Archive - September 2017

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Masochistic Machismo
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Schools Are For Fish
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A Constant State of Panic
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False Positives

Masochistic Machismo

There are those who want to get high, and those who want to go low. One generation, above all others, ideologically sandwiched between its polar opposites, has taken up the mantle of emotional martyrdom. For many of their number, caught up in the tangled web of interconnectivity, there’s no choice. Acknowledging their awareness of cultural prescience is as important to them, if not more so, than true personal experience. Those amongst their peers fortunate enough to be born into comparative privilege, are expected to beg for forgiveness, whilst those who are not, are seen fit to administer their own particular brand of justice at will.

A plague is coming, a plague of doubt, a highly infectious depression so many secretly hold at bay. When those far younger than me, who believe it is their time to alter the course of history, are finally beaten down by the immoveable establishment, they’ll take it far more personally than I, because they were raised to expect more from humanity.

I’ve suffered suicidal depression over the years, and I’ve been dragged back from the brink of death on several occasions. The thing is, to survive here, I’ve had to abandon guilt. If I’m wrong and understand the reasons why, I’ll freely admit it, apologise and try to make amends. But my colour, my gender, my sexual preference, my time served on this planet, these things I can do nothing about, they are merely the irrevocable facts of my life. The hatred I see around me, the oversimplification of cultural conflict, the ad-hoc solutions, the blind excuses, and endless social bandwagons, it’s just not good enough, and I’m telling you now, the ending to our story isn’t going to be pretty.

Whilst I’m here, I’d like to ask, whatever happened to individuality? It’s seriously lost favour with the masses, those people who like to come together in their thousands, or sometimes millions, at the merest mention of a new rebellion. What are people fighting for, if not for themselves? Moving forward shouldn’t entail erasing the past, merely for the sake of kudos amongst one’s contemporaries. Progress cannot be enforced, or bound by the reassurances of political echo chambers. Progress should mean conceptualising a state of humanity unhindered by the traditional dualistic paradigm, and avoiding the if’s and buts of our predicated progression, so expertly co-opted by the propaganda of a manipulated state.

Nothing’s for free in this world, and nothing’s ever easy, however much you might think you have right on your side. Everything has a price nowadays, and life has no guarantees, security and safety can cost you dearly in the end. The situation isn’t new, the apathy of crumbling empires, their suicidal numbers, have all but been lost in a mire of anthropological conjecture. A time will come when none will remember the names of the brave, nor their followers true. The domesticated herd of the majority, will be long dead, much like their every meme, thought for the day, political promise, corporate guarantee, or sworn allegiance to the next fleeting cause that might just be coming your way.

Schools Are For Fish

Some people, given a little power, have a tendency to go crazy. I’m pretty sure I’m not one of them, although I doubt I’ll ever have the opportunity to test that particular theory. I’m what you might call an underachiever, an accidental rebel, the quiet kid who found himself at the back of the class, after years of being slowly shuffled further and further from the front.

I wasn’t exactly a troublemaker, I simply leaned more towards peaceful resistance than subservience. Nevertheless, I was sent to the headmaster on many occasions, and each and every time I was caned. I attended a grammar school with an identity complex, the headmaster at the time had obvious aspirations for something private and far more prestigious. As it would turn out, some years after I’d left, when corporal punishment had been outlawed, he went to town on some poor kid and was dragged away by the police.

His name was Bird, a great lanky fellow with a pompous air about him, he and his deputy insisted on always wearing their mortar boards and capes. Of course, both carried their canes wherever they went, should the opportunity for instant reprisal arise. Then again, all of the teachers at my school were screwed up, most of which merely went through the motions, staggering from classroom to classroom like zombies. Those few who still believed in their chosen vocation, who showed the slightest sensitivity to their pupils, suffered the constant backlash of jeers from the crowd.

My French teacher at the time, an overweight, red-faced alcoholic with a love of jazz and red wine, went by the nickname Links, (although I’d never bothered to ask the other kids why). Rather late in my grammar school education, he had me punished for looking at him the wrong way. That’s the exact phrase he used, at first intimating that I, a fourteen year old boy, had the hots for a middle-aged pig in white flannels. Not exactly impressed by the ridiculous insinuation, but getting rather sick of being sent to the headmaster, I decided to double-down and frown. As I glared at the bilious oaf he stuttered in protestation, holding a trembling finger in the air and ordering me out of the classroom.

