Author Archives: zippypinhead1

How Big Is A Life?

I was stuck in my head again, as usual. This caused me to rail against my fate, as I always rail against my fate. As I always rail, as I always rail. ‘What type of life is this?’ I railed, ‘what type of life is it to be always stuck in your head?’ What type of life, what type of life, what type of life? What type of  bloody old life would you call this? What type of a bloody old life…

 

‘How big is a life?’ I asked myself then, ‘or how small?’ I had written all this before, of course. I had gone through this routine, this wretched rigmarole many times before. My mind was stuck in a groove. My mind was always stuck in a groove. I wished my mind would stop, I wished it would get out of the rotten old groove that it was always stuck in. ‘Why does my mind keep saying the same old things over and over again?’ I asked. ‘Why does it, why does it, why does it?’ What kind of life is it to keep on thinking the same old thoughts over and over again?’ I asked myself, but this was an old thought. I had already thought it many times before and there was no joy left in it – no joy at all. It was a very joyless thought…

 

I was trapped in a loop, I realised. Trapped in a bloody old loop. Trapped in the bloody old loop. The bloody old loop-the-loop. The whole of life was out there, I told myself. The whole of life was out there just waiting to be discovered, and what was I doing apart from going around and around in my head thinking the same old stupid thoughts like some kind of mad fucker? I was thinking the same old thoughts even though the flavour had long since gone out of them. My thoughts tasted like stale chewing gum. ‘Spit out the chewing gum’, I told myself, ‘spit out that rotten old toothless chewing gum because you know you hate it so much!’ ‘Stop chewing it on it like some kind of stupid moron’ I told myself angrily. Stop chewing it, stop chewing it, stop chewing it, I told myself. Stop chewing it you stupid bastard…

 

I couldn’t stop though. I couldn’t stop chewing on that rotten tasteless gum. I couldn’t stop chewing away like some kind of dumb stupid moron. Of course I couldn’t stop – that was the whole problem. Chew chew chew, that’s me. Chewing away. Chewing like a bastard, chewing like a fool. Always chewing. I was the tasteless old bit of gum, I realised. I was the tasteless bit of chewing gum and I was chewing myself! I was chewing away on myself. I was hoping that if I chewed long enough and hard enough then I would get some last tiny bit of flavour out of it, some last tiny morsel of joy. Some scrap that I had missed up to now in all my previous chewing. Some scrap that had somehow escaped all interminable ruminations that I had engaged in up to this point! What a sad, forlorn hope, huh? What a sad and deeply forlorn hope…

 

 

 

Art: PACHI

 

 

 

 

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Political Statement

We all want to hand ourselves over to the tender mercy of brute mechanical forces at times, I get that. Of course we do. We all feel that way at times. I feel that way at times. We want to say what ‘Aah fuck it all’ and hand over responsibility to those dumb old mechanical forces so that we can become their helpless ridiculous playthings. It gets too much, I understand that. The responsibility gets too much – I know that feeling as well as you do. So what do we do then? How do we cope? What’s that the answer? I know how this works as well as the next man. We all experience the yearning to ‘hand over the reins to something bigger and stupider than we are’ at such times. So what we do is that we start believing in the bullshit. We buy into the crap. We subscribe. We sign up. We join some stupid political party, we convert to some crackpot religion, we fall in with a cult, we become budding right wingers and start yapping like a damn fool about ‘a return to traditional values’ and all that type of stuff. We don’t care what type of moronic shit-for-brains garbage we come out with, isn’t that right? We couldn’t care less. We couldn’t care less when things get too much for us and we’re just looking for a way out. Damn right we couldn’t! You don’t need to tell me about it, because I’ve been there. Some dumb-looking guy with a big mouth and a bad attitude starts shouting and roaring like a complete twat about ‘making things right again’ and all that kind of bullshit and we’ll back him to the hilt. We’ll go along with that shit. We’ll go along with it big time – we’ll go along with it all the way. We’ll go along with the old mechanical forces and we’ll be happy about it – we’ll be so so happy just to be another dumb puppet! To be some kind of plaything to mindless mechanical forces. That really is bliss isn’t it? That’s exactly what it is – it’s pure bliss. Everyone loves that. That lovely feeling running around in your belly! That good, good feeling. Running around, running around. Running around in your belly. You’re just feeling that good good feeling and you’re saying ‘yum, yum, yum’ with that big dumb smile on your face. ‘That’s just so yummy’ you say. You just want to keep on saying about how yummy it feels all day long. It’s so yummy to feel that that good good feeling running around your belly – that’s all you can think about. It feels so good you just want to say ‘yummy yummy yummy’ all day long. That’s how good it feels and we all want that. We all want that real bad. We’d be lying if we said that we didn’t, right?

