Individualism - like a lonely biscuit...

Individuals are fantastic. We love individuals, all of them special and unique like snowflakes (non-interracial-prison-sex snowflakes)...

The only problem is that snowflakes by themselves simply melt away into the night; whereas in their masses they can be seen to cripple entire cities, form dubious shaped "men" with carrot noses and piss off drunk homeless people trying to find a warm place to sleep. Being an individual snowflake means that you have a fantastic view of the world around you, but ultimately will lead to your own demise. Sometimes you need the padding and comfort of others to surround you, comfort you and, in most cases, take a shit kicking or two aimed in your direction...

Growing up we are taught to be ourselves, taught that there is a specific and amazing destiny that awaits each an every one of us. We are taught to think for ourselves.... in possessive and obsessive terms... me me me. As we grow, so does the obsession, until as fully fledged adults we are almost completely besotted with ourselves and how unique and special we are. Who could possibly share their food with a princess, or a lord... or (God forbid) a knight? Because everyone wants to be the bloody knight in bloody shining bloody armour (a bloody contradiction in bloody terms, I know...) No one can know the pain of a tortured soul following in the footsteps of every individual that has ever made a difference, oh my over-coifed jerry curl, can't we all just get along?

The sooner that everyone realises that dreams are exactly that, dreams, designed to be lived out whilst we are asleep and (more importantly) are not real. Goals are what we need, not dreams. Ultimately, the world requires the realisation that we are each cogs (unique cogs... not bloodied) in the timepiece that is our existence on this dirt patch and the more that we fight the need for collectivise action the more time we waste. The more life we waste in the pursuit of our vanity. Until, like the last biscuit on the plate, we crumble and fade into oblivion..... a special unique oblivion, designed with each of us in mind, not shared with anyone else.... the first class of oblivions if you will.... comes in different colours.... requires an upgrade every year.... will cost you a pancreas..... a special and unique bloody pancreas ....an iOblivion.

The Anti-Social Dog... what a bitch.

I have always wondered what happens to socially inept dogs. What if they don't possess the power of smell, and as such don't bother with the common "ass sniff" as is customary when greeting your fellow bitches? What if they choose to shun the "let's pee on everything we see" policy that has ruled over the canine nation since time immemorial...?

In reality, nothing.... they get along fine.

In Lala Land (Britain) the answer is the ASBO (the anti social bitch order) which the British Government is proposing to bring into effect very very soon. All in all a stupid waste of time and legislation, because as anyone who cares to walk the streets of Britannia (that includes the morbidly obese who take mental walks to the shops from the couch) will testify that ASBOs are working.... to bring the concept of law and order to its knees.

ASBOs are about as effective as using olive oil as suntan lotion on your privates whilst on holiday in a nudist colony in the Sahara Desert.... blistering will occur. In the gangsta streets of London ASBOs have become like badges to the Scouts - picture "da yoof" meeting under street lights discussing whether one for a Noise Offence is equal in measure to one for Graffiti....

All that ASBOs need now to become ingrained in modern culture is some form of company sponsorship.... ASDA maybe...?

Never Mind The Jonas'

Every week I receive an IT trade magazine at work (which is ironic seeing as I don't even work in the IT business....) and in it the publishers try to promote their wares. This magazine contains a lot of computer game promotion and one of the ones that I stumbled across and raced past was for a group called the "Jonas Brothers"..... oh brother....

Is it all just a big joke? Are we all just players in this game that is rigged and produced for television called "Life"? Everywhere I look there are "natural" acts such as these curly-haired celibate freaks... they are not freakish because of the celibacy, but the supreme look of self satisfaction that adorns their make up air brushed pasted faces and their "natural" curled super conditioned locks... It is not possible to look at them and think that this is a good thing. They are clearly money making puppets of the descendants of Walt...

It would be unfair to state that they are the only ones, but the rest of the players in the "game" are too numerous to mention. What worries me is whether or not the general public see acts like them and thinks, "Oh wow, that sounds fantastically bland, but I am choosing to buy into everything that they sell, say and do in the full knowledge that it is completely fake and produced." And in doing so they buy into the slow sinking ship that is quality and integrity....

Or maybe I am getting old and just don't get the music/game/television/brainwashing industry....

The Irreverent Passing of Time

Why does time pass so quickly? Is it just that by wishing for a tomorrow your life turns into nothing more than a conveyor belt of tomorrows leading to the final today....

Depressing, it is. And that is what winter can do: push the light of our lives to the extreme reaches of the dark, unmoving shadows that dominate large stretches of our time (at least 50%) on this rock. We will spend most of our lives chasing some semblance of Summer. All we need is to think of "The Summer of 69," "The Boys of Summer," and the other endless positive references that surround this life-giving season. I very much doubt that there are people out there that lay awake at night hoping against hope that the "Winter of our Discontent" will freeze over (Hell-like) and chase that annoying-round-hot-thing out of the sky.

In all honesty I need the winter months.... their lack of life... the dreariness and grey, indescribable dullness for the simple reason that if life was one long hot summer we would all die of skin cancer - not really - it is because if we lived in constant summer we would fail to appreciate it. The summer would not hold it's mystique, it's allure... it's heat. Time would simply pass and life itself would cease to have significance (a bit strong, but you get the point).

So, we shall all just have to grin and bear it (or just bitch about it constantly, and feign surprise when the public transport system grinds to a halt at the slightest indication of precipitation, for instance dew...)

Life: it is the pain that makes the pleasure, and the pleasure that makes the cancer....