Right, this blog is marked for closure. Whilst I’m sure this will devastate the huge readership I have (all three of you) this shall be the last post made. It’s been running for a few years and it’s reached a natural end. I can’t think of another thing to say or write about work or life in the context of this blog without repeating myself endlessly. So point made, I’m done.
It’s been an interesting journey. There’s been some fantastic debates (read: arguments) on here, I’ve been on the receiving end of a full on hate campaign from some mystery idiot, one of the comment sections has been hijacked and turned into some hate forum for a long past teacher (this was never my intention or wish) and I’ve actually managed to arrange my thoughts enough to give this blog a purpose and direction. Perhaps.
In retrospect, as self-conscious as I felt having this blog, I’m glad I did it. Blogging doesn’t have to be an egotistical journey, it can be a great outlet for your emotions, thoughts and frustrations. It’s also a creative process, something that’s easy to shy away from but can ultimately be very satisfying.
So that’s that. I’d like this blog to stay here for a while at least, maybe locked down or something. Can this even be done? Time to work that out. I’m bizarrely proud of some of it, and a little ashamed at other parts (especially the photo in the banner – still might change that). I have two new blogs in the pipeline that I’m currently building in my basement, almost ready to unleash on the web in a frenzy of apathy and disinterest; then I can pour my opinionated shite onto the internet once again. Mwhahaha. Said blogs may or may not make an appearance on Asparagine’s infamous Feed Me site. Bet you’re on the edge of your friggin’ seat.
So to end fittingly, here’s an excellent poem (or a bit of prose or whatever) from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s ‘Wind, Sand and Stars’ to sum up exactly what I was trying to say for about the last 18 months. Toodlepip.
Old bureaucrat, my companion here present, no man ever opened up an escape route for you, and you are not to blame. You built peace for yourself by blocking up every chink of light, as termites do. You rolled yourself into your ball of bourgeois security, your routines, the stifling rituals of your provincial existence; you built your humble rampart against winds, tides and stars. You have no wish to ponder great questions; you had enough trouble suppressing awareness of your human condition. You do not dwell on a wandering planet, you ask yourself no unanswerable questions;… No man ever grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time. Now the clay that formed you has dried and hardened, and no man could now awaken in you the dormant musician, the poet or the astronomer who perhaps once dwelt within you.
Different societies have awarded different status to different groups: hunters, fighters, acient families, priests, knights, fecund women. Increasingly, since 1776, status in the West has been awarded in relation to financial achievement… high status is thought by many (but freely admitted by few) to be one of the finest of earthly goods.
Status anxiety: A worry so pernicious as to be capable of ruining extended stretches of our lives, that we are in danger of failing to conform to the ideals of success laid down by our society and that we may as a result be stripped of dignity and respect...
If our position on the ladder is a matter of such concern, it is because our self-conception is so dependent upon what others make of us… we rely on signs of respect from the world to feel tolerable to ourselves.
Accompanying Music for This Post:‘Fire in the Mountain’ by Long Distance Calling
Woooooaaahhhh, doo doo do doo doo YEAH! FUCK ME! The internet’s rather good isn’t it? I’m a massive fan. I’ve got my badge and everything. I’ve said on more than one occasion (maybe not on here though… this blog is mostly about doom and moaning and shit) that it’s the apex of human communication. Oh yeah. It’s will be the saviour of mankind. Mark my words. I haven’t said a truer word since Heat first came out and I said “this magazine is destined to fail”. Anyway, the net right… it’ll be like Jesus, only more influential and with less emphasis on sandals. The bigger it grows, the more accessible it becomes and the more it offers and thus (you following?) the more we can share… and bond. So pretty good then. Has this point been laboured enough?
Trouble is, modern life is a mixed bag right? It giveth and it taketh away. With one had it provides a global, uncensored community where the likes of me can gobshite, but on the other hand it means the poxy authorities can have a good nose around, like here. Bugger. I think it was Tony Benn who recently said that politics is no longer about left and right, it’s about libertarian verses authoritarian. The old man is right. Even when the institution the government normally uses to justify their draconian measures speaks out against them, they ignore it. It seems like that slowly but surely our individual freedom is whittling away every bit by bit. Need a passport to buy a phone? Balls to that. Got to get an ID card? Balls to that. Allowed to be locked up for 42 days without charge? Balls to that. Allowed to execute an innocent man by shooting him seven times in the head without consequence? Balls to that.
So where to go? What to do? How do you fight against it? It’s everywhere. I can think of a personal case of someone last week who has to pay a £500 fine for parking outside their own house for 10 minutes during the wrong two hours of the day. £500 for doing what? How is this possibly a criminal act? I’d be likely to get a lower fine from a court for vandalism or drunken behaviour. If we tolerate this, then our children will wear v-necks. So if the system is getting worse, drop out. Well, to a degree; don’t go all Into the Wild or anything (although McCandless rules). Don’t provide your approval by voting. Don’t accept that the police can stop and search you for no reason. Don’t accept harrassing letters from the council and most of all, rely as little upon the ruling institutions. This isn’t a Tory ideal, or a Labour strive for “hard working families” it’s a target to aim for. Well, it is for me.
