Things, differently

by typecat

Aw, look I forgot to blog. Yeah, yeah, this breaks all the rules of blogging but you know what? I don’t care. Blog like it’s your job if you want to but I have had other projects occupying me. All writing, just the words are turning up in different places.

Besides, this is the least of our problems.

Heres’s the deal: this whole country is ethically and morally bankrupt. From the media, the political elite and the police to the little men in offices up and down and all around. The capital pee political and the small pee personal, and vice versa, it’s all curled up and died and only the zombified masses can bear to lurch around in the cesspit any longer. Do we get it yet? Has the penny dropped?

Well, wake up I say. Wake up. Let’s pretend it’s the sixties again and drop out. It’s the only way. Leave. Run. Escape them before they kill you from the inside.

Give them your art, your soul, your life’s work and it’s you too, out there in the fog and shit, paddling along with the flotsam and scumbags trying to keep your head above the jism while the stomp over you to get to the edge of the world faster than you. Oh yes, we are all heading to the bleak, blood stained horizon. Unless…

There’s a Far Eastern proverb, which I can only half remember, about how if you sit on the bank of the river long enough eventually the body of your enemy will float past. If you want me, I’ll be on the river bank watching. Don’t make me watch for you.

Enough negative schtick. Their spew is contagious. Let’s put it another way, our way:

There’s nothing here for us people. Let’s get the hell out while we still can. Let’s do things differently. There’s a lot to be said for just side stepping all of their nonsense and getting in touch with what’s actually Important. Not important but Important. Capital eye. Important to you. The real you. Not you the brand, or you when your performing one of those roles you have to perform at work, or in the bar, or with your family. You. To use a topic example: if you get shafted out of your job when they close a £878 million pound generating newspaper to save the arse of some harridan with dirt on them, you might find you’ve become someone you really don’t want to spend time with, and by then? It’ll be too late. You’ll have to.