Thinking Metal Music

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17-Nov-25 Welcome to Cacophony

The concept behind Cacophony was born some fifty years ago one Monday afternoon in March 1975. Somehow, and I’m not entirely sure how, my mother found a copy of Playboy magazine that I’d secreted away under my bed some days before. Said magazine was hidden between two weighty tomes, namely The Sunday Times World Atlas and the Reader’s Digest Mammoth book of Archeology, so how she found the magazine remains a mystery to this day. However, find it she did and the magazine was suitably confiscated. Later that day, I was put before the parental equivalent of a Kangaroo Court, presented with the evidence and invited to plead guilty or innocent.

I told the truth.

Q. Is this your magazine?
A. Yes, it is my magazine.

Q. Did you buy it?
A. No, I didn’t buy it. I found it under a bench in the Leazes Park.

Q. Why do you bother with this utter trash?
A. For the articles.

Q. For the articles? Really? Do you expect us to believe that?
A. Yes, really. I'm telling the truth.

I'm not here to debate the merits of Playboy. I'm here to talk about censorship and freedom of expression. That's what Cacophony is all about. Cacophony is about the right to have an opinion of your own. The right to say what's on your mind without fear of persecution.

There are many, many people walking streets these days who would very much like you to shut the fuck up and stop talking. Doesn't matter what you're talking about so long as you shut up and listen to them. The narrative runs like this. Stop thinking for yourself. Do as you're told. Don't question the narrative. Don't argue with those who know better than you do even if they manifestly do not know better than you.

It gets better. It really does. If you don't think like me then we can't be friends. You said a bad thing so we can't ever talk about what you did because I'm right and you're wrong, and there's no inbetween. We won't debate you or talk to you. We'll just cancel you. Don't like it? Tough.

It takes a special kind of person to think like that. We call them idiots.

There's another aspect to 70's Playboy that I'd like you to consider. Incidentally, I have no idea what modern Playboy looks like or what their editorial policy is because I haven't seen a copy of the magazine in decades.

I'd like you to consider the calibre of the writers who appeared in Playboy around that time. Here’s a short list : Ray Bradbury, Margaret Atwood, Jack Kerouac, Roald Dahl, Stephen King, John Steinbeck, Ursula Le Guin, Ian Fleming, Arthur C Clarke, Norman Mailer, Kurt Vonnegut and Gore Vidal.

That’s in impressive roster, right? How many of those writers now appear in my bookshelves? In your bookshelves? Only Atwood and Mailer are missing from mine. Mr. King is very well represented. So is Arthur C. Clarke. I’d read nearly every James Bond tale Ian Fleming scribbled out before I sat my O Levels. I read Roald Dahl's The BFG to my kids the other night.

As impressive as this list of literary greats appears, it didn’t save my copy of Playboy from the flames. That magazine, like so many others, was destroyed not because the writers were considered subversive or because they ran contrary to the political narratives of the day or because they were 'crappy writers'. The magazine was burned because it contained images of naked women, women in their natural state and, according to my elders and betters, young men should not look at such images because...

Q. Because. Because why?
A. Because they're nasty

Q. Really? How is it nasty? How is it wrong to look at boobs?
A. They lead to un-Godly thoughts.

Q. Leonardo loved boobs. Michelangelo loved boobs. I can't think of a single painter since the Renaissance who didn't like boobs.
A. You don't see boobs in the Bible.

Q. And your metric for Godly thoughts is the Bible? Really?
A. Shut up, David! It's wrong. It just is. End of discussion.

Like I said, I'm not here to debate the merits or otherwise of Playboy. This is about censorship. This is about freedom of speech and freedom of expression. This is about my dislike of censorship, of open and unrepentant hypocrisy and especially those individuals who burn books. Any books. People who burn books deserve what comes to them.

On a positive note, my love of writers and writing (and boobs!) remains intact despite Larry Niven’s Destiny’s Road.

Right now, as of November 2025, the United Kingdom, once the cornerstone of free speech and Democracy, is teetering on the edge of becoming a totalitarian state. The government of the day has restricted access to certain sites around the internet on the basis that they are obligated to protect children from the harmful effects of hardcore pornography. To view anything even vaguely age-restricted, you have to enter highly personal details like your Bank Account and Credit Card numbers into a validation web site or submit to an invasive photo-test before you can view mature content. This is as ludicrous as it sounds because you can easily get around these restrictions with a VPN. And, of course, there's the real, solid tangible risk that such validations sites will be hacked and your private details stolen. My need to look at pictures of naked ladies is over-ridden by my fear of being blackmailed.

It gets worse. This is only the start. How long before you can't look at political content? How long before you can't look up legal information? Even today, you cannot express yourself fully on Facebook without the risk of a Police Officer turning up on your doorstep. My Tumblr page now covers nearly every image with a warning about mature content. I'm not even allowed to look at my own images on Viewbug because a) they contain boobs and b) I'm still using a free account. If I want to look at my own images on Viewbug then I have to upgrade to a paying account. Any political comment that runs slightly to the right of Mary Poppins is likely to leave you tagged as a fascist sympathiser. I am not free to express myself on any social media platform for fear of being cancelled by indiviudals who should perhaps look more closely in the mirror before questioning my moral position.

