Author Archives: zippypinhead1

Maybe Jordan Peterson Was Right

When people talk to me I tend to look at them in a funny kind of a way. ‘Very good – you are saying the thing’, I tell them. I nod at them encouragingly. I don’t really have a clue what they’re up to to. I never have the correct emotional response. I have eyes on stalks.

 

Maybe we’re not human beings at all but lobsters. Maybe Jordan Peterson was right? Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think of that? We think that we’re all so damn clever don’t we? Don’t you ever get sick of it – meeting people who are apparently so damn clever the whole time? Yapping like fools. Mouthing off out of them the whole time. ‘Just shut up,’ you’d like to say. ‘Please just shut up…’

 

The street is full of lobsters. Your workplace is full of lobsters, snapping at each irritably. Threatening each other with their giant pincers. The dance of the lobsters, that’s what it is. The dance of the lobstrosities. Maybe we’re not human beings at all – did you ever think of that? It’s a common delusion of course. It’s a popular misapprehension. ‘We are human beings,’ we chorus in unison. ‘I’m an actual real person,’ I say, waving my pincers about. ‘I’m going to give someone a pinch, sure as eggs is eggs. You bet I am…

 

Lobsters, lobsters, lobsters – huh? What are you going to do? Where are you going to turn? There’s nowhere to turn so you might as well not bother. There’s a story that we are actually real human beings but you don’t want to be giving that any heed. We are all lobsters with suits on, lobsters in high heels, and that’s the long and the short of it.

 

Have you ever noticed that when we communicate all we do is project limitations? All we do is indirectly assert limitations whilst ingeniously pretending that we are breaking new ground. We pretend that we are ‘reaching out there’; we pretend that we’re probing the universe, seeking to explore its mysteries. A noble endeavour, wouldn’t you say? Let’s all engage in noble ventures. Why not, after all? Why wouldn’t we?

 

We shut everything down whilst claiming to be engaged in open enquiry. The perennial pursuit – closing reality down. Shutting it down, shutting it down. Shut the door on your way out, wouldn’t you? What were you, born in a barn? What are you, some kind of fool? You have to put up with the mockery of your peers then, you see – you have to put up with the unceasing mockery of your highly-respected peers.

 

Maybe we are all frobsters, did you ever think of that? We think we’re so damn clever. We think we’re so damn clever because we invented Superman. Because we invented mouse pads, because we invented hair conditioner. Maybe we are all frobsters, did you wink at that? We think we’re on TV, playing to the gallery, but we’re not. We think we’re live-streaming, deep into the subtleties of ethnographic research, but that’s not true. We’ve become who we were supposedly studying – we’ve gone native, we’ve lost the plot.

 

There is no plot. We think we know where it’s going – we don’t see the twist. The twist is that there is no twist, the twist is that there is no plot, no story-line. There’s just a babble of voices. Always, always, always – just a babble of voices. And the ominous clacking of pincers. You mustn’t forget the ominous clacking of pincers….

 

 

 

 

Art –  Lobstosity, by SylverWynd on deviantart.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Couldn’t Fake It…

Something was trying to get through to me – something very strong, something very persistent. I instinctively knew that it would wear me down in the end, resist it though I might. It was reality of course. It always is, isn’t it? What the hell is it with reality anyway? What’s its beef? What is the big idea with this reality business – surely reality realizes by now that we don’t need it? You think it would get the hint now wouldn’t you? ‘Look buddy, can’t you see that no one wants you here? You’re not popular with a lot of folk in these parts and that’s just the way it is. No hard feelings now…’

 

And the funny thing was that it was never my life anyway. With hindsight I can see this quite clearly. I can see it with startling clarity. At the time of course I thought it was my life and this particular misapprehension rather changes our outlook on things. It always does, it inevitably does. That’s a mistake we all make though, isn’t it? Show me someone who isn’t making this mistake right now – that’s a person I’d very much like to meet! I can’t get my head around this idea at all, not even a little bit can I get my head round it. What must that feel like – to realise in the moment (not just in retrospect) that it isn’t you living your life? How could anyone even begin to imagine what that would feel like?

