Godfrey Elfwick

Hello Mr Trump, After reading Uri Geller’s Facebook post urging Theresa May to cancel Brexit or face his mental wrath, I have been spending the past three days learning to harness the power of my mind in order to deal you a devastating psychic blow. Make no mistake about my dedication to this, in order to prepare myself I have read the following books: Uri Geller’s Little Book of Mind Power, Discover How to Develop Your Hidden Powers by Derek Acorah, and Carrie by Stephen King. I also watched The Craft and a David Blaine DVD one of my friends had acquired from a charity shop for 30p, during which, the plastic spoon I was using to eat my yoghurt definitely bent slightly. I think this adequately demonstrates to you the potential of my powers.

Over the weekend, there was much speculation as to the ‘true identity’ of Titania McGrath. This was a blatant attempt to silence the second most important voice of our generation. The Times of London published two articles with the sole purpose of making its readership believe that Titania is a parody. A satirical Twitter account, created to poke fun at woke politics. What a ridiculous accusation! How many Russian bots did it take to come up with that bizarre conspiracy theory? Also, who is funding The Times in order for them to go along with this charade? George Soros? Alex Jones? Donald Trump? I mean, it’s tinfoil hat stuff the like of which I have not seen since a group of fascists attempted to out me as a parody last year.

In the UK, leading far-right figure Tommy Robinson Yaxley Lennon has had his Paypal closed down, his Twitter account banned and, most recently, his Instagram and Facebook accounts removed. Very much like in the US last year when probable white supremacist Alex Jones had his Twitter, Facebook and YouTube shut down, or when Facebook did a cull of almost 600 US political pages before the 2018 midterm elections. As usual, the tinfoil hat-wearing alt-right Nazis are crying out that free speech is under threat. This ridiculous overreaction always makes me laugh. These people have no idea what free speech is. They assume that freedom of speech means you are free to say whatever you want without severe consequences! Imagine that?!

Jussie Smollett told authorities he was attacked on January 29 by two men who were ‘yelling out racial and homophobic slurs.’ He went on to claim that one attacker had put a noose around his neck and poured an unknown chemical substance on him. Since this was first reported, so-called ‘evidence’ has emerged to suggest that the attack was possibly staged, with Smollett knowing his ‘attackers’ before the event, and that he even went so far as to pay them. Now, the drama surrounding this seems a complex one, but it’s really very simple. Even if he did stage the attack himself, it’s still valid. Jussie Smollett is a busy man. He does not have time to wait around idly for genuine homophobic racists to jump him in the street.

Dear Gillette, I watched your latest advert and I must say, it’s a good start. However, I have concerns that it wasn’t patronizing enough. In order to get through to the majority of men, you need to really talk down to them, treat them as if they were tiny children, incapable of understanding the world around them. Only then will you gain their trust and respect. To this end, I have taken the liberty of writing the outline for your next advert and I am willing to be featured in it (I will send you an invoice along with my PayPal details). Gillette Advert – Men Are Awful (working title) We open on a group of adult men playing some sport or other, Basketsoccer or whatever it is they do. In the corner we see a six-year-old girl looking vulnerable but also brave and defiant.

Yesterday morning while visiting friends in London, I decided to take a stroll down to Pret A Manger for a spinach and avocado protein pot. On the way there, I found myself in the middle of some kind of demonstration. An intimidating gang of white men (along with a few women who had no doubt been threatened by their violent beer-swilling husbands into being there, and some people of color who had probably wandered into the demonstration by accident) were standing outside Burger King shouting disgusting pro-Brexit slogans, demanding ‘democracy’ and holding up signs expressing the need to ‘GET ON WITH IT’. These men were obviously white supremacists or why else would they be so vocal in their support of Brexit?

As a genderqueer Muslim atheist who identifies as black, I am often abused by bigots (usually white cis males) who bombard me with hate speech such as: ‘What the fuck does “transrace” mean?’, ‘How can you be a Muslim and an atheist, that makes no sense!’ and ‘Sort your hair out you stupid hipster twat, you look like a fucking nonce.’ That last one was said to me by my father, a boorish brute of a man, who would often make scathing remarks at me as I was growing up, and even went so far as to buy me a 32GB iPhone one Chr*stm*s when he knew I wanted the 64GB one. That kind of abuse leaves a mark. White cis males have a lot to apologize for when it comes to the current state of the world.

Last night, as I was safely tucked up in bed with a kale smoothie, I was visited by three apparitions, each one determined to change my outlook on the toxic nature of Chr*stm*s. The first ghost appeared at midnight, a shimmering androgynous specter floating in front of my window. ‘Godfrey Elfwick, I am here to show you the error of your ways. Come with me on a journey into your past...’ they said, proffering me a semi-transparent hand. ‘Erm, excuse me, what are your pronouns?’ I inquired respectfully. ‘I’m sorry what?’ was the answer. ‘Well, do you prefer to be referred to as he, she, they, xe, xie, ze, ve, yo...’ As I listed all 592 currently available pronouns, I could see the spirit’s eyes begin to glaze over, and so I took hold of their hand.

I met Titania McGrath at the Genderfree Silent Poetry Class I used to attend on a Thursday evening at the Basement Bar in York. I remember her standing out from the rest of the artistes because of the amount of screaming she did. Since her first draft of ‘My Ovaries Are The Devil’s Kidneys’ which she wrote back in 2013, her work has come on in leaps and bounds, and improved with every court summons. More recently she has found her niche on Twitter. She inspires thousands of followers, or dare I say, disciples, with a heady mixture of defiant slam poetry and staunch feminist views. Her poems are raw, unbridled, angry, and often nonsensical. Like Lewis Carroll meets Quentin Tarantino.