 

 

Image: Andrés

 

 

 

I Am The Grey Fleeing Thing

I am the grey fleeing thing – fleeing through space, fleeing through time. Fleeing through all the dimensions. You might have caught a glimpse of me, every now and again. You might have caught sight of me in passing. Then again, you might not have either, I suppose. You might not have either. I really haven’t much more to add to what I have just said there – that about sums it up. That’s about the size of it! I can’t really add a whole lot to what I’ve just said. That’s about it really, that’s the whole story from beginning to end…

 

You might query me on that. ‘You must have seen a lot in the course of all your fleeing,’ you might say, encouragingly. ‘You’ve obviously been around a fair bit.’ The truth is however that I haven’t seen a lot – I’ve been far too busy fleeing to notice very much! I’ve seen very little. It’s all been a bit of a blur, really. There are shapes rushing by me on either side, but that’s about the limit of any observations that I might be making on the subject. There are vague shapes rushing by me on all sides, and it is as if I am heading down a long, dark, twisty tunnel. The tunnel goes on forever. It’s the Forever Tunnel…

 

I am the grey, fleeing thing – fleeing through space, fleeing through time. Fleeing through all the dimensions. Fleeing for all I’m worth. You might have seen me in your dreams. You might have seen me in your dreams, but I doubt it. Why would you even bother to take notice? I’m sure you have other things on your mind. Everyone always has other things on their mind. It’s hard not to be preoccupied in life, isn’t it? There’s always something to be worried about. If there wasn’t then you’d be worried about that, isn’t that right? Isn’t that the way?

 

I’m preoccupied with fleeing, for example. That’s a prime example. Fleeing takes up all my time, you could say! You could say that, but it wouldn’t be accurate. Strictly speaking, it wouldn’t be accurate at all! You see the thing is (and this is something that nobody understands) fleeing actually creates time. Fleeing creates its own special type of time for it to occur within. It’s tautologically self-generating. Fleeing creates ‘fleeing time’ and actually – if the truth were to be known – ‘fleeing time’ is the only time there is.

 

That’s a bit of a bombshell, isn’t it? Or rather it would be a bit of a bomb-shell if anyone took it on board. Which they don’t. Which they never do. Nobody ever understands this you see. I’ve tried explaining it to people but they just won’t have it; they just stare at me as if I had two heads. Or as if I had ten heads. People are so limited in their understanding, aren’t there? People are so very limited. They have such sharply defined cut-off points to their interest. It’s odd how very limited people are, and you can be sure no one will ever get this. You could never tell them. You could never force that understanding into their brains. That’s what it means to be limited after all!

 

I am the grey fleeing thing – fleeing through space, fleeing through time. Fleeing for all I’m worth. And at the same time that I’m fleeing I’m creating time with my fleeing. The more I flee the more time there is – it’s infinitely expandable, you see. The faster I flee the faster the time goes, but there’s never any end to it. There’s never any end to it. The trouble is that I’m afraid to stop fleeing, as well you might imagine. I’m afraid to stop fleeing, I’m afraid of what might happen when I do. I’m afraid to find out what it might be like when there’s no more time…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pass On The Virus

I was trying to pass on the virus. I’m always trying to pass on the virus – it’s the only thing I know how to do! I don’t think I could do anything else even if I tried. Not that I ever would try not passing on the virus of course. Passing on the virus is my raison d’être, after all! It’s who I am.

 

I drive around in a little white van with Tastee Tastee Chicken Bites written in big letters on the side and a funny cartoon picture of a laughing chicken. That’s how I spread the virus you see. Through the universal medium of fast food. I’m only joking of course, that’s just my sense of humour coming out there. I do have a sense of humour, you know! It’s just that not everyone gets it. Well no one gets it actually, but what the hell. What the hell, what the hell. What the hell, what the hell. What the hell, what the hell.

 

As I go about my daily business I sing a little song to myself – ‘pass on the virus, pass on the virus, pass on the virus,’ I sing. I call it the virus song. Although now that I come to think about it it’s not so much a song as a strident mechanical refrain, what you could call a kind of reiterative command sequence. ‘Pass on the virus, pass on the virus, pass on the virus’, I intone humourlessly as I go about my business. Sometimes when things aren’t going well a note of judgement and condemnation creeps in and then I chant ‘pass on the virus you useless fucking bastard, pass on the virus you useless fucking bastard…’ I get quite unpleasant at times like this. I turn negative.