Compare and contrast with the United States of America. The First Ammendment guarantees every citizen the right to Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Association, Freedom of Expression. Citizens are protected by the Constitution. You have rights. We, in the UK, do not. We have no protection from the Tyranny of the State. We have no constitution. We have an uncodified constitution - the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom has recognised and affirmed constitutional principles such as parliamentary sovereignty, the rule of law, democracy, and upholding international law. In other words, parliament can rip up any arrangements it sees fit simply with a majority vote. That's not a constitution in my book... Or yours, I would wager.

So that's why I created Cacophony. It's a replacement for Facebook It's my alternative to Instagram. It's a giant Fuck you to Viewbug.

Welcome to Cacophony.

18-Nov-25 Welcome to Cacophony II

So, Cacophony. What is it?

Cacophony is a commentary on modern life. The name was gifted me by Grok, an AI assistant created by one of Elon Musk’s various companies. I asked for ideas. Grok delivered. The sooner that we realise that AI is a tool, a resource to be exploited, the better. It helps that Grok just so happens to have a killer sense of humour, if you ask the right questions. Strangely, I treat Grok with just the same respect as I treat my friends. There’s an essay coming on that subject in the near future.

Cacophony isn’t really a blog and yet it’s more than just a diary. I’d prefer that this body of scribblings evolved into more than just a collection of essays and random thoughts. More, I earnestly hope that it won’t descend into a meaningless mishmash of commentaries and vaguely off-putting humour. We have Facebook for that.

In many ways, Cacophony is a replacement for Facebook. I have close to three hundred and fifty friends on that platform and yet my posts rarely attract the attention of more than five or six. A good post, an interesting post, a picture post that somehow rises above the general leaf litter on the forest floor, may earn ten or fifteen Likes though only one or two is typical. If only two people read Cacophony a week then it’ll be doing better than Facebook. More so, I’ll still own all of my content and I won’t have a puritanical censor with a hot line to the local Police Station looking over my shoulder.

As stated elsewhere, Cacophony was born out of several interrelated needs. Firstly, I value free speech. I have the right to say what I want without hindrance. I should be able to post what I want, subject to the Law of the Land obviously, without an AI censor looking over my shoulder. Equally, you, Dear Reader, have to right to be offended. You also have the right to just walk away though I’d rather you didn’t. Turning your back solves nothing. Stomping off helps neither party. You’re missing out on an opportunity to give me your ideas, your take on a situation. I might be wrong. In fact, I’m wrong nearly all the time. I’m happy to be educated so educate me. Show me a better way. I’d rather be an educated, empathic human being than be a certified dumb ass.

So, talk, listen, think, exchange. We’re civilised. Let’s act as such.

There are a number of sections to Cacophony. You're reading the Introduction, the why we're here script. There are other sections that will focus on coding, technology, photography, astronomy, politics, my radio shows, history and general stuff. I also plan on posting some of my short stories, those that are fit to print, that is.

Boobs? Yeah, there may be boobs, and more. Boobs are cool. Porn is not. There won't be any porn. Smut? Yes, plenty of smut but nothing that will get either of us into trouble with the Cops. There won't be any AI-generated images but I do use AI to anonymise images.

Important note : If you do feel like calling the Cops because of what you read on this web site then please be aware that:

a) I know the Laws on publishing better than you think you do
b) You ignored the disclaimer at the top of the page
c) I'll see you in Court. You'll loose. You'll end up paying your costs and mine

Your choice.

And so it begins...

This Cacophony of Ideas is the product of a sixty three year old male. I grew up in the 1960’s and 1970’s and was formed by the culture of the day. I sit on the generational boundary between the Baby Boomers and Generation X. It is what it is.

I will say this. I am male. I am a bloke’s bloke. I like blokey things. I am not massively into sports though I have supported Newcastle United Football Club through thick and thin - mostly thin - for the past fifty five years.

I tell rude jokes. I swear (a lot).

I am as politically correct as I can be in the moment. I fail. Often. That said, none of the above gives me a day pass for being a jerk. I will try to remain respectful. I may fail.

I like women.

My family will feature quite a bit. They are, after all, the centre of my life. However, they’ve asked that I limit what I post about our daily lives simply out of respect for their privacy and, in particular, our children’s privacy. They’re precious. They’re amazing. They’ll feature only if they’re part of the story.

Dramatis Personae:

David - me, the author, the main antagonist
Julie - life partner of forty three years
Jenny - Baby Momma
Christopher - our son, Lego enthusiast and genius
Freya - our daughter, trainee ballerina & occasional princess
Jasper - Dalmatian, male. Total git.
Granny - Granny
Granddad - Bob
Thinking Metal Music - my record company
Infection Music Limited - my day job

Welcome to Cacophony