 

It’s different – sometimes – when you look back on some event in your life. You look back and think that never actually happened to me. I was never actually there.  But then the next thought is: ‘if I wasn’t there then I where was I?’ That’s a weird moment, isn’t it? An uncanny moment. It’s as if you weren’t anywhere. You know you weren’t anywhere. You know you never were anywhere, not ever.  So the next thing is – of course – is that you set to work to compute that, you set to work trying to figure it out. ‘How exactly does that work?’ you ask yourself. You’re trying to get your head around it: ‘I was never there’, you say to yourself. Someone else was living my life for me, was always living my life for me. There is that knowledge. Although right now, right at this very moment, it seems to me that I am living this life – absolutely it feels that I am living this life. There is that  very familiar feeling of pressure – that sense of pressure we’re all working under: ‘Get it right,’ the pressure says. ‘Don’t screw up for God’s sake – whatever you do, don’t screw up…’

 

 

But if I’m not living this life then what’s all this pressure about? What’s all this anxiety about – who’s going to screw it up anyway? What the hell is the point of all this pressure? That’s a funny one to think about alright – what’s the point of the pressure, what’s the point of the pressure? Where’s the need for it? So how do you get your head around that one? ‘I was never there and someone else was living my life for me’. At the time living life seemed like a problem. Always a problem. Sometimes it’s too much of a problem, sometimes it crushes you completely. You’re worried about doing the right thing. You’re worried that you might do the wrong thing, just like you always do the wrong thing. You’re worried that you’ll mess it up. You’re worried sick; you’re anxious all the time. And then the event passes and you worry about something else instead. Over and over again. One thing after another until one day you reach the end of all things…

 

We were all very proud of ourselves back then – we were proud of being arrogant, proud of being dumb. Immensely proud of our arrogance and dumbness – impenetrably and impregnably proud of our fantastical stupidity, the like of which you cannot imagine, the like of which you could not even dream of… Full of perversity, we wore our ignorance as a badge of honour. We were an unmannerly crew and no mistake, but life has a cunning way of correcting such matters! Such arrogance as ours has only one purpose and that is to be duly corrected. The greater the arrogance the bigger the correction that is needed; the more fantastically impregnable the stupidity the more pertinent the lesson must be. The one exists in proportion to the other of course. All is harmony, all is harmony. Don’t worry, don’t fret, the harmony of which I speak is unbreakable! You couldn’t break it if you tried. You couldn’t fake it if you cried…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incomprehensible Perfection

We all have darkness within us, don’t we? That dark, dark darkness. That dark old darkness. We won’t talk about that though. Not today we won’t. Today is a day to talk about happy things, right? Talk about the happy things. Yes, yes, yes – the happy things. It’s time to talk about the happy things. The happy things are so very happy, aren’t they? They are so very happy. It makes me cry when I think about them because they are so happy. There are tears of joy streaming down my face.

 

Only not really, of course. I’m stuck down here in one of the grey hell realms and the mud fish are busy biting small holes in my flesh; they will lay their eggs in these holes and after a brief incubation period the eggs will hatch out as sub-dermal parasites. They run around my body at will, staking their territory as they go. They will control my mind and make me behave in certain ways. I will become a corrupted shadow-dweller along with all the others. There are very many of them. Very many of us. We will vote for fascist politicians and roar in the streets. We will roar and roar until our faces go as red as beetroots. We will roar about the bad people and how something has to be done about them.

 

We all have parasitic life-forms within us, don’t we? Of course we do, of course we do. We don’t like to think about it but we do. We are riddled with them and they control our minds it will, making us perform certain behaviours. The parasites make us buy the products. ‘Buy the products’, the parasites tell us, ‘buy the products.’ Yes, yes, is yes – buy the products. The parasites always tell us to buy the products and we always buy them. Parasites make us watch Love Island. Only not really of course – we make ourselves watch Love Island. The parasites have better taste than that. In their own way, the sub-dermal parasites are poets.

 

The Skin Fish are running about my body – I can see them running here and there as little shadows. Little shadows that move with great rapidity under my skin. ‘Look at them go,’ I said to myself, ‘just look at them go…’ They are creatures of great elegance and beauty and I admire them immensely for that. Their intelligence far outstrips my own, of that I have no doubt. I might have doubted that once, but not any longer. At times I can hear them communicating with each other in their singsong little voices. Their mode of communication is almost entirely telepathic, as far as I can tell, although I suspect that they also communicate via transmittable chemicals to some extent, just as the social insects like termites and bees do.

 

Every now and again the Skin Fish colony inside me communicates with me, their host. It’s more like education than anything else – it’s like going back to college. Better really, from the educational point of view, since when I was at college I was always too out of my head on whatever drugs I could get my hands on to learn anything. Or even care about learning anything, for that matter. That’s how it is when you’re young, isn’t it? It’s how you are when you’re old too, in my case. The Skin Fish colony communicates with me via what I like to think of as educational pictograms, which are like multidimensional ‘mind images’ that are infinitely dense in information.