Soon enough the deputy head swooped down like a vampire and dragged me by the ear to see Bird. The bastard peddled his usual hypocritical drivel, under the delusion that caning me was purely for my own good. I joined the queue, the usual nogoodniks, all smirking and nodding at each other with a subdued mutual admiration. Except for one kid named Brian Loader, almost everyone picked on him, although he never did do himself any favours. He couldn’t help the lisp, and like I, coming from a poor single parent family, his clothes didn’t fit him, his shoes were dirty, but he was just one of those kids who didn’t know when to stop.

He was small and he couldn’t particularly defend himself, but even when a rugby team grunt had him pinned to the ground, with his matted blood and hair in his clenched fists, Brian just wouldn’t back down. That’s why he was always in Bird’s office getting six of the best, at least once a week I’d say. Except for one late Friday afternoon, a week before the Christmas break, when Bird had decided he’d had enough of Brian, and with a wooden yard rule, took a long run up and smacked the kid’s rear with all his might.

It shattered to pieces, the ruler, and as shards and splinters of wood shot in the air, Brian, I, and half a dozen other kids jumped for joy. It felt like time had slowed down, Bird’s hand was bleeding everywhere, it was such a beautiful sight to see, the man who’d made so many suffer, receiving a little of the pain he’d dished out through the years.

Authoritarians should take note, nothing lasts forever, not rulers, nor careers, and most certainly not power. For be it in this world, or the next, a time will come when those who believe they are here to maintain order, may find chaos has come to consume them.

A Constant State of Panic

We’ve always had bad weather. The difference is that we now live in an interconnected world, with a global media fixated on milking every story for all it’s worth. No matter the truth, or consequences, they’ll tow the official line, and avoid all mention of industrial-scale cloud seeding, or high-frequency auroral injection. What’s more, they’ve suffered so many budgetary cutbacks, that much of the time you’ll find them lazily relying on their viewers. All the suckers, readily armed with mobile phones to record every moment of the supposed impending disaster.

If ten thousand people die in a flood in India or China, you might hear about it on the news, you might see a few video clips, even a reporter or two on location. What you won’t see is wall-to-wall coverage on every MSM channel, or YouTube recommendations for a dozen up-to-the-minute streams. Most of which are accompanied by a live chat that races by so quickly, you probably won’t notice that the viewers aren’t watching the weather, they’re just there to argue the toss.

When the highly popularised term Global Warming was embarrassingly debunked, and amended to the more generic climate change, you’d think more people would’ve clocked the mistake. Of course, humanity has made a mess of the world, but we’ve more than paid for it, the consumers, the taxpayers, with a lifetime of hard graft without fair reward. If on the other hand you’ve made a billion or so from selling us crap, and rained it back down on our lives everyday, give the money back, give it back now. We, the people of the earth demand a refund, cancel all debt, level the playing field, force those with the bulk of the world’s currency to spend it on cleaning up their act.

Of course, if you’re one of that select few, you won’t. Instead I’m sure you’ve made plans, and think you know a way to sit this one out. I expect you and your nest egg have a lovely place lined up, a tropical island, a mountain retreat, somewhere to watch the collapse of civilisation in comparative safety. But you’ll miss us when we’re dead, and most likely in the end, you’ll join us. When your robot slaves have broken down, and you’re shitting yourself in your panic room, because your maintenance clones have revolted and escaped on your yacht, you’ll kill yourself. It’s only human nature after all, because the rich are mere mortals like the rest of us, and are nothing without their money.

So, what about the age old argument, those who supplied it, denied it? Yes, to some degree, we humans are a filthy lot and we have made a mess of this world. Not that it would take long to repair, should we all suddenly disappear from existence. But, until every environmental evangelist has weather modification at the top of their list of pet peeves, I’m bowing out. I’m not wasting my life arguing the toss with those who’d prefer to blind themselves to what they see.

Rather than using their own eyes, their own brain, they cite something they’ve heard on the news, advocated by the academic establishment, so that we, as individuals, living day-to-day and hand-to-mouth, should suffer the guilt and remorse of our impoverished lives. We, in turn, are expected to throw our pittance in the pot, to fund the extravagances of well paid administrators of highly obscure organisations. That was the idea anyway, unfortunately for them, too many people aren’t playing the game, and now the idle rich are sick of us, our penny pinching, our seething frustrations, and they’re determined to put civilisation in its place.