 

The virus is me of course. I am the virus so naturally I don’t know how to do anything else apart from promoting myself at every available opportunity. What else would you expect me to do? The virus is in me, driving me onwards, and the virus is also my identity. It’s who I am. I have to imprint my opinions on everyone I meet otherwise I feel bad, otherwise I feel like a failure. ‘Look at that loser’, everyone will say then, ‘he’s failing to imprint his opinions on everyone he meets. He’s failing to get his point across. He’s not a trendsetter. He is a waste of space. No one likes him. No one even listens to him’

 

When this happens it is very easy to turn against oneself and join in with all the criticism and condemnation that you imagine is being leveled at you. The mantra changes, as always. The self-affirming, self-promoting mantra flips over and becomes negative. It happens so easily, it happens at the drop of a hat. The viral energy then rebounds on itself and become self-destructive. You find yourself berating  yourself constantly, day and night – ‘you’re such a pathetic loser,’ you tell yourself, ‘you are failing to promote yourself in the true viral fashion. You are a failure.’ You become envious of all the successful viruses then. ‘Oh if only I could be like them,’ you say. You hate them. You hate the succesful viruses. You hate yourself more though…

 

 

 

 

The Determinate Reality

The Determinate Reality is so very determinate, isn’t it? It’s so determinate, so determinate, so determinate… It determines everything really, doesn’t it? It determines every last little thing and that’s why they call it ‘the Determinate Reality’. Some things are so very obvious aren’t they, when you actually come out with them? When you actually come right out and say it. It may not have been so obvious beforehand of course; it may not have been so obvious that all. For example, for many years I’ve blamed everything that went wrong in my life on the dirty rotten bastards who I knew were out there somewhere, messing me about with for their amusement. Whatever happened, it was always the fault of some dirty rotten bastard somewhere! You know that it was and you give out yards about them. You’d swear and curse about them being such dirty rotten bastards and you’d put a real feeling into it! I’m sure you know what I mean. I have no doubt that you know what I mean. It’s one of those pleasures in life, like smoking roll-ups. That’s one example that comes to my mind anyway, although I’m sure there are others if only I could think of them. You know how good the first rollie of the day is – it’s the feeling of looking forward to it as much as anything of course. The exquisite sense of anticipation. Getting out the pouch of old Holborn and rolling a nice fat scraggly one to have with your cup of tea. That’s such a pleasure – your whole body seems to feel the hit. It’s almost like every cell in your body is luxuriating in it. I can feel it now as a talk about it and it’s 15 years since I gave up smoking. You’d swear I was William Burroughs talking about heroin, wouldn’t you? Anyway, my point is that cursing the dirty rotten bastards whose fault everything was was every bit as enjoyable as that! It’s not like I think you don’t know that already or anything; I’m just saying what comes into my head. I’m trying to explain myself. So anyway that was all fine until one day I realised that this was all just me projecting my negativity onto the world and that actually the dirty rotten bastard was me. The ‘dirty rotten bastard’ had been me all along and all the time (not knowing the truth) I had been deriving enormous, deeply-satisfying pleasure from cursing them at every available opportunity. Not to put too fine a point on it, I had spent pretty much most of my entire adult life giving out hell to the dirty bastards who were  – in my eyes – constantly fucking everything up, only to discover – all of a sudden, without any warning – that it had been me all along. The bastard was me. Can you imagine what a complete and utter headfuck that must have been for me? Can you imagine how bad it made me feel? It’s not that I’m fishing for sympathy or that I want to make out I’ve had a rough deal or anything like that. I know I had it coming to me. I know that all too well. I suppose what I want is just for someone to understand, for someone just to get what I’m actually saying here. When I mean is, I think that I want someone to understand just how utterly absolutely gutted and demoralized I felt when I had that insight. I don’t even have words for how shit I felt right then. And there is another part of me  – of course  – that doesn’t believe that anyone ever can understand how bad I felt…

 

 

 

 