 

Sometimes they talk to me in a regular type of way too. A regular telepathic type of way. One of the most important things they told me was that everything is an expression of the Incomprehensible Perfection. There is no good and no bad, no ‘lesser beings’ or ‘higher beings’, the Skin Fish explained to me, only the various expressions of the Incomprehensible Perfection. This is how I knew that they were more intelligent than human beings. Human beings never say this, to my knowledge. They never, ever say that. Human beings are always going on about lower beings and higher beings and suchlike hierarchies. Human beings are innately fascist in my view; they just aren’t interested in learning that everything which happens is an expression of the Incomprehensible Perfection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Mask Slipped…

The mask slipped, revealing the hideous corruption that lies beneath. Revealing the hideous corruption, revealing the hideous corruption. Revealing, revealing. Alas for us poor servants of corruption! Alas for us. What a wretched lot is ours – what a grim, wretched existence this is. Can you even bear to think about our wretched unhappy existence, the misery and self-loathing that each day brings to us? I doubt if you can, I very much doubt if you can.

 

Not that I blame you for that, you understand. Not that I blame you for your squeamishness – I can’t bear to think of it myself, never mind blaming you for averting your gaze! Just keep on walking, just keep on walking. Keep looking straight ahead, pretend you don’t see anything. Look straight ahead and keep on walking – isn’t that the way?

 

It’s all so very easy to blame, far too easy to be healthy, that’s for sure! So very easy, so very easy. The blame and condemnation comes out all by itself! it’s like allowing yourself to be used as a conduit to channel effluence, it’s exactly like that actually. That’s actually just about spot on. If you really get into it you can feel yourself channel the Big One – the full toxic load of hell. That’s the mother lode, that is…

 

Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the utter degradation of such an eventuality? Utter degradation would be putting it mildly, I’d say. You’d be getting off lightly in this case – you would be lucky to get off with utter degradation. The full toxic load of hell will be pouring through you and is no calculating just how unpleasant that would be. There’s simply no calculating that kind of thing.

 

How a good yield would you say that you’d obtain after emptying the hell of its toxic burden of malice? That would be some yield, wouldn’t you say? A rich vein to tap into, by all accounts. There is a well that isn’t going to run dry any time soon, that’s for sure! There is a resource for you to gloat over now – the toxic effluence of hell! ‘I suppose so,’ you reply listlessly. You’re feeling fed up at this stage, of course. You’ve lost interest. You just want to get on with your life – you’ve got things you need to do, after all. You are peeved with my long-windedness. ‘Does this guy ever bloody shut up?’ you are asking yourself. What is all this fucking shit anyway?’ And if this is what you are thinking then I can hardly blame you for it. Who am I to blame you, anyway? What right have I to be pointing the accusing finger? Blaming is the odious process of channelling Satan and all his demons anyway, as we all know. As we all know only too well…

 

Would you blame someone for channelling Satan, after all? Would you say that it is their fault? People like to talk about ‘opening Pandora’s box’ I know but this type of talk is all very glib. It’s offensively glib in my view. Who knows whether opening Pandora’s box is good or bad? Everyone says that it’s bad – ‘Oh look.’ We say, ‘look at all the bad stuff that came out of Pandora’s box. Before that because everything was just great and now you’ve spoiled it…’ That’s what people always say, isn’t it? Folk just love to say that.

 

People love to say all sorts of things though don’t they? All sorts of things. People love to say all sorts of things. You know well that they do – you know that as well as I do! We all say that it’s a sin to sin, we all say that sinning is bad. But is it? Is it really? Maybe it’s okay, maybe it ISN’T a sin to sin but just a necessary thing. Just like it was a necessary thing to open Pandora’s box. Someone had to do it, after all…

 

 

 

Art: Rene Magritte

 

 

 

 

 

Another Day, Another Lie

They were guilty of committing the same sin as me and that’s why I hated them so much. I had no time for them, no regards for them. Their fate held no interest to me – there was nothing that could happen to them that they did not richly deserve, in my view. Not that it really was my view of course. It was just another of my lies that had gotten out of control another line, another falsehood. Another lie, another day…

 

If we survive to lie another day, will you feel sorry for us? Do you have compassion where I do not? I can see now that perhaps you do; I can see that it is me who is the hideous freak for feeling no compassion towards those whose only crime is that they have made the same mistake that I myself already have done. Seeing this about myself doesn’t help me any however, it only makes me despise myself all the more. Whatever fate holds in store for me, it is only my just desserts. I know that for a fact. However wretched my fate, it will be no more than I deserve.

