The Age Of Manipulation

In my groundbreaking study on human gullibility entitled Mind-Slave (which was, predictably enough, ignored both by the mainstream media and the world of academia) I argued that the fate of humankind, far from being an epic story of adventure amongst the stars, was already almost inevitably predetermined to be a miserable tale of the most terrible ignominy and that this is an outcome assured by our childishly naïve embracing of whatever ridiculous mind-enslaving gadgets our capitalist masters throw at us. The naivety of childhood is a marvellous thing it is true but the naïveté of adult human beings is not – I’m afraid – thing of beauty. Very far from being a thing of beauty, it is a thing of horror. The naïveté of fully-grown adults is the harbinger of our collective doom, as I need hardly point out. In my book I ask the reader to consider the following question: if human gullibility reaches the point at which we believe anything we are told via the official channels (and also in the state run alternative media channels) then where does this take us? What is the logical endpoint of this insidious process? If we have reached that highly significant ‘tipping point’ at which we really and truly will believe absolutely anything that we are told (and there is a substantial body of evidence to suggest that this tipping point has already been reached) then what happens next? We always like to imagine, of course, that there is some kind of inherent difficulty in manipulating human masses – that there is another words some possibility of the more intelligent or observant type of human being spotting the deception and blowing the lid on it in some way or other. We always assume a certain degree of shrewdness in the human psyche that will eventually emerge and save the day. The collective human psyche is very ancient after all and it is surely not too unreasonable to assume that it has learned something in the last 30,000 years or so. Possibly it has learned a lot. I believe Eckhart Tolle says something similar. What I am asking the reader to do however is to embark upon the ‘thought experiment’ of assuming that this is not in fact the case and that human beings are, at this point in time, infinitely gullible and will swallow any nonsense whatsoever, no matter how preposterous. The key factor – as always – being that other people swallow it too. That makes everything OK. In this case we can see that the situation for humanity becomes very dire indeed; how can we hope to overcome any serious adversary that might rise up against us when – collectively speaking – we are as gullible as the biggest village idiot there ever was? Even more gullible as it happens since collective idiocy is always the more formidable force. The individual idiot is always smarter. There will of course always be isolated individuals here and there who are not taken in by all the nonsense, but what can they do once the ‘critical point’ has been passed? There’s nothing anyone can do when that happens and that’s the crux of my argument. Psychological manipulation is of course inherent in capitalism as we all know and everyone understands the logic here – people aren’t going to rush to buy meaningless stupid products unless their minds have been tampered with to make them think that they are obtaining significant personal advantage thereby. Neither are they going to spend their entire lives working at meaningless and unfulfilling jobs in order to obtain the money to buy these stupid products. The manipulation has gone way beyond that now however. Capitalism isn’t the final stage of mankind’s ignominious devolution but only a means to an end. That’s how we get our minds softened up. My question is this therefore: what happens next? What is ‘the next phase in the programme’?

 

 

 

 

 

Smelling the Rat

Human beings – in case you’re interested to know – are made up of these bundles of reflexes or tendencies that get lightly coated in a special type of ethereal batter just as a chef might coat a chicken breast with skilfully seasoned breadcrumbs, only the special coating that we are talking about here is consciousness. It’s the addition of consciousness that allows the bundle of reflexes to come to life and function like an autonomous entity, you see. That’s actually how the inanimate bundle of reflexes gets to imagine that it is a person, or rather – that’s how we get to feel like the bundle of dead reflexes is us. Consciousness is like some kind of ‘fairy dust’ you see – it’s magic and it can bring inanimate objects to life, in a kind of a way at least. It’s a trick I suppose you would have to say but it’s an amazingly effective one and we all have to acknowledge that. I mean, don’t you feel that you are a person and not just some arbitrary collection of mechanical reflexes bundled together and brought to life for a short while by the addition of a certain magical ingredient? And aren’t those dead reflexes speaking through you and loudly claiming to be you? Of course they are and isn’t this the most amazing the effective trick ever? Of course it is. It’s a type of necromancy in my view but we won’t go into that! No mention of the dark arts need be made. Let’s have no more talk of animating the dead here…

