Living in a retirement home isn't much fun when your penis doesn't work anymore. James (Mr. Reynolds to the staff) always thought it was an angry irony of life that this was the case.
"When you finally have the time to screw, the equipment isn't what it used to be", he held to be true as a nurse stimulated his rectum. It was also ironic that sex seemed to be the only thing he could think about, that his mind could reschedule itself on to and away from his impending death. He had come to terms with death, but under his own guidelines. To him it just seemed to be another trivial matter that he couldn't do anything about. Like when you're given a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch when the night before you attended your first AA meeting. Like when your mistress tells your wife about your affair. Like when you become the office cliché of the "successful at work but fuck-up at home" human being. All three things happened to him on the day of his retirement. Was it any wonder that now at the age of sixty-nine he was the youngest resident of Five Green Leafs retirement home?
James walked, with the aid of a frame, down the corridor that led him to the communal living room.
"I hate this fucking corridor", he thought as the aqua carpet beneath him lay. Dotted around on the wall was art from a superstore catalogue. James was a peculiar human being in that he didn't like art. He could truly say and stand by that conviction too. It didn't work for him on any level, neither as a child nor now as an old man. From the cradle to the grave no brushstroke, no lump of clay, no unmade bed or cut-up cow had ever caused eyes to water, emotions to ride, feelings to muster. The art to his left and right was neither distasteful nor satisfying. It just added to the sense that he wasn't in his apartment with its bare walls of white where he could walk to his desk and be ready for that electronic bell at nine. As his long Zimmer-walk continued he thought about his paradise of buying and selling on his computer.
He thought of the NASDAQ, the FTSE, DOW. On his wall above the high-powered computer that made and lost him money his three clocks reigned. London, New York, Tokyo. He had three mounted TV's. CNN, Bloomberg, CNBC. What a big-balled, ball-busting, hard-dicked man he was, and all at sixty-five. His wife had left him, so had his mistress but with his beautiful white apartment and his control room to make money he had finally settled into contentment. He wasn't chasing women, he wasn't drinking booze he was doing what he should always have done. He then had a massive heart attack.
After the prolonged coma the re-establishment with the world begun. He no longer could afford to live in his apartment anymore (only the supremely best private health care would do, and the wife -the "Human Money Funnel"- cost him his apartment) so he had to settle into a retirement home and so the re-establishment came to an abrupt end. Now surrounded by the drooling, the shitting and people who just liked to play with the beams of sunshine that came through the window he thoroughly hated his time there and this was all summed up in that miserable walk down the corridor with all its goddamn art. James finally came to the living room.
"One TV and all it plays is fucking Jeremy Kyle" James spoke out loud, only after making sure no one was in his ear-shot. He looked at the residents and noticed that they were all at peace. Even if all that peace meant in a place like this was to stare at some middle-age bint on the TV talk about how she's depressed after having a child.
"Of course you're depressed. You've got another fucking mouth to feed, and your struggling because your own one is too fucking big in the first place!"
James ran this threw his mind and would have loved to have told it to one of his old golfing buddies if they had the miss-fortune of being with him in this place. Golf – the sport of clichéd like him. In recent years golf was trying to change its images to a sport for the masses. James hated this. There was a point why it was elitist – so the rich could play with the rich and the poor could do whatever they did. As this thought subdued him he spotted the beige armchair by the left window. Taking himself and his Zimmer, James marched towards it. Being an old man who was facing death however, this would take sometime and would give him time to think.
"That young paki nurse sure has a great set of tits on here" James remembered of the nurse who stimulated him this morning (albeit only medically).
"Jesus Jumping Jack Christ! There was a time when I could've done her, banged the mistress and gave the wife a good seeing too all in the same day. Fuck, I was like Genghis Kahn with an anaconda down my pants. Now I'd have to stick some jump leads from a car battery to my dick to get it working. My dick is like Stephen Hawking's legs. I'll have to get a Zimmer-frame for my dick if I was ever going to fuck again."
James looked down to the ground and for the first time realised he was wearing his slippers. He hated this. He was the only resident left who would wear shoes when away from his room, but today - no. He'd resigned. Actually, not even that. He'd forgotten. His mind was finally crumbling away. After a minute he got to the armchair. It was still free and he took his time to manoeuvre into it like a Harrier Jump Jet settling onto the landing deck of a battleship.
Settled and altogether too rested, James looked out the window. Over the field and on the motorway was where his reminiscing always took him. He didn't care much for nature. Man's achievements always dwarfed those of mother earth. James concluded many years ago that earth was indeed created by God and that God was a woman. He also surmised that God was having her period when she created earth. But out there on the motorway he remembered happier times. Like when he was in the back of a limousine sealing a business deal as his mistress gave him a blowjob. A much more simple time. He wished times were like this again.When he could run around with his buddies at the golf course and then down at the gentleman's club to be left alone with his newspaper's and financial predictions and then off to a brothel.Good old manly fun. It was how the empire was built and sustained, the empire he wished for again. Old Queen Vic would've loved a man like him. Yes, he wished for these times once more. That he would never live them again was a sore point. In the autumn of his years there wasn't much he could do about it. Although maybe he could sneak in an old prostitute he used to see. Get one of the nurses to help him slip her in, give them a hundred for their troubles - that's probably a month's wages for them. And then spend the night tucked away with a two-grand a night prostitute. Those women could get a corpse to sing and dance. James for the first time in this place could feel alive. Just like old times.
"Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. Reynolds?" the nurse inquired over him.
"Why Michele, that would be lovely."James smiled at her sincerely and then his gaze returned to the window.
To the outside world James Reynolds was just another old man in Five Green Leafs Retirement Home. He just didn't drool.
Jesus, Osama, An Artist And A Radio Talk Show
Category: News and Politics
Now I don't know about you but when I look at a painting I do one of two things. I either hang around, stare at it, admire it, maybe want a reproduction postcard, then I get on with my day. Or I take one look, it doesn't respond to me and I get on with my day. Note some of the things I don't do:
Scream Run amok and cry Ask for vengeance and a lot of blood Write a really angry letter to the artist (the art should speak for itself and all that) Phone in a radio talk show and moan
However some people do the following, and a lot worse, and you can bet to see this in the following weeks with two works that were displayed in the Blake Prize for Religious Art which are being exhibited in the National School of Art in Sydney, Australia. One piece displays Osama Bin Laden in a Christ-like pose, while the other is of the Virgin Mary dressed in a burqa. I don't know if you heard of the story (anything "sensational" you can't avoid nowadays) but it you haven't here's the two works here…
Personally I can't see the problem. Its not like anyone's died for this art. Not one bit of blood was spilt to make it. If all this art is going to do is make a little conversation - what's the problem? Surely if you have a problem with this art then conversation, discussion is where the buck should stop. Its my fear that this may not happen and as blind anger and resentment builds someone could pay more of a price than mere criticism. The blind rage and discontentment felt that resurfaces itself in any controversial news topic and in the past years the rage and anger felt when art tries to address, examine, question religion ("Jerry Springer The Opera"; "Popetown"; the cartoons depicting the Prophet Mohammed) seems non-stop. I think the problem lies in two areas here. Firstly the heated, dictating censoring stance that some groups affiliated with the religion the artwork makes reference too stepping forward and calling for the most harshest of condemnation for the creator of the piece, which results in little to none sympathy for there cause. I haven't read the "Time Out" film section recently and read that the director should be beheaded (the director of "Alien Vs. Predator" can step forward ). The second problem lays with the media. This continuing us and them angle that is always rehashed during these "scandals". The continuing battle over the artist vs. the religious group, which belittles the article and turns the debate into a feature that could be in "Hello!". I woke up to the radio this morning to this story and they were taking calls in and the presenter said "Call in if your dismayed, disgusted, repelled by this work." Well, what if I love it? Shouldn't I call in? Where's my window of opportunity here? Media strives and forces the "little idea". The Us vs. Them, the spooky father figure, the negative rather than the positive and various other outdated ideas of structuring and organising people instead of examining each other on an individual basis. Its ideas like this that get us into war and keep us apart. And how many times do we really need to hear this sentence "…yeah I'm all in favour for art and I'm against censorship - but this is too far!". In my opinion art can't go too far. Do a picture of Jesus shitting in Mary's mouth while Mohammed looks on taking photographs. Nothing's going to fucking happen. I might get murdered for writing it, but apart from that the world's going to keep on spinning while laws that prohibit what you write, say, draw, protest are slowly coming into place.
If your angry - fine. Draw, write, sing a piece about your anger. Use the tools of those who've angered you. But don't go round swearing for blood and remaining un-happy and un-fulfilled until the creator is dead. You can't kill the idea of the art. Censoring shouldn't be your goal. Discussion yes, although is it discussion if your still angry if you haven't convinced the other person of your ideas? Can't we all just agree to disagree anymore?
At the end of the day - its just a painting - it's a drawing - the cavemen were doing this - we come from this. No one's saying don't go to church. I mean you want problems look at my religion. I love blowjobs. And my church is fucking illegal and it doesn't get a tax-break! If I was giving blowjobs - there's a couple of religions I could join. But I like receiving - actually I could probably still join. All-in-all if you were to paint a woman with a lock around her mouth and no sign of a key - it ain't going to offend me. Why? CAUSE IT'S A FUCKING PAINTING! Does it mean I'm never going to ever get a blowjob again? No. Does it mean I'm not allowed to get a blowjob again? No. Does it mean anything that will restrict me from ever getting a blowjob again? No. End of story. Case closed. Class dismissed. The two works of art aren't going to do anything to you, your faith or your god. If Jesus was so offended then he'd call in that talk show I woke up to - and it'd proved he existed. And if Osama was offended…well we've found him. The artist would get a medal. Art saves the day!
Copyright of Christopher Alexander Simpson
Currently
listening
:
Poses [Bonus Track]
By
Rufus Wainwright
Release date: 05 February, 2002
If you want art...go to Barcelona. That's all I really want to say in this blog. I went there this weekend and apart from hearing about "La Sagrada Familia" and its creator Gaudi, I wasn't prepared for the volume and quality of art that hits you wherever you go. From Gaudi and Miro to the graffiti that is plastered on every shop shutter, electrical box and even some doors too. But its the fact that all this art is in the open and begging to be seen and photographed, memorised and catologed is the key to its pressence and impression. So I'm just going to give you some photos and links now and I hope you get the chance to see it for yourself.
The following pictures were taken from a couple of backstreets near the MACBA (The Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art).