 

Live to lie another day. I lied once and so I will lie again. And again. Why spoil a good thing, after all? Why disrupt the habit of a lifetime? Why turn your back on a perfectly serviceable lie when the truth is so very inconvenient? ‘I lied once so I will lie again’ has become my motto. Everyone needs a motto. I’ve started so I’ll finish. I lied once and so I will spend the rest of my wretched life protecting that lie and building upon it, looking on in horror as it falls to pieces all around me, hanging on pathetically onto it until the very last moment. Until the very last moment, mind you. Until the very last moment. The very last. It’s all against my will, all of it. Everything apart from the lie is against my will.

 

We live to lie another day but sometimes it’s not as easy as that. Sometimes things can turn against you and when that happens you’re swimming against the tide. When that happens you’re fighting a losing battle and there’s nothing as bitter as fighting a losing battle, is there? Nothing so bitter, nothing so bitter. Sometimes the old lie doesn’t work out quite so well. Your will is pointing in one direction and the world is moving quite contrary to this! The world is moving in the opposite direction to your will. When this happens you will become synonymous with the lie; the whole of everything is now working in opposition against your will, which is the life. Reality is working against your will and your being dragged, kicking and screaming, to a place where you really don’t want to be…

 

So that’s a very unpleasant scenario for you; that’s a very unpleasant scenario and it can happen all too easily. It can happen at the drop of a hat and there is no protection against that. There are no safeguards that you can take! The unpalatable truth is however that the situation is a good deal last nastier than it might at first appear. There’s a twist in it. The twist is that your ‘will’ isn’t really your will at all. It’s just one of your lies that has got the better of you and is now controlling your life. It’s a demon that you invited into your home and now it’s ruling the roost! You couldn’t throw it out now even if you wanted to, but you don’t. You don’t want to throw it out because you now suffering from a bad case of demonic possession. A very bad case. It’s not your will but the demon’s will you’re obeying and it’s taking you to your doom. Express route, no stops allowed. To call this an ‘ignominious situation’ is the mother of all understatements – you’ve been well and truly hoisted by your own petard. You’ve been judged by your own standards and you’ve been found as guilty as hell…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Consciousness Raising

My question is this: “Do we really need yet more toxic social justice warriors?” And my considered answer is inevitably and invariably YES. Emphatically YES. Absolutely we do. Without any question we do. Beyond any shadow of a doubt we do – and the more obnoxiously self-righteous, judgemental and downright vicious the better! So our message must be “Keep up the good work you TSJWs!” Keep up the good work because it is very good to do that. Keep up the splendidly good work because it is a very good that you are doing that and you deserve respect for it from the rest of us not-quite-so-toxic folk…

 

I was recording my weekly YouTube video blog, you see. So far I have three followers. Two of these are definitely robots whilst the third I’m not entirely sure about. It is the third one I’m worried about, to be honest. I don’t have any problem with robots but there is something about my third so-called ‘follower’ that doesn’t quite ring true – I am as I have said perfectly okay about robots but there are worse things out there than on-line automata! Far worse things. There are these things called ‘sleeper trolls’ for example – trolls who stay dormant for years and years and then suddenly erupt into malignant life when you are least expecting it. Then there is always the possibility of government surveillance of course; we mustn’t forget about the sinister possibility of government surveillance, however corny that may sound to your sophisticated ears.

 

I moved onto my next topic, which was my regular psychology spot in which I do a bit of ‘consciousness-raising’. Consciousness-raising is so important isn’t it? Particularly when you’re starting from such a very low level – the ‘basement level’, you might say. The ‘dungeon level’. When people ask what it is that I do that’s my standard answer – “I am a consciousness-raiser,” I say, “I do global consciousness-raising via my blogging and also by being on a high vibrational level myself and transmitting it.” Consciousness-raising is very rewarding, although at the same time it’s also a bit like rolling a heavy boulder up a hill, which is of course not quite so rewarding…

 

My next question is about Happiness Gurus – “Do they really know what they are talking about and should we listen to them?” It just so happens that I was in Easons in Shop Street earlier today perusing the popular psychology section, looking for inspiration. Well, looking for something to slag off, if I’m to be honest. One of the books that particularly stood out for me was a book that purports to tell the reader about the Habits of Happiness – I wish I could remember the author so I could drag his or her name through the mud but I can’t. My memory isn’t what it used to be.