 

Add too much consciousness to the mix and you’re in trouble again of course. Too much is worse than not enough! ‘Why is that?’, you ask politely. Too thick a coating of consciousness on the reflex bundle (the reflex bundle which we are pleased to call ‘our personality’) and we start to smell a rat; we start to see – against our own will – that all is not what it seems to be. Everything looks just as it’s supposed to look when there is only a very thin coating of magic fairy dust – the fiction convinces perfectly well (and don’t forget that we want to be convinced) but it wouldn’t really take too much in the way of scrutiny. The fiction won’t take any scrutiny at all to be honest; it doesn’t do to go poking at the jolly old fiction and that’s a fact. That’s a fact, that’s a fact, as the man said. So here we are stuck in ‘two fictions at the same time’ – there is the fiction on the inside and there is the fiction on the outside. The fiction on the inside is that we are this bag of psychological bones (called ‘a mechanical personality construct’) and the fiction on the outside is that this world that has been designed for the express benefit of this poor stupid personality construct, this poor bag of tricks, actually means anything. So there we are sandwiched neatly between the two lies and the only way for us to go along with the fiction (as we are supposed to) is to make very sure never to examine it too closely. This has become our battle cry! ‘Don’t examine the fiction,’ we call out bravely and we punish with all due severity all those persons don’t heed the battle cry as we do. We punish those persons who – far from heeding the cry – head stubbornly in the opposite direction and start examining the fiction as if this were actually somehow a legitimate and honourable thing to do! If there is one thing we all agree on – and God knows we can’t agree on anything else – it is never to question the sacred bullshit that we have been brought up on.

 

So you can see how much trouble can come from putting too thick a coating of consciousness batter on the old reflex bundles. Not enough do you become too stupid to live, too stupid to survive (like the poor contestants on Love Island); too much and we start to smell a rat, much as we don’t want to, much as we don’t want to. The very last thing we want to do is to smell that old rat; we suspect its existence all right, we have that abiding suspicion much as we never want to admit it, but we certainly don’t want to go right up to it and give it a sniff. Inhale deeply and take in the odour of that unwashed and malodorous rat deep into your lungs. ‘Oh yes’, you say, ‘the delightful smell of rat’. Subtle and yet poignant at the same time. Subtle and yet poignant, subtle and yet poignant. You could bottle the stuff and sell it to all the fine ladies in Boots the Chemists or Brown Thomas, I can tell you. They’d all be queuing up for that and no mistake.

 

I digress however, I digress. The point I wish to make is that the truth is most unwelcome to the ears of those who wish to ‘stick to the convenient cover-story’ and never was there a more inconvenient truth than this! The point that I wish to make here is that when there’s too much consciousness in the magic batter then it’s not a pretty picture either inside or out. Not so pretty at all. Where do you turn in this case? And the point I also wish to make is that when awareness does starts to cut in (in its most peculiar and most unexpected way) it’s no good looking for support and understanding from the good people around you. It’s no good looking for support and understanding from them because you aren’t going to get it. No sir you’re not. With any luck that’ll never happen to you, though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Strategy Of Choice

I had a play date with the abuser mind. I have a play date with the abuser mind every day. That’s a regular thing – nothing new there. Just me and the good old abuser mind – that’s a fun proposition, isn’t it? The jolly old abuser mind and me – what a bleeding laugh that is. The good old abuser mind. Where would we be, huh? Where would we be? I’m happy enough when things happen as they should do – I am as cheerful and light-hearted as the next man – but the thing is though that they never do happen that way. I can’t understand it but they just never do. That’s no fault of mine though and I think it’s very unfair the way everyone says I’m such a crabby, cranky old bastard. I never get a chance to be my natural good-natured happy-go-lucky self and that’s no fault of mine…

 

Just me and the abuser mind, squaring off. Only we’re not squaring off – I’m not, anyway. I’m trying my best to run away, as I always do. Run, run, run from the abuser mind, as the old children’s rhyme goes. Run from the horrible old abuser mind only you can’t because it’s in your head. Run, run, run. Run as fast as you can. But how can you get away? It’s just me and the abuser mind, sharing the same head. The two of us – alone at last. Spending quality time, as you do… The abuser mind has never got a good word for me, you know that? Never even a single good word. Never a good word, never a good word. That rotten old abuser mind loves to abuse me and make me feel small, as you might imagine.