My reading papers is down to a minimum. My watching TV is almost non existent. Although my internet activity and book reading is rocketing. I think it’s my way of dropping out as much as I can. Ooo, ooo, fucking ooo said the monkey.* Next up is a bit of Permaculture (see ‘Further Reading’ section). I’ve always liked River Cottage.
* I wrote this post in 5 minute bursts over several days, I have no idea why I wrote this bit, but I left it in for posterity.
Accompanying Music for This Post:‘Cerulean Twilight’ by Anathema 3:51 through 6:44 inclusive
Originality. It’s impossible. From album to album, film to film, book to book it’s the same shit. The sickening and inescapable clichés that filter into everything. Try to escape them, go on you can’t. It’s a bit like trying to boycott Nestlé. It’s impossible. So I make my mark by writing arpeggioed minor key toss on guitar and use craaazy marquee html on my blog. Fight the system.
Still, over time this awkward site has gone from ranting to half-baked philosophising and back again, in turn developing after all this time a kind of purpose. The thing is, I can’t put it into words. If I had to, it might be something twee like “isn’t life daft” or maybe something a little gloomier. Or more truthfully, something egotistical like “here’s my important opinions on life” or “thisthingsIbelieve”.
I’m fully aware of the irony in having so called existential musings and rants about society on a mass-produced blog on the Internet. Thankyouverymuch Wordpress. The fact that I’m full of it doesn’t escape me either. Still, better to acknowledge the hypocrisy and use it as carte blanche to write anything you want than let it go unmentioned.
So for the minute, unlike Will, this blog remains. Don’t expect too much sense to follow. Nonetheless, to try and attach some logic to the bits and pieces, I’ve added a ‘Further Reading’ section to the right hand column. (Expect it to burgeon over time). This means I can talk about anything then make it seem like a radical slice of academia by linking to someone else’s wise words.
What a hunk of crap this all really is. I think I feel the need to completely rubbish every post on here, destroying my efforts, as it’s such toss. A bit like wot John Stuart Mill did innit. See I’m doing it already.
A book about a film never made, written by a man who never existed, discovered a man who was equally fictitious, edited by a fabricated authority which in turn was edited by real Editors all put together to screw with your head. It
two months of perseverance, but this mighty 700pagenovel, with footnotes and footnotes in footnotes and at least two stories at any one time running, I finally finished. It’s nothing short of amazing. Forgetting the parallel stories,
I have a chip on my shoulder. I hate so many things. Often about London. Often just stuff in general. I try to let it go. I try to be positive. Truth is, sometimes I like to hate things. Other times these things, or people make me want to break down and weep. The careerist London twats. CLTs. (Look I coined a phrase. People will be quoting me in no time.) I can’t even say who these people are exactly. I think they’re symbolic people in my head that don’t actually exist. Convenient stereotypes to rage about that represents everything wrong with this city. Maybe it’s symptomatic of not knowing a person enough and sticking them in one generic group, the wine drinking, “apartment living”, couscous eating CUNTS. But there you go.
These people include the people who drink in All Bar One out of choice. The people who talk about jobs at parties. The people who go to Tiger Tiger without realising it’s shit. The people who read Time Out to decide where to eat. The people who have music tastes dictated to them by the radio. The people who get bankrolled by their parents from a satellite town in Hertfordshire and then talk about the problem of London gang culture at a dinner party. The people who think that the West End is fabulous and not some soulless money grabbing tourist trap, showing endless bastardisations of films and music in a theatre format. The people who think they’re a better person than their neighbour because they eat from Waitrose rather and Asda. The people who talk down to other people constantly (there’s millions of you!) The people who judge others because of their accent, background or dress sense. The people who wear fucking boat shoes when they’re not on boats. The people who talk about shares or the stock market as if it’s important. The people who use hands free but hold their mobile with one hand and the mic with the other. The people who think it’s sophisticated and chic to get drunk on cocktails in a place called Ma-fucknut-ti or whatever but sitting in an old man pub drinking Fosters with some good mates is apparently sad. The people who aspire to be a job title. The people who look down upon others for staying friends with mates, even if they don’t fit their new dynamic lifestyle. People who talk about the urgent need to get on the property ladder. The people who have had saving accounts since they turned 18. The people who don’t eat chicken because of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s programme but will gladly order fois gras in an expensive restaurant. The people who have credit cards “just in case”. The people who think Snow Patrol is “grown up music” and assume that everyone forms a band to be on Top of the Pops. The people who listen to Radio One because it’s really “rather funny in the mornings”. The people who vote Conservative (yeah see what I just wrote there). The people who have been told all their lives what to do and somehow think that the fact they’re actually doing it is just coincidence. The people who aspire to own a model of car. The people who look up to businessmen. The people who still bloody think it’s rebellious to take drugs and will endlessly tell you about it. The people who tell you that you “must go to Glastonbury” as if it’s some kind of answer to something. The people who think that if you’re on Facebook your identity will be stolen. In fact, the people who worry about identity theft. The people who refuse to tell you their wage. The people who don’t want to be seen condemning prices in poncy places if they’re ludicrously unreasonable as they somehow feel worthy for paying the extra. And you know what. The people who cocking well moan about everything. And hate mongers. Their twats too.
Check it. Like looking in a mirror. Deep. Still it’s my blog so I’ll do what I want. (What’s this bit going on about? Didn’t think that through did I?)
