slowly drifting towards collective madness and individual political stupidity...

As Italy is going down the European tube of whatever conflicto-revolutionistadori because of “populism” that is against the dilution of the Italian mind, and for the retention of the landscape and the linguaggio — Italy being a recent conglomeration — a mess of piddly kingdoms till barely 157 year ago (17 March 1861) — the world itself, namely the Western World, as the descendant of a cracked-up Roman Empire allied with a hypocritical Christianity that is lending its hats to a girly Met fashion in New York, is accelerating towards its own demise in the same glorified uber Milano cat-walk models manner — mincing under bright spotlights for the glossy magazine scandal sheets, with barely any underwear, because of gross sexual exploitation in advertising.
Mad? Me? Try the Ukrainian secret service for starters. Their goons staged the fake killing of a Russian journalist to embarrass the Russians but only managed to look like deranged fake news manufacturers at the service of the CIA.
The only retardant down this precipice of inanity is the US empire’s army that is now completely lost at sea and is neo-fumbling on land, while trying to make sense of its own turgid existence in the sandpits of the Middle East in the beige uniforms and the high boots of war. 
Hollywood and its decadent derivatives produce many shows — from NCIS to SEALS — about this patriotic delusion as if it was a true portrait of a glorious defence of the homeland democratic rights to muck up abroad, to people who never understood anything else but the noise and smoke from guns, while living in tumbleweed country — where they also used to hang blacks not a long time ago. 
The US presidency has inevitably also gone to the dogs of delusion while the various US political parties still try to win the poor deplorable populace by aligning themselves with the rich billionaire rat-bags. It does not add up, not even on an end-of-year spread-sheet. It feels a bit fake, like the fake news that daily feed the system of sewer-drains to the murky sea with the rotten smell of putrid history, mediocre media shit and tax evasion.
Why are we still fighting wars? Who knows. Yet we blame many things but ourselves for this glittering decadence on the way to forever hating peace. We love the growth of this business-as-usual, believing it’s like an unstoppable benign disfiguring cancer towards beauty, like a necessary pain, the sustainability of which relies on blowing up something with military stuff that we need to replace with more exploding military stuff. 
We know this is impossible to sustain economically as we run out of profitable targets to rob, such as oil fields versus the cost of army, impossible politics as we run out of confused excuses into hubristic nothingness, nor religiously as our morals stink beyond beliefs as if god had made us mortal to punish us for having done something wrong before we started. Eventually, we’ll have to tackle the big ones: rob Russia and rob China, one at a time. That’s the plan.
We are killing ourselves every time we go to the supermarket and come back with shopping in recyclable plastic bags that end up killing whales. 
So, without blinking, I can say that Tony Abbott was "the worst Prime Minister this country ever had". I studied most of them from Edmund Barton onwards, including their “White Australia” underlings in ministerial nappies. I know. That’s my firm opinion. But apparently journalists can't say that "Tony Abbott was the worse PM this country ever had"… I have been told unreservedly that I don’t understand “journalism” if I don’t understand that journos can’t say this. Fair enough, if the truth cannot be said then journalism is not for me. So, journalists can’t tell the truth, because… Because? Is Tony waiting in the wings to be recycled like yesterday’s dog shit? Am I being too harsh?
Tony Abbott, PM, was even worse than McMahon, who to tell it like I saw it back then in the early 1970s with my own eyes, was an excellent PM because, as ineffectual as he was, he did not touch anything much as he let the country coast along on already institutionalised policies. No fiddle. Well, some journalists had different views. Laurie Oakes, journalist and bon vivant, described McMahon as "devious, nasty, dishonest — he lied all the time and stole things”. So may be something could be said about Tony Abbott learning political techniques from old Billy mixed with his Santamaria religious fascism… If this does not turn you into the worst Prime Minister, one has to go to the Einstein Theory of Relativity in order to avoid this absolutism.
When Billy went to visit Dicky Nixon in Washington, with his wife Sonia, she was the one who created the real distraction by wearing a scant dress full of holes… I knew Lady MacMahon… Great person. Well I did not really know her, but I met her a few times at official functions, especially at the burial of someone who had been on the rent-a-crowd A-list. She loved these funeral events and was an elegant stunning cookie, with a coif slightly younger and more stable than Gus’s hair on a windy day. Tony Abbott’s wife shops at Vinnies.
Thus I can’t tell you of my days as a Russian spy during the cold war, which allowed me entry to these high society piss-ups with French Champers and “canapés” served with discreet white-gloved snooty waiters. To say that I was like one of them rich oily oligarch would be pushing the altered truth a bit far, considering my ancestry has a bit of Teutonic blood as well — though far less than the good English Royal Family of her Maj Herself, now being diluted with young American stock. 