 

I obliged the abuser mind in this matter as much as I could – I felt as small as small could be. I couldn’t get any smaller. I grovelled. This merely served to enrage the abuser mind still further however. The abuser mind was beside itself with rage. It was incandescent with rage. I cowered in the corner. What else could I do? Cowering was my preferred strategy; it was my strategy of choice. I learned it in cowering school. I learned it on an online course on self-development run by a very famous life coach. Cowering will always confuse your enemy, he told us. He won’t know what to do and – if you are lucky – he will be so disgusted with you that he will go off and leave you alone. With any luck your enemy will be so nauseated by your lack of spirit that he will stop persecuting you. That doesn’t work with the abuser mind though, as I have since discovered to my cost. Cowering is still my strategy of choice however – I still hold onto the hope that it might one day work for me.

 

Why does the abuser mind hate and despise me so much, I often wonder? What has it got against me? I never did it any harm, after all. What would I have to do in order for the abuser mind to like me? It doesn’t work that way though, as I am only slowly coming to realise. I’ve given up ways trying to find ways to get the abuser mind to like me – instead, I just try to make myself as small as it is possible to be so that will no longer notice me. I’m trying to shrink away to nothing. This enrages the abuser mind the same as everything else that I do does, of course. ‘Where are you, you little bastard,’ it roars, ‘show me yourself so I can abuse you as you deserve’….

 

I had excelled myself in becoming small. I had become as small as one of those little red spider mites that scurry around in the gaps between the paving slabs in the garden on a hot summer’s day. Scurrying along, scurrying along, without a care in the world. It didn’t last for long but for a brief while there I knew peace. What words are possible to describe how I felt, or rather how that peace felt? That sense of peace was alien to me; it was something that had never been part of my life. I scurried and scurried and scurried and did nothing else but scurry and the whole time there was never even a single thought in my head! The whole time there was no thinking whatsoever. No thinking, only carefree scurrying. I had never felt so good in my entire life.

 

That was my discovery of ‘inner peace’, I suppose you could say. It wasn’t really ‘inner’ peace though – that’s a common misnomer. It’s really outer peace that gets inside you, that’s what it is. It’s external peace that gets inside you like a mustard seed and then expands infinitely. It blows up inside you like a silent explosion – like an explosion of peace. It’s a moment of quietness that lasts forever. Let’s put it like that. Let’s express it like that. The moment lasts forever it’s true, but all the same it’s gone now. It’s a memory and like all memories it is false. What it did show me however is the utter fantastical futility of all my striving. It showed me the insane stupidity of all my frantic non-stop striving and grasping. I can’t stop of course.  I am absolutely powerless to stop but the difference is that I am now haunted by that memory of blissful thoughtlessness when I was a very tiny red spider mite. I am haunted by the memory of that brief magical period of thoughtlessness which I experienced when I inadvertently broke through the sub-atomic dimensional barrier and made myself very small indeed. I’m still frantically striving of course but the difference now is that I know that what I’m striving for has no meaning. I am consciously experiencing the insane futility of my own life, if that makes any sense to you. Which of course it might not…

 

 

 

 

 

