A Peaceful Place

“Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth”

- Alan Watts

I don’t think anything really dies down as such. It's much more to do with the amount of superficial that gets poured into the catalyst before its set alight. If you’re here for opinions to shake your head at or advice on what to do next then I’m afraid this isn’t your piece. It’s mine. I mean, when you actually look back, nothing really happened, no one did anything. The sheer polarity of then and now makes it seem like centuries have passed, but as we battle with goldfish for a place in the attention span race, we would do better to take note that it was a week or so ago. It says a lot for your dedication to a cause.

Recollecting the arguments I had with a smile on my face, I am very grateful for where I am now. It is not entirely free of complications, but no life should exclude adversity. What I come to realize is the sheer amount of unnecessary layers we place upon living, and how we often praise ourselves for our human ability to do so. Somehow those qualities that separate us from the rest of the animal kingdom are noteworthy. There have been many times when I have imagined life as an overprotected child dressed in a multitude of jumpers, coats, and waterproofs in the middle of summer just in case it gets cold. I have looked at individuals that same way. 

It is in the face of this so-called disease that we are taught to truly understand what necessity is, and in doing so we are shown the superfluous. Hopefully it will become apparent that COVID 19 can be used as a metaphor for alcoholism, smoking, watching the football or deciding that you already know enough, and giving up the pursuit of knowledge in the sole favor of starting a family or being one of the lads. It should hopefully highlight the fact that it's easy to die and we might be wasting what time we have.

But I don’t really want to dwell on that. In all honesty, I just needed a break from writing about phytochemicals, sex toys, and when to see a psychiatrist. I don’t have the inclination to push through my daily quota for chapter 5 either. Alice is well established as the maiden, mother, and sage feminine archetypes and all she has to do now is endure an organisational fuck-up that results in the hospitalisation of two complete strangers and the death of another. So, I am coming to you from a peaceful place. The well earned side of lethargic. 

I’ve found philanthropy becoming difficult again. One friend of mine said that ‘philanthropy was a construct of the Marxist agenda’ and his saying that is perhaps why I find it so difficult. All of these layers. Our little disabled life-character wrapped in all these layers. Let him get cold, see if he’s smart enough to survive without them. Can he layer himself up with elements of the earth or must we shield him in synthetics for him to stand a chance? I am interested in the breath of life: The actual.

I know what you might say, its impossible to live without all of this: the politics, technology, philosophies and ideologies. We even have concerns about status, fashion, body mass index and even think that our sexual orientation is worth shouting about. Two weeks ago I was being not-so politely informed that I have inherited some amount of guilt at the hands of my skin colour alone, and that failing to requite for it is to invest in the apparent racism muddle. It’s not so dissimilar to another disagreement I had when someone decided to voice their opinion that people are fat because unhealthy food is cheaper, or that there is very little nutritional advice given in schools. Very similar in the sense that both are bullshit.

All of these layers on top of the ‘matter of fact’ of things, as if we’d turn to dust like vampires turned to the sun if we didn’t have them. I’ve sat at bars with alcoholic Jehova’s Witnesses trying to scientifically prove the existence of god. Ive been labelled a homophobic simply because I find overly-effeminate characteristics in any sex overly-dramatic and annoying. And now this nonsense about being racist because I won’t admit to the unavoidable advantages I possess by being a straight, white male.

And pride! Don’t get me fucking started on pride. My uncle sent me a spam message in messenger about how now is the most important time to be white and proud. There’s a half-arsed fucking racist if you want one! I told him something along the lines of being proud of your skin colour makes about as much sense as being proud of having both of your lips. Human beings should be proud! Well, only if you’ve actually done something. Don’t be proud because the team you support just won the Champion’s League or because your straight or gay or black or white. You ‘ain’t done nothing love. Saying I’m proud to be white connotates to “I’m a cunt” and there’s no reason why saying your proud of being any of those other things doesn’t suggest the same other than the angle history and fragility is having us take over things.     

Let me say one thing though. It’s important for people to be proud of something. I wonder if taking pride in nationality, skin colour or sexual orientation is a cover up for not accomplishing anything noteworthy. I used to frequently have the privilege of occasionally being in the same bar as a guy who threatened to punch me in the face for not being proud of being English. He clearly was. Taking a more objective look from the comfort of Phu Quoc, in the absence of any adrenaline spikes that might come with such a threat, its easy to see that he didn’t really amount to very much. I would imagine -from first hand experience- that the daily drinking helped masked that niggling feeling. I’m not here to say I do amount to very much. It’s just an observation. He set an example. Something to be proud of, perhaps.

I’ve just finished my second dinner. I’m going to drink a concoction of flat ginger beer with some Scottish blend whiskey that no Scotsman would touch unless he hated the fact he could see. Vision guilt! Wait for it. All it takes is a bit of bitterness and small mindedness and anything can happen. We’ve proved that. I’ll sip that godawful concoction over ice with a fake Marlboro and watch the skyline whilst the locals mangle karaoke. Forget all about Boris and Trump and think about chapter 6. Thanks for listening.