I went into the MACBA which was fantastic. Currently the exhibition is "Un Teatre Sense Teatre" ("A Theatre Without Theatre") which includes work by Antonin Artaud, Samuel Beckett, Oskar Schlemmer, and Bruce Nauman. It finishes on September 11th. There I saw a video by Yvonne Rainer, which although reminded me of a friend's drunken dance the night before, was interesting and is something I would have missed if I hadn't of paid a visit.
http://www.macba.es/controller.php
Joan Miro street mosaic:
And the symbol for the La Caixa Saving's Bank:
Finally "La Sagrada Familia" ("Temple of The Holy Family"). Eighty-one years after Gaudi's death is still being built, with a further eighty years of expected work it will perhaps remain un-complete:
I had a fantastic time in Barcelona and the immensity of the art that hit me. I hope you can all find some time and money and can go yourself.
Become entwined to your mortgage and clothes The remembrance of quarrels that ignite in your head The pain you feel without a cigarette Everyone knows your carbon footprint, no one can tell you why
There is no left nor right anymore Perhaps there never was in this beast we call society No peace for the adulterer, nor the meek or mild Or savage tamer who grinds you in job
You thought all this time that those dice would fall On that sweet perfect deal They just fall - you expectedly ball That deal was crooked and deaf Blind and dumb also Those words leave the mouth of your lover
All you wanted to be was a voyeur The armchair delinquent with taste and income You were told to participate and you did Without fuss or incident - and thus has been your life One you truly choose, no swaying to the conclusion No breakdown to make the decision
Herein smiles and handshakes are not automatic or spontaneous Rehearsed to perfection so the beauty of the act has been removed The struggle to kiss and to hold will soon be blasé Mixture of empathy and apathy and sullen noise Shopkeepers see it all as the calm countenance dries Leaves of your cheerful disposition have rotted
Euthanasia - what a lark You see the glamour in it now So it can become a practical endeavour For the women, you can no longer rely on looks Looks alone can never break through that pyramid For the men, those clever lines wont work Not to clever when spoken in youth Stupid they stay - there is no charm to them
One true certainty is that love is not a tax break Perhaps marriage - the why of why priests can't marry To become old you hope that there is love To become old there must be
Viva la Revolution: Consumerism Despotism
Category: News and Politics
The despot of today is not man. The despot of today is not an individual who can be accounted for and held for his/her actions. The despot of today is one that survives and is fuelled by us. The despot today does not even act callously towards its subjects - well those in the Western hemisphere. The despot today exercises its enormous power through lobbying governments, decimating land and its people and it achieves all this with a smile and our continuing support as we -literally- buy into it. I'm writing of consumerism. The harmless activity pursued as the twenty first century's favourite new hobby. "I shop - therefore I am" is the maxim of the masses. Television never had a stranglehold on people as much as consumerism - which requires more blind faith to believe in its objectives to make you a better person than any religion has ever protested. For in religion we are required to have faith in a system, that is designed (at its core) to make us better people, with little to no evidence. In consumerism we are required to have faith in a same system (although never its intention), while subjugating others to a life of literal Hell. For through advertising this is the desired message - through this product we will heal you and give back to you the missing pieces and make you whole. This is a lie. The sine qua non of corporations is: we will fuck before we get fucked - and we'll make money while we do it. In this lays no hope for reconciliation and healing to be done with the corporations and consumer. With the consumer and employees (read slaves). With this in mind the true act of revolution, the only one left, is to reject consumerism out cold. In such a pervasive capitalist society this is easier said then done. But it is the only option to make change. You can wear as many Che Guevara T-Shirts and rubber bands as you want, but you'll never make change unless you reject, reject, reject those T-Shirts and bands made in sweatshops and designed by marketers to gather in the herd and make a pretty penny.
Consumerism runs on desire. The desire to look good, the desire to be good, the desire to fuck, the desire to make money, the desire to create. Desire is the fuel to start the cogs and the cause of the products. One could argue that a hammer is a product not born of desire but one of necessity. But when you're down the high street, the mall, the leisure park how many people do you see walking down the street with hammers? Yep, that's right, unfortunately not enough. The world isn't filled with carpenters it filled with morons. Morons walking round with Nike trainers, Topshop shirts, eating bad food made for quick access so you can get back to work for companies that are laying off workers and causing you to work longer hours, doing more jobs, for lower pay. You don't need the chains now for slaves, all you need is a sign for full-time workers in a shop window, and the continuing encouragement of the consumer to be ignorant and buy products made from people who are genuine slaves. A case of this is Nike. Through the nineties Nike and its continuing empire managed to rope in Michael Jordan, William S. Burroughs and a whole bunch of migrant workers to make and sell trainers for rich kids with trust funds and drug dealers alike. The boycotting of Nike and University sit-ins helped, but without the support of the masses, never achieved its full potential. It did lead to Nike disclosing the locations of its factories and raised wages slightly, but failed to follow through on other promises to monitor abuses. The continuing idea that Nike has now changed and is given its workers fair pay and better working conditions can be dismissed purely by just imagining the work-force it must take to make the products we see in the numerous sports stores in our cities and towns and the amount of people who wear the products. I think by thinking in such simple terms as this, we can see that either working conditions have not improved or the workforce has expanded, and thus is contributing to local village economic downfall and mass profits for third-world governments and shareholders of Nike. I believe both are happening.