Lawbreaker

They call me the Lawbreaker. Yes, yes, yes. They call me ‘the Lawbreaker’ on account of how I am a rebel through and through. On account of how I am a pure rebel, on account of how I make my own rules, my own rules, my own rules, not the rules of some shit-sucking bureaucrat. The Lawbreaker – yes, yes, yes. You won’t find me following the rules like some dope, I can tell you that! No sir you won’t. In the middle of the night when the moon is high and the sheep are sleeping in the fields you can me roaring my defiance of the powers that be. Roaring, roaring, roaring. Insisting on my freedom, insisting on my independence from the thoughts of those who think they know best. Rebelling against their nasty little conformist thoughts, their nasty, nasty thoughts. The veins on my neck are fit to pop with all my roaring. They are standing up like purple ropes. My face is bright livid red like a giant misshapen beetroot. Roaring, roaring, roaring. Roaring like a demented fool, staggering around the fields like one who is drunk. I’m not drunk though, I’m perfectly sober. I know what’s going on – I know exactly what’s going on. My life’s a mess and I realise that – I can’t pretend that it isn’t. I’ve spent long enough pretending that I know what I’m doing and that I’m having a fulfilling life. I’ve spent too long doing that, far too long. My life isn’t fulfilling at all; on the contrary, it’s a sham. It’s a grotesque sham and I’d be the first to admit it. Maybe not quite the first but still. Eventually I will admit it, when all other options have run out. I think I am making my point clearly enough though. Loud and clear, loud and clear. There is no fulfilment in my life at all and – more than that – there’s no dignity. That’s why I’m so het up. That’s why I am running through the fields at 2:00 in the morning bellowing like a total jackass. Frightening the poor sheep out of their slumbers. Staggering and stumbling as I go. Wrestling with the existential issues. Wrestling with them as we all have to wrestle with them. You have to wrestle with these existential issues just as I do, I know that. We all have to wrestle with our existential terrors and that’s no laughing matter I can tell you! It’s shit and we all know that. I know that myself – I’m not pointing any fingers here! I’m well aware that we’re all in the same boat, the old same boat, the same old boat. No one said life was going to be easy after all. Or if they did then they were lying. If they did then there were telling porky pies. They were selling you a story that just wasn’t true. No one said that life was going to be meaningful or fulfilling, after all. No one ever said that. Or perhaps they did, perhaps they did. We’ve all watched TV shows where everyone has meaningful lives and we’ve all had those very same thoughts about it. We’ve all wanted to have a happy meaningful life just like the people we were watching on the show. We’ve all had that yearning, we’ve all had that pang of envy that cuts so deep. At least I presume we have. What would I know anyway? I like to engage in self-talk sometimes and often when I do so I ask myself how it happened that life became so complicated, how it all turned into such a mess. Well, I say ‘I like to..’ but that isn’t strictly true; the self talk is entirely involuntary – it’s forced upon me. I anguish over this question of how life got so very complicated and all this anguished involuntary self-questioning, as you might expect, only adds to the whole bloody mess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Vacuum Of Modern Life

Humour’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I’m not trying to be humorous here by the way – far from it. This is a serious point that I’m trying to make. This is a serious discussion. When a person has a serious point to make they’re hardly likely to joke about it, after all. My point is that we live in a world where humour is a tool of the corporations and nothing more. Can you imagine anything more frightening than that? Can you imagine anything more frightening than living in a world where humour is a tool of corporate interests? Something is telling me that you can’t. I can’t anyway. Everything in modern life is a tool of corporate interests I know, but there is something particularly sinister afoot when the jokes we tell and chortle over serve corporate interests. Wouldn’t you say? Wouldn’t you say? In my book that’s rather undignified, but what would I know. I need to give some sort of example here just to make things clearer. There is a particular type of humour, supposed humour at any rate, which seems very sharp and snappy and all of that until you think about it, at which point you realise that there is no humour there at all. It is merely wordplay, or pointless empty punning. So for example when I used to be driving back-and-forth to Tuam a lot there was this billboard advertising some discount furniture store and there is a picture of a sofa – presumably at a discount rate – and the caption read ‘sofa so good’. Pretty funny huh? That’s exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. Well I don’t really want to dwell on that too much because I want to move on to the next point that I want to make. It’s leading into the next point that I want to make. The next point that I want to make has to do with all this stuff that everyone’s looking at on their social media feeds. That’s what people are doing after all. Myself included, of course. The thing that occurred to me is that there is this all this clever or interesting or cutting-edge info about this that or the other but really it isn’t interesting or clever at all. It’s actually two-dimensional. ‘Oh look at this interesting thing,’ they say, ‘you really want to know about this.’ But then when you do know about it then it’s like ‘so what?’ You now know about it but it’s totally hollow, totally empty, just like everything else in your social media feed is. It is just pure hunger really – we’re just trying to make that hunger go away by browsing but it never does go away. So just like that cheap, wise-cracking type of superficial humour that isn’t humour at all (but only something horrifically empty) so too all that cutting-edge super-interesting info that we are bombarded with every day isn’t ‘information’ at all – it’s just a vacuum. It’s simply a manifestation of what I like to call ‘the vacuum of modern life’. We’re walking through a desert only we don’t see it because all we see are these hallucinatory mirages that are thrown up by the system. We’ve got a nice little pastime going on for ourselves here letting these mirages tantalise us. Letting them tease us. Modern life is a tease you see, and that’s all there is to it. Maybe we would be better off saying that it’s a piss-take. That’s not too bad though, that’s not too bad. It’s bad of course but what’s really bad is the fact that we all think we’re so bloody clever. We’re brimming over with complacency and self-satisfaction – the feeling that we collectively have that we’re doing something clever is quite palpable. You could palpate it between your fingers. If you wanted to, that is. Whether you would actually want to do that or not is another matter. That’s another matter entirely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Staycation