The Hero Of the Coffee Break

‘It’s an everyday story of everyday folk,’ I snapped back, in a rapier-like riposte. I was the hero of the coffee break, I was a lone voice crying out in the wilderness. I was a lone voice crying out in the wilderness of the hospital canteen. ‘Okay,’ I roared belligerently, warming to my theme, ‘suppose we do socially engineer a society made up entirely of self-cherishing narcissists the way everyone says we should do, what then is the overall output of this society going to be? What are we going to achieve by this strategy?’ As usual, I was sitting all alone at the table. As usual, I was engaged in a complex, multifaceted debate in the privacy of my own imagination. ‘It’s an everyday story of everyday folk,’ I stated again, gesticulating grandly as I did so. My whole life was over in a flash – I never saw it go. My mind was elsewhere at the time. It was otherwise engaged, although not with anything good, not with anything worthwhile. The Hero Consciousness existed within me – I knew that much – but I was having difficulties bringing it out, I was having difficulties in expressing it. I’ve hit the nail right on the head with that observation, I realised dourly. I had hit the nail on the head fair and square. ‘You couldn’t hit the nail on the head more fairly and squarely than that’, I told myself with grim satisfaction. I wondered then if I deserved any acknowledgement at all for that feat. Surely there is some kind of merit to be had in making such a remarkably accurate and ‘to-the-point’ observation, I thought, and not without a trace of bitterness either. Seeing reality can be a bitter thing, it occurred to me then, and not for the first time. Not by a long chalk. Certainly not for the first time. It was only the latest in a very long sequence of such thoughts. Identical thoughts, in fact. The guy sitting across the table from me was a ‘systems man’ through and through – his position was that all enemies of the system should be eliminated forthwith, and without any further ado. His approach was certainly a straightforward one and I could appreciate that. His approach to any problem always came down to exactly the same thing and there was – in some sense – an admirable consistency in that. From the point of view of a systems man, it is of course entirely reasonable to take the position that all obstacles to the proper functioning of the system should be eliminated (and furthermore, without any regrets on the matter). In the light of what I’ve just said, my protagonist’s confidence was quite understandable, therefore. I know that some people would make a big deal of saying that this guy sitting across the table from me isn’t real, that he is – in some way – a mental projection of mine representing some part of me that I have yet to make conscious, but I have little patience with this type of irritating psychobabble. Why can’t people just admit they know nothing and leave it at that?

 

 

 

 

Trash Memes

Such is our unconsciously perverse, pain-seeking nature that – given half a chance – we will straightaway proceed to design an Abusive Environment for ourselves and then, having succeeded at this, we will then sink an awful lot of energy into denying that there is, on the one hand, any other way of doing things, and – on the other hand – into claiming that this way of doing things is actually pleasant and wholesome and that it should be considered ‘the way to go’!

 

That’s it in a nutshell, really. How many times would you hear it spelled out as clearly as that? Not very often, I’ll warrant! Not at all, I’ll warrant. By jingo you won’t! You won’t hear it spelt out clearly as I did just now and that’s a fact. Damn straight it’s a fact. This particular formulation of the truth of our situation is strictly prohibited in the Abusive Environment. It’s not so much that is prohibited perhaps but rather that we have had a psychic block placed deep in our consciousness so that if anyone were to come up and tell us the truth of our situation then we wouldn’t understand what a word of what they were saying.

 

‘So what kind of stuff goes on in the abusive environment?’ You ask politely. Perhaps you are humouring me. I don’t know – I have no way of knowing. It doesn’t matter though, it doesn’t matter if you’re humouring me or not. What goes on you see is that we are forced to think nonsense thoughts on a continual basis. This Abusive Environment of ours bombards us night and day with nonsense tropes, trash memes, and we have no choice but to let them enter our consciousness and not only enter our consciousness but take up residence there too. And not only do the nonsense memes take up residence in us, they act as seeds to crystallise our sense of identity, our sense of purpose.

 

‘So what sort of purpose might that be?’ you ask, raising your eyebrows very slightly. ‘What kind of purpose indeed, my friend’ I reply, ‘what kind of purpose indeed…’ When I think of those dirty old trash means I feel the bile rising within me. I feel it bubbling up like a black tide in my stomach. You’d wonder what kind of so-called ‘purposes’ could come about as a result of that dirty filthy old trash memes, wouldn’t you? You’d have to wonder…

 

So the thing about the Abusive Environment isn’t just that it’s bombarding us with all these amplified viral messages that burrow deep into our consciousness – although that would of course be quite bad enough on its own. It goes far beyond this however: we are actually coerced to believe them, we’re forced to believe the trash memes even though they are total and utter toxic nonsense. We are compelled to believe those dirty filthy trash means you see. We’re not given any choice…

 

We don’t see what’s going on at all, we’ve got it all backwards – we perceive ourselves to be thinking these thoughts that makes sense and which are ours and only ours and not anyone else’s, whereas the truth is that they are dirty generic trash memes and they don’t mean anything at all! Of course the dirty generic old trash memes don’t ‘mean’ anything – they’re just vile nonsense thoughts! They’re toxic garbage through and through.

 

That’s the thing you see. That’s the thing about the Abusive Environment. These hideous file trash memes aren’t meant to ‘make sense’, they’re meant to take the piss. They’re meant to mock us for being so stupid as to go along with them. They’re meant to humiliate us, to degrade us. They’re meant to defile our essential being. When we allow (as we do allow) these dirty filthy toxic trash memes to define us (as they do define us) then we – of course – become trash too! We become toxic garbage too and on this basis we naturally despise ourselves. And that’s what the Abusive Environment wants, you see. That’s what the Abusive Environment wants.