The problem lays in accountability. When faced with criticism of human rights abuses Nike has a convenient scapegoat that while theoretically it can admonish Nike from any accountability, practically it's a falsehood. Subcontractors. By subcontracting work to the subcontractor Nike moves blame directly to the subcontractor. Blame goes to the subcontractor, Nike walks away clean-handed promising to find a better subcontractor next time. So should all blame go onto the subcontractor? Of course not. Nike are in power over any subcontractor. They can negotiate tough and hard and always do so. They leave little margin for the subcontractor to pay high wages, implement safety training and the like. This leaves the subcontractor in little doubt over what they must do to retain a profit:
"First, they can recover costs by levying fines against the workers for talking (half day's pay in some Vietnam subs and subs of subs up to two days pay in China), fines for lateness, fines for breaking a sewing needle, or failing to meet the daily quota. Most, if not all, Nike subcontractors use quota systems which can be adjusted upward to make it impossible for most workers to attain it in the usual 10 hour workday. Voluntary overtime and the intricate fine-system means more production at no wage cost and recovered operating costs, thereby collecting money from workers to pay for Nike policies." (http://business.nmsu.edu/~dboje/papers/Phenomenal%20complexity%20theory%202000.html)
Nike can not be punished for there crimes in court. Thus I think the only effective way of changing their policy is to not buy there products, or products under there banner (they recently bought Converse for example). Universities are leading the way in rejection. Coca-Cola and its links to appalling practises in India and Columbia have lead to many and various Universities banning Coca-Cola to be sold on its premises. With this act it hit's the corporation in the only effective way it will hurt them. We can see how public opinion can be changed and spun and swept under the carpet by advertising and the use of the iconoclastic devotion that people have with celebrities - whether that's using a mainstream star like Wayne Rooney or going down an alternative route with Jack White. Business looks at whomever it can to make it sell. That's why Fanta was created for the Nazi's and that if Jesus came back L'Oreal would come out with a new hand cream he could hawk. Nothing is sacred when money comes into play. Hence a clear rejection of advertising is needed as well. I feel that this could also influence politics. A rejection of advertising and its practises would highlight it doesn't work. With advertising failing, political parties would have to use another method to seek votes, meaning money from lobbyists and private interests would not be needed. Policy would be. I know it sounds utopian but it's the best I got.
Rejection is needed. An active rejection to move away from an induced apathy. Without money and with a heightened vocal opinion, corporations would have to listen. Just so they could survive. This is why I truly believe that the only way to make change will be through rejection of products made by companies who are not responsible. The shareholders financially do not have enough invested to speak over the voice of a dissenting mass. Without our continuing support, a corrupt and dishonest corporation can not continue with its endeavour to make money at any cost. Ethical corporations and consumerism will have to come into play. But it will have to be a truly ethical. The Che Guevara T-Shirt can only go back on, when the worker is living and not dying.
Peace
Copyright of Christopher Alexander Simpson
- "Killer Coke" by Chio
- "No Coke" by Rawane Nassif
- "The Corporation" Fanta & I.B.M
- "The Ten Biggest Cocks In Advertising" by Charlie Brooker
- "This Note's For You" by Neil Young & The Bluetones
I'd hate to be Korean and living in Virginia right now. Actually you could be Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, Maylasian, Vietnamese and more than likely if you see a member of the NRA you better start running. Actually you probably wouldn't want to be Vietnamese and living in America since circa the late 1950s. I read something pretty funny the other day about the guy who went on the killing spree that he was depressed, angry and his teachers were worried about his violent writings. I thought I was redaing about myself - on a good day. Yeah that doesn't sound like your average student does it? As we all know most students are full-of-life waiting to graduate so they can go work in Mc Donald's. No wonder he was fucking depressed, he was twenty-three, didn't have that much longer to go before work was a' knocking. You've been at school for eighteen years and then you've got to take whatever piss poor knowledge you've accumulated and get a job with it. That's for the lucky ones. Most kids have to get to work at sixteen and keep that deluded hope that with their time out of work when their at school - education will set them free. It wont. This is why I work in a shoe shop. And boy do I hate my job. I'm like a squadie with Gulf War syndrome out for the night at a petrol station. I'm fucking tense and all the black coffee in the world ain't gonna help. And I gave up smoking too because I was sick to death of funding big fat necked Conservatives who don't want women to have abortions because they don't like they're women independent and away from the kitchen. If I wanted to fund someone like that I'd fund Jim Davidson. I was never afraid of dieing from smoking. If smoking is going to rob you of the last ten years of your life - which lets face it is going to involve sifting through old photograph's and pissing yourself- well seems like its doing a good job. Unlike mine which I hate, just thought I'd reiterate that point. Its pitiful my job. I'm on a teenagers wage doing a lobotomised donkey's job. I'd have more fun being raped by a footballer, at least I could make some money from selling the story. Footballers do have their uses on this planet. Say what you want about a genius like Stephen Hawkings but can he kick a football. Rest my case. Anyway I've gone part-time in my job now cause the hours are good.