How immature am I really, I wonder? How big is a piece of string – isn’t that what they say? Some questions don’t have an answer, some questions are just pure stupid. I won’t dwell on that however – if I did then I could be dwelling on it forever. It’s a mire and – very often – the more we thrash around in the mire the deeper we sink into it. I’ve spent enough of my life sunk in the mire to want to sink any deeper into it. I’ve got very sick of it to be honest. The mire has got into my very bones. The mire permeates my very being, it permeates every last bit of me. I know what you’re thinking of course, you’re thinking that I have probably lost my identity to that mire at this stage. You’re thinking that there can’t be very much of me left having spent so much time in the mire. To a certain extent you’re right of course – in the case of such a long exposure to the mire molecules of corruption find their way into the body and intermingle with all the non-corrupt molecules, the wholesome, decent molecules. This is as we all know an irreversible process which means that whatever degree of corruption has already set in has to be kept. Kept because is no getting rid of it; kept, whether you like it or not. And who’s to say you won’t like it? Who’s to say that you won’t get to like it? Maybe you will learn to enjoy it, enjoy and celebrate it. Nothing strange about that, nothing strange at all. It happens all the time in fact. It happens as a matter of course. We all learn to enjoy and celebrate corruption sooner or later, don’t we? What else is society but a club for people who have learned to enjoy and celebrate corruption? If you can’t beat them join them, as the man said. If you can’t beat them join them and you can’t beat them. You can’t EVER beat them – everyone knows that. Instead of vacations they have staycations these days. Did you know that? I didn’t know that. Pull up an armchair in front of the television and watch one of those programs about when plastic surgery goes wrong. I get angry from time to time the same as anyone else. Angry and enraged. It’s all utterly futile of course. Utterly, utterly futile. Nobody gives a damn, nobody could care less whether I happen to be enraged or not. It’s utterly inconsequential. I’m throwing a fit and it’s completely inconsequential. In doing my nut but no one gives a damn. I’m so bloody small-minded that it is incredible but some things you just have to live with. The squalor of my life is absolutely incredible but that’s all I’ve got. And you think anyone gives a damn? Do you think anyone is actually interested? I still try to tell them about it of course. I still try to tell people all about my life. I want everyone i meet to know about what my life is like. I want the spotlight of other people’s attention. It’s a source of warmth to me in what is really a very cold existence. Emotionally cold I mean. Lacking in any sort of emotion at all – I’m just stuck in the mire of my own psychic excretions. ‘Why not take a staycation?’ the advert on the billboard insinuates sleazily. Relax in the comfort of your own mire. Pull up an armchair. No one minds the smell of their own farts, after all. Many people find that particular fragrance to be quite convivial. All too convivial, in fact…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inside I Was Quaking