 

This is something that I find utterly fascinating – this business of ‘happiness-producing habits’! Now habits are automatisms, as we all know. It’s like when we shift gears without paying attention to the fact that this is what we’re doing, or – for that matter – it’s like driving from Tullamore to Naas without consciously realizing that we are, and all of that kind of stuff is perfectly fine up to a point of course. It’s fine up to a point. But somehow we are expected to believe that we can transition from being miserable to being happy just by means of some ‘unconscious reflex’-type thing! Via some kind of ‘twitch’, essentially. By robotizing our consciousness we become joyful and serene, at one with the universe and all that sort of crack. Before we were ‘unhappy, maladapted and dysfunctional robots’ and now – now that we have got the ‘glitched programming’ right, so to speak – we can become ‘happy and fulfilled robots’ instead. A persuasive and subtle argument, wouldn’t you say? Just sell us the patented algorithm for happiness, that somehow you know about. Just tell us how to be happy little robots…

 

So the question facing us now is: “Should self-help gurus be allowed to carry on writing this type of utterly absurd and fantastically nonsensical horse-shit?’ And my considered answer  – needless to say – is (again) inevitably and invariably YES. Emphatically YES. YES every time… Absolutely they should be. Beyond any doubt they should be. Most assuredly they should be. Our message to them should be “Carry on with the splendidly good work you guys – please keep on turning out this marvellously inspirational stuff! And if you happen to make a few Euros for yourself along the way, then who could possibly begrudge you that?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buddha Palm

I had been practising the Buddha Palm technique for many years and I wanted to test my Wushu in a real-life situation. I knew I was good, but how good? That was the big question. How good, how good, how good? How good is your Wushu? How good is your Wushu? Very soon now I was to find out…

 

‘Everything changes and nothing stays the same,’ I told myself. ‘Everything changes are nothing stays the same.’ As soon as I said this I felt an immense sadness rising up within me. ‘Where did the sadness come from?’ I asked myself, ‘if everything changes then what is there to be sad about? What is there to lose if nothing remains the same?’ My thoughts didn’t help though – the sadness was bigger than the thoughts were.

 

Telepathic beings are real, you know. Why wouldn’t they be, for God sake? Why wouldn’t they be? If you were just to look at the type of people who don’t believe in telepathy, the type of people who scoff from a position of superiority the moment you mention it, then that is argument enough, wouldn’t you say? That surely is argument enough. That surely says it all. Just look at those guys! All those guys in suits saying that telepathy isn’t real. That sounds like a snappy caption for a photograph – “Guys in suits say that telepathy isn’t real.” Well if they’re wearing suits then I’m really going to have to take that on board, aren’t I? We all know that guys in suits can’t be wrong don’t we? That’s what the bloody suit means in the first place – it means that they can’t ever be wrong! It’s a way of telling you, so you will trust them…

 

Could men in suits be telepathic beings? Or could telepathic beings perhaps be men in suits, I wondered. Which could it be? Which might it be? ‘It could definitely be something,’ I said to myself. there was no doubt that it definitely could be something. The possibility that a possibility could possibly be possible loomed large in my mind. It definitely could be that. It definitely really could be. ‘Gravy and me don’t agree,’ said the elderly lady sitting at the table next to mine in the restaurant. She spoke in a tart fashion and sent the waiter packing.

 

I had an appointment with reality, I realised, and I didn’t want to be late. I didn’t want to be late but reality didn’t care. Reality itself didn’t care if I was late; it didn’t care if I was early either! It occurred to me that I had lots and lots of thoughts about reality whereas reality had no thoughts whatsoever about me. Reality never had any thoughts about me. ‘What was this telling me?’ I wondered. ‘Was it telling me that whilst I had a problem with reality, reality didn’t have a problem with me?’ And what in turn was that telling me?’ I asked myself. ‘Was telling me that I didn’t really exist?’

 

I have been practising the Buddha Palm technique for many years now but my opponents still always beat me. They beat me every time. I get bested at every contest. I was a poor student – one of the very poorest. I could never rise above the basic level. I had missed my date with reality – reality had gone on its path whilst I had gone on mine. Reality had happily gone its way, and I mine…