If you believe the crazy storms, sunspots, and mid-winter heatwaves, are down to car pollution and plastic bottles in the sea, you’re an idiot. If you think that all that muck in the sky is just contrails, you’ve been conned. I know what a contrail is, I saw plenty of them as a child, they’re made from water and they quickly evaporate. What we have now is a sky full of aluminium flakes and barium. It deflects light and heat, and hothouses the world, dispersing toxic rain to cause major respiratory disease, amongst many other medical complaints.

It’s too late now, there’s nothing we can do, we’ve already handed over our individual sovereignty for the sake of co-dependency. We are all equally guilty of complicity, we helped build this god-awful corporate age. Which in itself, is just one of a succession of feudal states, designed to covertly reign over us without too much complaint. Democracy is a smokescreen, and our Pharisees, our so-called democratically appointed representatives, kowtow to their unelected masters, to administer unjust laws upon those who dare to disagree.

So why, you might ask, would anyone want to deliberately ruin the world?

I’ll tell you. There’s no point having all the money, power, and influence you could possibly imagine, if your subjugated masses don’t do as their told. Which is why governments of the world, protecting the vested interests of the corporatocracy, have inch-by-inch, legal amendment by legal amendment, slowly eroded our inalienable human rights. Until now, those amongst us who disagree with the subjugated majority, are policed and punished by both state and society.

Eventually, after a few more years of bad weather, they’ll start switching off the power, and then they’ll shutdown the Net, and leave us to tear each other apart for a while. Maybe for a month, a year, a decade, who knows?

Then comes the reboot, Humanity 2.0. The consumer age being long dead and gone, replaced by a far smaller and more manageable society, will proffer the decree that open slavery increases productivity. The value of life forever held against a false barometer of limited resources, our descendants being mere products of an almighty corporate entity. Only the most subjugated will be offered the illusory enticements of advancement, offering slim rewards for the most compliant and complicit members of the highly controlled population.

A time of renewal, I’m sure that’s what they’ll say to calm the natives, a new and improved subspecies formerly known as mankind. A future populous of domesticated beasts, artificially bred to feel more contented in their slavery, to work efficiently and consume less food and energy, and to never again complain about the weather.

False Positives

I saw a photograph of a piece of inane graffiti art recently, a stencil work on a highway. It read SMILE. There’s a major difference between encouragement and coercion, no matter how slick the presentation. Being forced to express positivity, even for the sake of art, always sends a cold shiver down my spine.

People seem to need more visual cues every day, what to say, what to wear, where to go and why. It’s a rare sight to see someone follow a hunch, to think off the top of their head, without fact checking their every move, just in case the world thinks differently.

I was planning to write a post on the power of the lie, but it seems I’m in sync with several newspaper journalists at the moment, which is something of a worrying development. I wanted to share a theory I’d come up with, in fact I will anyway, who cares what the papers say.

I get it, research shows that the better the education, the better the liar. But to be honest, the art of lying is a fundamental tenet of a successful society. There hasn’t been a single culture in history worth noting, that hasn’t at the very least dabbled in a little exaggeration.

To be a success one must become a liar.

Great artists fool the eye. Musicians may play with the truth, but sooner or later, if they’re offered the deal of a lifetime, they’re sold on a lie. If authors weren’t writers they’d be some of the most successful con-artists in the world today, asides the politicians, who are the masters of deception, peddling lies great and small to their gullible electorate. Money too, it’s nothing but a sham, printed with a broken promise to pay the bearer on demand. Society itself is merely an aggregate of falsehoods and untruths, ensuring a smooth succession of power, whilst the masses keep living a shared delusion of civilisation.

If there were no falsehoods, if people were incapable of lies, the world would soon tear itself apart, no longer protected from its ghastly self. It’s a shame, but we’re only human, and for the most part we do the best we can to work with what we’ve got. It’s seems that for far too many in the world, the truth doesn’t merely hurt, it makes the difference between life and death, survival and collapse.

So many have jumped on the bandwagon, there’s precious little left beyond the pale. Individuality is dying, as is knowledge, empathy, and anything remotely resembling higher consciousness, is slowly drowning in a sea of glamorised conformity. We, the last remaining individuals of the world, must pretend to play the game. We are forced to speak and behave as those around us, yet we alone have been granted witness to the true deceit of society and its inbuilt redundancies. As for those who say otherwise, those who proclaim to be fighting for the truth in the name of freedom, they are at best martyrs of conjecture, and at worst, the greatest liars of all time.

Copyright © 2017  Frankmaddish.com.