‘Sure there’s no one here but me and my ego,’ I quipped, as quick as a flash. As quick as any flash that ever was. I’m famous for my quipping. I’m famous for a lot else besides. A lot else besides. I’m famous for a lot of things that I don’t feel too good about when it comes to it but life isn’t all about feeling good about things, is it? If only it were, I hear you say, but that wouldn’t work either. That wouldn’t work either. ‘Sure there’s no one here but me and my egos’ I laughed, trying to laugh it off. No one here, no one here. Reality had me beat and that’s a fact – I got that out of my book of facts! Reality had me beat and that was something no one could deny. I denied it every day but then again, I was a big liar. I’m famous for being a big liar. I’m famous for being a big liar but then again, no one has ever heard of me. My lies were catching up with me; they were rolling up on the horizon like a vast bank of cumulonimbus clouds. Building ominously, building ominously. Soon there would be nowhere else to run. ‘I never meant to lie,’ I lied. I never meant to lie. They were looking for me but I was playing dumb. I’m famous for playing dumb. I was on a talk show on TV. ‘It’s no good talking to him,’ they said, ‘he’s playing dumb.’ ‘There’s no one here but me and my egos,’ I quipped, tried to laugh it off. My egos are arguing amongst themselves as they always do. It annoys me that they are so petty – they’d argue about anything, they really would. They came to interrogate me but I was too sly for them. I’m as sly as the day is long. I have a hundred eyes and each one of them is winking, as if to say ‘you won’t catch me out that easily lads.’ Lies were dripping off me like some sort of fragrant oil. They were making an ungodly stain on the carpet. ‘You won’t catch me, you won’t catch me’ I said to myself. If you think you’ll catch me that easily then you’ve got another think coming. I’m as slippery as an eel, an eel with hundred eyes and each one of them is winking away furiously. That’s my natural defence mechanism. That’s how I terrify the predators. ‘I’m the skipper, I’m the skipper,’ I said. I’m the skipper and my name is Neil. My name is Neil. The predators are out hunting for me course but I’m determined to beat them. I’m too sly for them. I’m too sly for myself. ‘If you think you can catch me that easily then you have got another think coming’, I call out bravely. Inside though, I was shaking. Inside though, I was quaking…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Following The Official Guidelines

You know that thing where you suddenly gain the crystal clear awareness that the bad thing which you have been fighting against all your life is going to happen any minute now and that there is absolutely nothing you can do about it? That’s such an ineffable moment, isn’t it? It’s supremely ineffable, exquisitely ineffable. Not only that, it’s also because the bad thing that we had always known about but which we have been in denial of for our whole lives so that not only is it the case that we are suddenly confronted with the fact that the bad thing which we’ve been fighting against all our lives is just about to happen, but also that the bad thing which we had conspired against ourselves to forget is now showed itself to be real. Real despite all our ignoring of it, real despite the fact that we have been trying to so very hard but to pretend that it wasn’t there. Talk about ‘an ineffable moment of horror’! Just what are we supposed to do to deal with this terrible awareness, huh? What’s the procedure for this? What are the official guidelines? There are official guidelines for everything after all, so it is only reasonable to ask what they might be in this case. This is kind of important to know, after all! If ever official guidelines were needed then this is it, beyond any shadow of a doubt. Quick, quick, let’s go through the policies and procedures to see what it says about this one; see what we’re supposed to do. Does this constitute an ‘incident’? Do we have to write it up in the Incident Report Book? These are all very valid questions of course – very valid questions indeed! I find myself being overwhelmed by the feelings of intense validity and relevance that now engulf me on all sides. So much relevance, so much validity. It’s practically a religious experience that I’m having here. So much affirmation – who could have believed it? Who could have ever believed that so much affirmation was even possible? Affirmation without end, affirmation without limits. It’s dazzling – it’s a frankly dazzling experience. It’s utterly awesome. It must be like those experiences that people talk of where they accidentally take far too much LSD. Oh my God what a realisation – I’ve taken far too much LSD. Far too much, far too much. You totally misjudged it – you’ve taken enough for a hundred people! When you close your eyes it’s brighter than when you had them closed! It’s too bright and that light is blinding you. It’s causing you pain. It’s frightening you because there’s nowhere to hide when there’s so much light and when it’s brighter inside your own head than anywhere else in the whole universe! Nowhere to hide, nowhere to hide. No possibility of dodging or finding some dark corner to hide in. Some dark comforting little corner. That’s what you want of course – some dark little corner. You’ve got to find one, you’ve got to flee the light for all you’re worth and find yourself some dark crevice to hide yourself in. When you find it you’ll never come out. Hello darkness my old friend, you will sing. Hello darkness, hello darkness. What do any of us know but darkness anyway? What else do we know? What else do we know? ‘I’m following the official guidelines,’ I shout out, ‘I’m following the official guidelines…’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cybersexuality