Despite improving royal comforts and flushing toilets with slow-closing seats that leave you time to be philosophical about where is all this is going to, we live in a more and more dysfunctional human world with castle arrow-slit facing the ever-growing rubbish tips. 
We are distracted away from this increasing annoying reality by looking through smaller and smaller illusionary pixelled windows. It’s now entertainment for one, like cup-o-soup in a pre-packaged throwaway container. Every one lives their little world through the iPhone or Fitbit looking-glass in which everything is tailored including the size of the gizmo for one person only. It’s hard to share a small screen without loosing the plot, as our fingers get the twitch to move on, and flick the image incessantly. At least when cinema was invented, it was the flickering continuation of theatre for the multitude where people could be indoctrinated as a group in a big darkened room, rather than through individual lonesome brainwashing in full light. The present result is further disconnection from others — a situation which satisfies any government as they know what our fingers are doing. This means that we cannot revolt en masse together at once anymore since we don’t know what other real people look like, or think — except we all follow Big Brother Google, our digitized father in heaven.
On the subject of Royal Rubbish, I would suggest, if I may, that the Australian government invests in paying recyclers to employ more people to recycle recyclables rather than dump recyclable stuff in big holes that look like untidy mountains. This would make sense, but then the Australian government does not have any sense.
The present governing politicians hate recyclables and renewables, except old precious heirlooms that they are ready to recycle into lower status rubbish — like moving a very good Sydney museum to a glorious and upcoming provincial hole called Parramatta. They need to get a life other than looking at their next electoral navel or the next pay-check from the developers. Good old Billy McMahon did not do anything apart from looking like Sid James, mind you without the infectious laugh. John Gorton was a better social investor than say Malcolm Turnbullshit who lost his glorious mojo soon after he threw Abbott out, but considering Malcolm also recognised that "Abbott was the worse PM this country ever had" and needed someone a bit less worse to do less worse things, we can say thank you Malcolm, but don’t overstay your welcome. 
In my various mad capacities, I am presently looking at the lives of some Australian soldiers who died in the bloody battle fields of France. They get medals. Well, their families got the medals, because they have no idea where the bits of bodies are — and the unknown soldier monuments could be made to house various soldiers' unknown bits. 
I don’t do this for fun but to fathom what illusions led people into this sort of crap designed to be the last big war before the next one on behalf of civilization, while the US is still pushing on with more of the same shit as they steal their way towards full decadence, by recycling the same twisted propaganda which resonate like godly commandments in the empty zombie vessel we call our brain. We learnt nothing from our silly venture in Iraq, nor from anything before.
I must be getting too old. my patience that I had preciously cultivated to achieve semi-greatness in my own mind, is running out. May be I am pissed off at young pimply kids who get famous by singing crap songs at Eurovision and have the intelligence of an abandoned pine-plank on a disused building site, as they get more recognition than I ever could get by working hard all my life. I will get the last laugh by dying sooner than them… but I am lazy on this score.
Trump is now slapping a 25 per cent tariff on Chinese-made electronic goods… He wants to bring back the job of making iPhones and iComputers to America. All this will do is you will have to pay more for your cell-phone and your computer — and they will still be made in China. 
This is why we need to make our brain cells understand the “chronology” of Trump’s deal making (or no-deal making). First, you blast the Chinese phones as having programs to “spy on you”. So you ban the Chinese phones for the public service. Then you blame the Chinese for stealing “your” technology that you gave them to use for building your cheaper phones… Anyway, my phone company had to reassure me with a text that my cheap Android will still operate magically despite the recent ban and the US commercial restrictions. Not that I look at it as an information hub, like the kids who seem to be glued to the images as their strained eyesight fades into cataract before age. No, I use it as a… phone. I don’t ring anyone. 
May be I should buy myself a Maserati to help the Italian car industry and the world oil pumps, drive it on two lanes, like an old man with a hat and three near-naked chicks on board. That will piss off the young ones. That would be my personal revenge, but they already have one — or a few fast Italian cars and far more adoring besotted chicks than I could afford. Bugger.
This brings me to the reassuring news that should we encounter aliens, which we have not according the Fermi paradox telling us we should have, we’ll be treated like an ant-hill on the highway of alien development. But I’m not so sure. We might eradicate ourselves before that, in disgust using the now robotic US empire, in a final gesture of good will. Unluckily, we’ll be gone by the time The Planet of the Apes, minus Roseanne, could have taught us how civilization could be.

Gus Leonisky
local ancestor of planetary spin.