
I won't take the blame for my jolly old crime.
No need - I'll just pin it on Harry Lime. |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 486
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Friday, March 19, 2004 - 3:02 pm: |
|
What rollicky frollicy escapades these are {BY Jove!]How did you get them to match so well?
Put me in mind of a two seated bog or double manhole somehow!
Brilliant though.I Laughed all the way through to the end!
Best Natalie. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2234
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Friday, March 19, 2004 - 5:26 pm: |
|
Thanks Natalie. AP, I loved your greasy tale. With such a tiny Jack, we'll soon be in Goon territory, with Jack hiding in Watkins's trouser turn-up.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 952
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, March 20, 2004 - 3:16 am: |
|
Thanks folks.
Really enjoyed your salvo as well Robert and am working on part two of that slippery little devil called Jackie boy now.
I note that a copy of this year's poetry prize - missing a certain person's signature that is - is up for grabs on ebay and they are asking a tidy sum for it indeed. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 954
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, March 20, 2004 - 11:59 am: |
|
Aye, you’ll take the underground
And I’ll take the over ground
But I’ll be Jack before you, I bound
- While you sit at lost and found -
Over fence and hedge like hound
On Chase
For the race
So fire up your steam
Smoke sodden dream
And chug along in my wake
You get the tea and me the cake
Make sure your ticket is punched
While I sit down to a good lunch
Make sure you have correct fare
And that the conductor does tear
Your ticket in two
That’s me and that’s you…
And if you’re planning to take a life
Don’t forget to pack your knife
For without a sharp blade
No incision can be made
But you’ll find I was first
And you the curse
Of being late
For important date
With fate
That’s me
As you’ll see
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2236
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 21, 2004 - 5:02 am: |
|
Hi AP. Sorry it's a bit late but it's been a bit hectic here.
Sorry if I appear a nutter
But your greasy Jack is a man of butter
Who's spreading himself too thin,
So how could he hope to win?
By you he's fancied
But he'll soon go rancid
Or else he'll melt
And have his collar felt.
The police will spoil his caper
And wrap him in greaseproof paper.
What's more, to confound his boast
They'll probably have him on toast.
His knife may be sharp, you understand
But it will slip from his oily hand
And clatter down drain -
My domain.
Why shouldn't my Jack go out slumming
In excellent Victorian plumbing
Emerging by bog and bath
While yours lards the earth like Sir John Falstaff?
I'm off for a cup of tea
But it's buttered toast for thee.
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 955
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 21, 2004 - 11:06 am: |
|
Oh! That’s a laugh…
Sir John Falstaff!
I’ll take your toast
But it’s you I’ll roast!
Although my Jack might be thin
Over your Jack he’s bound to win
And although my Jack might be small
The coppers do look for someone tall
Like your Jack
In black top-hat
And long black cloak
Funny old bloke!
Oh my Jack’s knife is sharp all right
And it’ll be even sharper on the night
This time he might take two
This time he might take you!
So now we have two Jacks about
I’ve told mine to take yours out
So if you do hear a sudden shout
Your Jack my Jack has given a clout
I’ve instructed him to be fair
And to leave your Jack some hair
But to take his teeth and heart
And then to rip him apart
While my Jack has good laugh
There’s only room for one Jack on the street
Two of ‘em will get under their feet
They’ll keep colliding
And dividing
In a whirlwind of steel
So I suggest a deal:
Weekends your lad can maim and kill
By Monday he will have had his fill
Then my boy can step in
With a killing on Monday begin
And then come Friday night
Your lad will be spoiling for a fight
Bank holidays they might want to share
And murder together the happy pair.
What say you? Shall we shake a hand
And form this merry little band?
|
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 495
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 21, 2004 - 12:15 pm: |
|
Hey you two you cant
come here
Givin us grief over
movin in step
We take it in turns
to go to the loo
No other patients
are synchronised so
that they hop
from their beds
and bash their behinds
at the very same time
and have these fist fights
about who was first
Its just as well that
Charles isnt here
or you"d both have
been sectioned
and sent to the bin!
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2239
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, March 21, 2004 - 1:40 pm: |
|
Upon my word! I'm the real Jack!
You, sir, are the economy pack.
But just to show I'm not greedy
And feel for the needy
(However seedy)
I'll grant you the killing days you request
Even though you're a terrible pest.
Better to have one's head in a hat
Than encased in a tub of cooking fat.
By God, sir! You give us rippers bad name
And quite queer the pitch for our jolly old game.
We are all tarred
With your brush ill-starred
And face discrimination and griping,
Prejudice, and stereotyping.
See how you have frightened poor Miss Severn
(An artist whose brushstrokes were made in heaven)
With your attitude cantankerous
And discourse rancorous.
For shame, sir, for shame! 'Tis better by far
To put the 'kill' in 'killing' than the lard in 'lardy-da'.
|
|
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