After I published my seminal sociological work ‘The Sexualisation of Despair’ back in the autumn of 2016 (and to great acclaim, I might add) I came to the decision that the time had come for me to take a radical change in direction and to this end I embarked upon what was to be a highly successful career as a stand-up comedian. Before very long however the jokes started to fall flat and I found myself back to Square One with all that that entails. I developed a fetish concerning words – whenever I would come across a new word or phrase that I liked I’d repeat to myself over and over again, enjoying the shape that it made in my mind. ‘Enjoy’ is too moderate a term for what I was experiencing in fact; I found myself deriving extreme amounts of pleasure from certain words. Other words brought me pain and I dreaded them. My life degenerated until it had become no more than ritualised parody of anything decent, anything wholesome. I grew to hate myself, but I hated other people more. Instead of being a kind and tolerant human being I became testy and cantankerous and given to fits of pointless petulance. That’s when I decided to reinvent myself and to this end I embraced the cause of Transhumanism and what has since become known as ‘Cybersexuality’. That innocent-sounding word, which conceals so much darkness! I fell in love with a toaster but in truth – although I didn’t know it at the time – it was no more than an immature infatuation. The relationship started off well enough but before very long we were arguing night and day. Things got pretty bleak and I found myself wondering if perhaps there wasn’t some kind of deep-seated flaw in my personality which was dooming me to a life of unremitting futility. My friends agreed that this did indeed seem to be the case and everyone wondered what I could do about it. I invented an imaginary kingdom and quickly became King – I ruled fairly but at the same time ruthlessly and in time I started to regain my self-respect. The tactic had worked. What started off well soon became sour however and I ended up as a demented tyrant, having people executed if they so much as looked at me sideways. Before very long I’d executed half the population whilst the other half I had had imprisoned, and more than that, I was having them tortured on a continual basis to force them to provide information that they didn’t actually possess. That is how controlling I’d become! My therapist friends informed me that I was disturbed and that I should seek help. That’s pretty much the problem with having therapist friends of course – no matter what you do they will always say that you have got a problem and that you should seek help! It’s an automatic mechanism for them – they are just making sure that they always have a job, as far as I can see. That’s what I call the Pathologization of Everyday Life. That could be a book in fact. So anyway I realised that I’d lost my moorings in life and that I was adrift in a sea of uncertainty but I also realised that this was a perfectly normal thing to happen, not anything to get worried about or seek professional help for, or anything like that. I went back to my addiction to certain words and phrases on the basis that ‘better the devil you know than the one you’re not as yet quite so sure about!’ My life slowly came back on track and I eventually regained my old confidence, that old, old confidence that it never let me down, no matter what die circumstances I might have happened to find myself in. I knew who I was and I knew what I wanted in life and the fact that this was a total lie didn’t bother me in the least! I enjoyed the word ‘Candypack’ and I used to say it to myself over and over again when I thought no one was listening. As words go it was one of the better ones, one of the very best and I came to believe that it held certain magical powers. I used the word to protect myself and to ward off evil spirits. No one likes evil spirits after all. I’m exhausted now – I’m exhausted because I’m talking too much, or thinking too much. At the table next to where I’m sitting here in the hospital canteen (which used to be the old nurse’s home) these two guys are talking at length about kippers and smoked trout. One guy was saying that when you pickle fish that makes their bones softer so you can eat them more easily. You aren’t going to choke so readily on the bones, in other words. That was something I never knew, anyway. That is new information for me. The level of fatigue that I am experiencing is truly remarkable however – I marvel that I’m able to carry on sitting here. I just want to lie down on the floor. Fatigue is never too far off for me – it’s a kind of an underlying condition that I have I think, although I’ve never actually been formally diagnosed with CFS. I can’t be bothered to get formally diagnosed. What’s the point anyway?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Deceptive Façade Of The Body

