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Your kind, corpse, we don’t like – Obituary for Margaret Thatcher

April 17, 2013

If by some mechanical lassitude I happen to glance at the newspapers, I fly into a rage. Maudlin obituaries dribble at the centre of this dry rot, London. And what pathetic celluloid wreaths! It’s a remarkable idea to waste any time addressing farewells to a corpse from which the brain and heart have long been removed! Ladies and gentlemen shed all the tears in your body, you have nothing further to expect of this exhausted, flabby memory. It’s over!

What is there about this corpse that moves all those who are the very opposite of emotion and greatness?  Any admirer of Thatcher is a degraded being. Stammer all you want over this rotting thing, you leavings of humanity, servants of the belly, creatures sprawling in filth and money, it is to no avail. As for the rest of us, let us cast a glance of gratitude at the news bulletins that sweep her far, far away.

A little bit of human servility leaves the world, let the day be a holiday when we incinerate traditionalism, patriotism, privatisation and neo-colonial butchery! I have no objection to wasting a word of special scorn on her, for she was the very incarnation of our loathing. Let us remember that the lowest actors of this period have had Margaret Thatcher as an accomplice, and let us never forgive her. Any year deserves a gold star that lays this sinister handmaiden of capital to rest, let it sweep away all that is mediocre about the fiend – the narrowness, the self-satisfaction, the petty interests, the stupidity. She ruled quite badly. Leave a palm on her coffin, may it be as heavy as possible to smother her memory.

To dispose of her corpse, let someone empty out a box of those discredited economics textbooks stained with her name, stuff her into it and dump the whole thing into the Thames. Now that she’s dead, this pathetic, crumpled sack of skin no longer needs to make more dust. It’s as well she will be incinerated like the foul scrap of trash she is, the worms and fishes would gag, puke back this toxic waste, rotten long ago. So, let her go up in smoke! Rejoice! Rejoice! Little enough of her is left: even so, it’s revolting to imagine she has been at all.

Dr. Sofia Himmelblau

(with thanks to Philippe, Paul, André and Louis)

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