My job is bad like I'm sure most people's are. Most people at work are like a balloon without any air in it. And it isn't a question of money. You can give me all the money in the world and it ain't gonna help if I've got to give my precious time away to do a job which basically involves lying and pandering to people's egos. Shop work is basically designed for people who can separate integrity from earning money. Personally I'm not very good at my job. I've tried to think of ways I can do my job and be the automaton I know they want me to be and it came to me straight away. Drugs. Good old drugs, but not all drugs. You couldn't do my job if you'd just taken a strong dose of DMT. The only job you can do after that is either an artist or a shaman. That's about it. No, you have to take a drug like alcohol. And as much as I like it, you gotta admit, it ain't going to give you revelations that'll help you see the big corporate hard-on that's about to fuck you up the sphincter. Alcohol's an inebriate, not the second coming. That's why when we were off in Australia and we couldn't be arsed to kill all the aborigines we gave them booze. Keeps them docile and laid-down for when we're taking their land. So I reckon I could do a better job if I was on alcohol. It'd keep me steady enough to not get angry and quit. The only problem I have with booze and work is it makes me sweat. Now I'm already a big sweaty guy. Most days I look in the mirror I either look like Buddha or the ghost of Rodney Dangerfield. So I sweat enough, don't fancy adding alcohol to help those sweat glands out. So what other drug can I take.
Anti-depressants. Those pills shouldn't be called anti-depressants they should be called anti-productive. Drugs that'll keep you in line. "Yeah I could leave my job, but a couple of pills and I'm ready for the accounts, I'm ready to mop up shit, I'm ready to go to school." These kids who take Ritalin, a couple of them have got to be genius's right, they're hyper yeah but they're probably the next Picasso, but fuck that career move Mummy needs to rest after her pilates session. People need to feel pain, there's a reason why people feel pain, its to get them out of a life-threatening situation. So when you're in work and in pain its because you need to get out of a life-threatening situation. Its just the situation of work robs your time too. Those pills get you through the job, they just get you through a false life too, so you can't have that. You can't have life of work through mood-altering pills. So what other drug you got. Well you got heroin but that makes you a bit drowsy. No one wants to be given legal advice, or get there tyres changed from a drowsy guy. How heroin addicts make a living as a prostitute I'll never know, but you know social stigma's go together. Cocaine, well you'd be too hyper. Do you really want to go to the cinema and be shown to your seat by Tigger? "Here's your seats-here's your seats-follow me-follow me-FOLLOW ME. F-16, F-15, F-16, F-15, F-16, F-15, F-16, F-15, F-16, F-15, F-16, F-15-there fighter planes. Sit down and enjoy the film." So coke ain't gonna work. Pot. Well whenever I smoke pot I giggle. Giggle like a schoolgirl whose just seen her first penis. The first time I smoked pot I laughed for an hour, stopped for a bit, then laughed for another hour. When I woke up the next morning my jaw felt like I'd been licking out Vanessa Feltz. Before I got to work on Anne Diamond.
Its funny that the drugs that wont help you do your job are the regulated ones. Too many people want to regulate drugs for too many stupid reasons. One reason officials tell you they want to regulate class A, B, C drugs are for addictive reasons, to stop you from being an addict. Bullshit. If your so concerned about addiction then regulate alcohol, cigarettes and masturbation too. And don't go opening up any British Las Vegas in Blackpool too. Heroin will kill ya, but with gambling you can keep on rolling those dice. Even if you're down on your luck and broke you can suck off a stranger for a bit of slot money. They don't care about regulating addiction. They care about regulating money. Your money. Companies have the breweries for alcohol, the plantations for cigarettes. Anyone -ANYONE- can grow cannabis. Anyone can search under cow shit for mushrooms. Anyone can leave their job, stay at home with a good book and a good joint, listening to Immortal Technique and growing some hash. Its not a question of addiction, it's a question of protecting interest. Tell the world that the drugs they can grow are fine and legal, the drugs you can grow are deadly and destructive oh and it funds terrorism and when it wasn't funding terrorism it'd make you into a commie.
It's a fucking lie - and a gross one at that. Leave drugs alone and do what you want with them. I only have two recommendations for drugs and to be honest with you - don't bother sticking to them. They work for me, but you need to find your own guidelines - or none at all. Firstly, I don't do drugs that often. Why? Well while I'll never get that virgin experience again I've noticed if I leave my drug taking for awhile, I do have a better high, buzz, experience than if I was to do it 24/7. Its like eating steak - sometimes you need a salad buffer. Secondly, do drugs with people you like. I've done drugs with people I don't like - doesn't work. The truth comes out - which is actually probably a good thing so throw rule number two out of the window. If you're high and you tell someone what you truly feel about them then great. You can delete their number from your mobile and continue on your merry way. So I only have the first recommendation, and if it doesn't work for you don't do it.
At the end of the day there is a certain truth about drugs. Drugs, like sex doesn't lie. If it'll kill ya with enough - it will. If it'll get you through work - it will. If it gets you to be a party animal - it will. Drugs aren't the problem. Regulation of drugs are. The regulation which causes yet another rape of the third world by supporting drug cartels and creating a whole number of people (mainly women and children) to traffic drugs through to developed nations which are always at the myth of war. War has such a visceral feeling when it is said or read that an emotional investment from the reader is guaranteed. But there is no such thing as a "war" on drugs. There is a war on personal freedom and a war on the third world. Which is why cocaine and heroin -while tempting- hasn't swung me due to the fact that I don't fancy taking a drug which has been brought in through the stomach of some poor Colombian teenager. But never fret. Give it time and before you know it ,when this stupid fucking economy is about to burst, class A, B and C drugs will be allowed to flourish in shops with their not to distant cousins alcohol and cigarettes. And as long as they become "fair-trade" well I may be shooting up after all.