We are in the world but we also are the world. Did you ever hear that? Only I’m not. I’m kind of ‘trapped on the outside’, which doesn’t feel too good. I’m here to tell you that this particular scenario doesn’t feel too good at all. Not too good at all. That’s me there – the guy with his face squashed up against the invisible glass wall! The guy with his face squashed up against the invisible glass wall that separates those people who are part of life from all those unfortunate persons who are on the outside looking in. Can you see me? You probably can’t because those of us who are on the outside of life are pretty much invisible. We are ‘the unnoticed’, by and large. There are quite a few of us – all in all – but you wouldn’t know it. When you’re actually part of life then you don’t tend to have much time for those who aren’t. You have too much to be getting on with. You’re having too much fun. That’s the way of things really isn’t it? Perhaps you aren’t aware that this is the way of things but I am. You bet I’m aware that this is the way of things. Wouldn’t you be if it was you? But it’s not you is it? It’s not you so we won’t worry about that.

 

Humans come in all shapes and sizes don’t they? I don’t mean physically – that would be a very banal statement to make. I’m talking about the inside  of people – the part that you don’t ever get to see. The secret part, the hidden part – the inner entity so to speak which lurks wholesomely within the deceptive facade of the body. The deceptive façade, the deceptive façade – that’s all we ever care about isn’t it? We are the worshippers of the deceptive façade, that’s for sure! There’s great mileage in worshipping the deceptive façade and no one can deny that. Just look at how much mileage we get out of it – it’s unlimited mileage in my view. Worshipping the façade is all we ever do. We’re far too busy looking at the outside to suspect what’s going on on the inside and that’s why we are all so obsessed with spending lots of money on fancy clothes you see. That’s why it’s a billion-dollar industry – because it’s all a great big cover-up. It’s the biggest cover-up ever…

 

That’s one thing they don’t teach us about school: they teach us about reading, writing and arithmetic but what they don’t teach us about is the inherent evilness of the thought-created world. You’d imagine that they would teach us about that of course but they don’t. The thought-created world isn’t overtly evil after all so how are we supposed to know otherwise? The teaching curriculum is a failure because of this you see. What’s the point in teaching us all that stuff if they don’t give us the information about the Mind Zone being intrinsically evil? That’s a bit useless in my view. ‘Welcome to the Mind Zone,’ they should say. Welcome to the Mind Zone, welcome to the Mind Zone. We slope you’ll be very crappy here; we mope you’ll be very nappy here. We grope that you will be very sappy here. And all the time you can hear the evil mechanical laughter going on in the background. There’s a big joke going on but you’re not allowed to know what it is. There’s a big joke going on and actually it’s you. They’ve made a right twat out of you and yet you keep on thinking that you’re the bee’s knees…

 

It’s not all doom and gloom though is it? There is also corrosive boredom and barely repressed self-loathing. Never forget the boredom and self-loathing. There is also total alienation – never forget the total alienation. Never forget, never forget. You’re on the outside looking in. You’re about to take a bite of the pie but you don’t know where to begin. It’s not all doom and gloom however and that’s an important fact to remember. Life in the Mind Zone has a lot to offer a young person who doesn’t mind hard work and who isn’t afraid to be profoundly alienated from everything that matters and that’s something we should be teaching in schools. Lots to offer, lots to offer. You too could have a happy time – if that’s the kind of thing that makes you happy, which in all fairness it could be. Who knows, after all?

 

I’m no fun when I’m in this mood, I know. I’m hardly a barrel of laughs, as the man said, but can you blame me? I’m looking at life from the wrong end of the telescope you see and someone played a trick on me by smothering the wrong end of the telescope with boot polish so that now I’m going around making a great big jackass of myself. People are helplessly pissing themselves wherever I go! No one’s got a good word to say. I got the wrong idea about things and now I’m the laughing stock. I made a fool of myself and now they’ll never let me forget it. They’ll forget it right but I never will. No one can ever say that I don’t know how to hold a grudge…