I love conspiracy theories. The weirder, the wackier and the just plain un-provable the better. Some people have soap-opera's, I have guys who talk about how reptoids (reptilian-humanoid) secretly rule the planet in an enrichment programme for their own needs (i.e. the ownership of sun-beds and the depletion of crickets). Just like soap-opera's there are always new twists, new characters and the return of old characters and plotlines too. The continuing process of a theory and the roads and stumbles and cascades that it takes the reader/viewer/truth-seeker on are addictive and compelling to say the least.
Conspiracy theory, despite some theories pointing to the beginning of time, is a relatively new phrase. It only entered the OED in 1997 and its inclusion in that was probably helped by "The X-Files", and the huge cash-cow for its makers and enterprising conspiracy theorists alike that it turned out to be. I'm now going to include a term of conspiracy theory: "A conspiracy theory attempts to attribute the ultimate cause of an event or chain of events (usually political, social, or historical events), or the concealment of such causes from public knowledge, to a secret, and often deceptive, plot by a covert alliance of powerful or influential people or organizations. Many conspiracy theories claim that major events in history have been dominated by conspirators who manipulate political happenings from behind the scenes." Of course this is only half of the picture. Whomever believes in the conspiracy theory or drew it up to begin with may have some emotional investment or emotional desire with the subject of the conspiracy. The conspiracy theory for them would be of healing the grieve that they have. In times of economical and huge social discourse the conspiracy theory plays well with a disillusioned public who in grieve and despair look for answers in any place they can find. The conspiracy theory could also be set out as disinformation. To concentrate the reader/movement onto a theory that hides the truth and distorts them to another plain instead of the one that needs the most attention and will effect the reader/movement the most. But all this in itself adds to the fun. Most conspiracy theories for me play like entertainment. The intrigue, espionage and sheer dogmatic nature of some of the preachers of the theories is the draw for me. In my regular life I don't gossip, and maybe this is perhaps the draw of conspiracy theories. The Chinese whispers of elite powers and hushed tones within a circle of enthusiasts that reveal nuggets of a part truth - much like gossip itself. For in the conspiracy there are grains of truth, and it is the job of those who are interested in a conspiracy theory to see if there is enough evidence to lift the theory to that of truth.
There are some conspiracy theories that I just will never believe in. Elvis is dead, reptoids don't rule the world and while extraterrestrial life is statistically a probability that favours in the realm of credibility I don't believe the U.S. government or any of its administrations over the years has made a pact with extra-terrestrial life. I do however have some serious questions about the Kennedy assassination (JFK), 9/11 and all the symbols that dominate the logos of conglomerate businesses and on U.S. currency. And I believe it is the inherent right of every person to ask and be allowed to ask whatever questions they so desire. It is shame that through education and work the suppression of asking and demanding answers has been wilfully battered down to the point now of exclusion of any critical thinking. I also believe that if all the answers are there then at that point it is time for the conspiracy theorist/truth-seeker to stop the quest. That argument also works for the debunkers of so-called "conspiracy theories". For not so great an intellectual crime can be committed than that of facts being bundled into such an attention diverting and social ostracising that the phrase conspiracy theory conjures up in most rational people. It is a phrase which strikes at people and puts the blinkers on them. No one wants to get tarred with the mad brush. It therefore becomes imperative that when all the answers come in the "conspiracy theory" phrase should be omitted when talking about facts. Facts that some people do not wish to acknowledge and find that within the phrase "conspiracy theory" have a rather clever and effective way of debunking the truth with just two words.
Peace
Some stuff for enlightenment:
"Rant In E-Minor" - Bill Hicks (audio) www.infowars.com (Alex Jones) www.illegal-art.org (download the "Spin" documentary) "The Power of Nightmares" - Adam Curtis (visual) "Doug Stanhope: Deadbeat Hero" (visual)
Copyright of Christopher Alexander Simpson
Currently
listening
:
Revolutionary, Vol. 2
By
Immortal Technique
Release date: 07 June, 2005
I know that I've written about it before, but I find it so interesting and so much a part of our modern culture that I need to write about it again. Moral panics. The kind of news story that gets me jumping out of bed (mostly from an ill-founded irrational fear that whatever it is - it's gonna happen to me). The latest one is guns. Although its actually dying (excuse the pun) out now and that in itself is the big problem with moral panics. Their so vacuous and fast that as soon as the train of fear starts its hard to aboard before its all over and reaches its new destination and a "fresh" panic begins. And this moral panic that we're leaving now was a good 'un folks. Scarily real for me. I got out of bed in the morning, fell over a gun, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth only to realise I was brushing them with a small handbag gun, then went to the shops where I witnessed five shootings and a huge shoot-out between two rival gangs in the post-office and to cap (excuse the pun) it all off when I went home I couldn't get through the door because a mountain of guns were in the way. All-of-a-sudden I wish bird flu, crippling debt and rising house prices were all around me instead of these nasty guns. Oh, not to fear. Bird flu, crippling debt and rising house prices will all be returning as they make repeated returns on the moral panic express. Because as we know bird flu, crippling debt and rising house prices don't exist normally. We usually live in gingerbread houses with taps that leak chocolate.
The term moral panic is insulting to begin with. Those two words aren't designed to sit side-by-side. Where's the morality in making a nation panic? Geez, with all this panic about guns I could sure do with one right now. All this drinking whiskey and getting fired up whenever the half-six ITV news comes on isn't helping. I need a gun Goddamnit! I think I'd calm down if I could just shoot something. I think I could settle my trembling hands if I could feel steel on them before hearing a big fucking bang. Just picturing me all shaky with irrational fear holding a piece of death in my hands…wow…fuck yoga this is the answer. All these kids running about (well, about four kids in the whole country) with guns shooting the place up - I can see the attraction now. Deepak Chopra never thought of this shit. If only moral panics weren't like adverts and instead had a shelf-life then maybe I could write a book. "Chicken Soup & Hot Lead For The Soul…And Your Arteries". But of course it isn't. Moral panics come and go and then re-surface when nothing much is happening - or a lot is happening to the PM and something needs to distract attention.
I wrote in my last blog about moral panic that immigration is our yearly moral panic. That it's the moral panic that lays underneath them all and is our constant fear. I think I was too strict with just one and I would now say that there is a holy trinity of moral panics that brim the year round under the surface. These are: Immigration; Terrorism and Iraq, Iran, Syria or whatever other country we'll go for next. [Just a note on the last one here: I find it piss producing hysterical when you have a conversation with certain people (i.e. fucking idiots) about Iran and Iraq. At the time of Iraq I asked certain people whether they thought we were doing the right thing, "Of course". Cut to now and did we do the right thing? "No. We did the wrong thing. We were presented with incorrect information and we've ruined a country." What about Iran? "BOMB IT! WHERE'S THE WMD'S?!!!?!?!? WE HAVE TO FIND THEM NOW! FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILDREN AND PUPPIES!!!!" Just a note.] I don't have a fear of immigration, terrorism or whatever country is the next Nazi. I don't. That's because -I would say and I think you'll agree- I'm a rational human being with critical thinking who can decide what to fear justly in life and what spectre is being held up for the inducement of fear for whatever political or monetary gain lays behind it. Instead I have a fear of stairs. Which is why I've been in my bedroom the past three weeks in fear I could go arse over tit and break my fucking neck…oh-oh…wait-a-minute…oh yes that's right…THAT'S WHAT WE CALL FUCKING LIFE! Life is full of little things that could kill you, like a blood clot, and big things, like a 4x4 Jeep that you don't notice as you're too busy thinking about whether you'll get shot today. But just because they exist doesn't mean its going to happen. You could have a heart-attack while fucking a sheep while a sheep dog watches on and licks its own balls…haven't heard too many moral panics about that. You need to look at the statistics. In America you have more chance of chocking on a peanut then dying due to an act of terrorism. Even if you don't eat peanuts.
Lastly, about guns as a moral panic - why? A gun's never hurt someone. You could have a playground full of guns. As longs as they're no kids around. As soon as some kids jumped into the sandpit of AK-47's then you've got some problems. And if we look at it with that reason then we should probably say right out that people are the problem. People should be our moral panic, but a moral panic that never ends and eats everything up and withers the world from within like cancer. But then we wouldn't have anyone to watch the moral panic play out on the TV, on the radio and in the newspapers. Until the world can get ratings from corpses then people will never be a moral panic - just the creator.
Stop worrying. Stress will get you before anything else. Worrying about the Asian guy with a backpack on the tube whose in your carriage is gonna do more damage than anything else. Calm down. If you want to worry, you should start when kids don't have their parents, or there parents are as hollow as the moral panics themselves. You should worry about the education these kids have in buildings that have classrooms of uselessness and corridors of anger. Kids aren't taught today, probably haven't been for the past fifty years. Schools are just a crèche without the fun. And don't start a moral panic with schools, because moral panics don't have a resolution and aren't designed to help the problem - just to excite and cause fear and leave solutions in the promise if you buy some things or vote for this person then things will be okay. People deserve more than a moral panic - and I wouldn't even worry about that.
I wish I could remember you The way how I know what lays in the ridges Of my skin and under my nails Remember words said to teach Love, respect and pride I can only slightly picture Experiences experienced together Dull and trudging they come Over a hill of forgetfulness Like closed eyes creeping for morning light But hungry like un-fulfilled, expecting men Searching for answers to questions they never asked That only come to them, when its too late And family and jobs have taken over When time can not go back to youth When time was frozen and still Back here this grown man once boy Silently screams at the black painted wall That's crashed itself on memories Be lifted and move on It stays in its rumbled structure Heavy and caustic to go Cumbersome and domineering it lays Always when I try to think of you Disabled and frustrated I still am By the emptiness of non-recollection As useful as a hollow chanteuse Singing only for the coins of many To write this brings you closer To read distances you The creation not helping the creator Create and create still Only hope for reconciliation With a dead man Whom I knew as well As the matter that lays In the ridges of my skin And under nails
Copyright of Christopher Alexander Simpson
Currently
listening
:
I'm Your Man
By
Leonard Cohen
Release date: 25 October, 1990
The Coming Up To Christmas 2006 Blog
Category: Life
I hate Christmas got to be the worse time of the year. Absolutely ridiculous these annual Commercialmas holiday's that continue for the enjoyment and advancement of capitalists the world over. Hello to you dear reader by the way, hope your Christmas shopping's been going well. Christmas wasn't made for a guy like me. I hate the people, I hate the products and I sure as fuck hate Santa. That fat fuck whose primary role in life is to sell Coke works for everyone from Morrisons -to- the Labour party. Santa - the guy who makes kids diabetic through Haribo, gives un-employed alcoholics jobs and has a sweatshop full of elves that makes Tesco's look like Bangladesh's favourite employers. Santa - the ultimate vacuous symbol of where this world's heading. I was in HMV the other day getting presents for the folks, I get to the counter and before I hear an hello, all I get is "Did you get everything you were looking for?"; "No. I didn't get a blowjob. I looked for one everywhere. Spent ten minutes looking under the 'B' section and all I could find was The Beatles, Tony Bennett and Boney M, who I thought would have come under 'M'. Didn't find one blowjob in the whole mess. You wanna help? I want to see how committed you are to this autonomous shop assistant fodder catchphrase."; "Well, I don't think I can help you Sir."; "Well you have a mouth, come here!" Yeah the customer's always right. Its shit like that though that makes me see what Christmas is all about. Who can get the biggest toy? Who can show the most love through a product? Who can kill the most rainforests and turn it into wrapping paper? I swear as each year rolls on by and I buy cards, tinsel and Lemsip for the inevitable early Winter flu I think, "Screw it, a whole bunch of random people have to die." And I know exactly where I'm going to do my indiscriminate killing spree. Costa coffee. Any place that has the slogan, "Peace and Latte to all men"…fuck it. Someone's got to go.
Christmas used to be the birth of that imaginary saviour of man, Jesus Christ. Its now of course a shopping bonanza that starts in April and ends when the DFS sale begins on Boxing Day. And has anyone passed Ann Summers' recently? Edible Christmas thongs? Sexy Miss Santa plastic outfits? Rudolph The Rampant Vibrator? And this relates to good will to all men how? Well we all know Jesus was a big serial dater, the kind of guy who got plenty of dates with his lax, laisser-faire attitude towards women. The kind of guy who wouldn't think twice of disappearing for three days without a trace before coming back. Yep, a real bad boy. And as for the birthday boy, I can't go to the cinema because "The Nativity Story" is showing. Just what I need, that fucking fairytale brought to cinematic fruition. I need this like I need a free fucking ticket to go see a Pantomime. One of those other traditions we're force-fed to appreciate when December rolls on in. I read somewhere that only one in a hundred Christmas cards will have an image of the Nativity on it. I was more perturbed when I found out that only one in a million Christmas cards will have a picture of a pair of tits on the front. The only person who might be lucky enough to see a pair of tits on a Christmas card with that statistical odd is the Pope, and that miserable Nazi fuck will probably shove it straight in the bin. Send me a picture of a pair of tits and you can turn my Christmas frown upside down. Just don't cover them up with miniature Santa hats on each nipple.
According to the NORAD Santa Tracking website, Santa is tracked every Christmas Eve with the same equipment that tracks the presence of aircraft entering North American airspace… Its good to see that government organisations can keep a track on an imaginary character but can't find Bin Laden. Wow, how great we are! Fucking people, people all around, blowing money and getting fat. People: the worst advert for living, but the best advert for abortion. Maybe I'm feeling like this because this year…I'm with people. Customers. Those charming selfish, shallow cunts who because it isn't the right tone of brown in their shoe are going to have a hissy fit as their children watch on in horror and think, "My. How fucking childish." When you see these people at work, in their natural environment of the shopping centre, it makes you realise that Christmas sure as Hell ain't the solution to there problems. I'd say a vacation to the library would be a start. A vacation away from your delightful children would be the next move. And then after that you're maybe two steps away from joining a militia group but at least you wouldn't be bothering me at work.
So is there anything good about Christmas? Peace is a good thing at Christmas…but why do we have peace (or the illusion of peace) when really all Christmas Day is, is someone's birthday? By that rationale we should be having peace everyday - not a bad idea. Was there peace on my birthday? Fuck no. The Falklands war started when I was born. What does that make me…the Anti-Christ? Of course it doesn't, because the Anti-Christ doesn't exist and Jesus never was the Son of God cause God doesn't exist. Sorry if I've spoilt Christmas for you there. I just want to make it clear that if anyone thought I was gonna come along to Midnight Mass…I'm not. Ain't gonna happen. I'll think I'll stay at home, take a shit and look in wonder at something man-made…which is pretty much what you do in church anyway. Nope Christmas ain't my favourite time of year. I think I'll do on Christmas Day what I do throughout the rest of the year. Do some writing, tell some jokes, show and feel love for the people who I actually want in my life, search for truth and peace, wank-a-lot and then try and get eight hours of sleep before it all starts over again. And despite my pessimistic writing I have a feeling that most of you out there do pretty much the same thing - albeit with a different career and the excessive masturbation part.
Peace
Copyright of Christopher Alexander Simpson
Currently
listening
:
Careless Love
By
Madeleine Peyroux
Release date: 14 September, 2004
