I sit, surrounded by litter,
daytime TV droning,
sinking, into the sofa.
Deeper, and further
Life goes by.
I sit, surrounded by litter,
daytime TV droning,
sinking, into the sofa.
Deeper, and further
Life goes by.
These videos were slowly starting to make sense to me, maybe I was losing my mind after watching too many of them, or perhaps they were telling the truth of society, a truth that many other people and I just ignored as we had been conditioned to ignore it all our life. As soon as we started learning we were being taught to be good people and live by the rules, breaking the rules had repercussions but what if broke the rules so badly there were no rules anymore. A world that we could envision our own society upon. I lay back and started to wonder how I would remake society, would it be similar to this world we lived in, would it be different, and how would it affect everyone.
I became entranced with the idea of creating my own world, a place where things worked, and we didn’t just accept the status quo. After all, what had the status quo brought us? It had brought the planet to the brink of destruction. We had clung on in a few cities as the world was ravaged by extreme weather systems brought on by our chasing of wealth. From the videos it seemed like wealth brought power and power brought obfuscation and language gained in strength, as it gained power it evolved and now that it has the power over this ravaged planet it does not want to relinquish it.
What am I thinking? Am I becoming a conspiracy theorist, or are they telling the truth, the more I look, the more compelling it becomes. I want to believe, but should I really believe. I don’t know where to go, or who to talk to, what will happen to my job? Should I quit and start campaigning to change society, should I help free society from the imperfections it has in it. Is this idea of cleansing society a great idea, or am I proposing a genocide? A genocide of the wealthy. How did this happen? What is going on in my world? Why? Why does everything seem to be built on shifting sand? I feel manic, my mind is racing. What should I do? Where do I go from here? I need to slow down, but I think that if I slow down, I will lose the momentum in my thinking? Am I thinking clearly? What happens now? Where do I go? WHAT DO I DO? I throw my glass at the wall, as much to break the spell of my mood and as much to break the tension.
My mind is spasming. Have I converted myself? Will I now become one of the tinfoil hat brigades? WHAT DO I DO? My mind is racing, my heart rate is going through the roof. I can hardly breathe, I feel my mouth getting drier. I am working towards some sort of climax. The clarity that can help make or break this case, everything is getting closer, I can feel everything starting to clear, the fog of my mind is dissipating.
I found the copies, they left them in plain sight. I deemed that this was their tactic to try and disseminate their ideology. The stories they left of “The Truth,” all appear to be cut up and fragmented. I presumed they were just drug-addled rantings until I came across a mention of Frege.
These people were trying to change the narrative, they felt that using language was their primary weapon against language. Language had been used to keep the majority of us hostage for a long time. They were fighting language to save humanity, to bring down the old power structures. To give us freedom.
The words in truth, we never know what they are. We try and pin them down on the page, but they dance and change shape, never being peaceful. I try and keep my mind blank as I read through the words, any place where prejudice can creep in it. Tainting what I am reading, with what I already think I know or have been conditioned to believe. The words control us, every aspect of our day is controlled by them, we feel we have free will, but it is nothing more than illusory.
The room is starting to darken, slowly at first but now providing me problems with reading. I reach over and witch on the light. One fluorescent bulb slowly sputters to life, before bathing the room in its sickly white glow. I can feel my eyes already rejecting this light, not quite believing in its fake daytime glow. Later my head will remind me of this light. The words make sense at one level, all around me, the structures are built on words. How can I deconstruct the world without using words, even primal noises will eventually become a form of language. Language will always grow and evolve from sounds.
After sounds and words will come written language. Written language is real magick. The magick that will make you act how it wants you to act. It is not the fairy tales and fantasy stories of our youth but true fully blooded magick. Look around you just now, words will be filling your mind, explaining to you the world you are looking at. How else would you understand the world? Have you thought about the way other animals see the world? Do they also describe with its words, did they explain the destruction that humanity wrote large across the environment? As seas have dried up, did the fish mourn? As forests came tumbling down, did the trees scream? When the glaciers melted did the freshly released pathogens shout in glee?
We find it inconceivable to live without words but also find it hard to believe that any of the other lifeforms on this planet also use words. We were so anthropocentric we could not see that the writing was on the wall and once it was on the wall we carried on as if the wall was going to be destroyed why worry about stopping the damage now? Words used money as an obfuscation to the damage we were causing. We obliterated the planet, and the words allowed us to do so if we had stopped and saved the earth, the power of the words would have been meaningless. Meaningless power is worth nothing.
Slowly they built their structures up around us. We never noticed, we always referred to an elite. The elite we allowed to rule us, why else would they be elite? If they were not that 5 letter word, then what allowed them to tell you how to live your life? Instead of being ruled by kings and queens, words evolved into elites. We created our prison by not questioning the Scriptures, we just assumed they were correct as they were words, words would always guide us and never be anything other than fact. A word is a word, we can use them subjectively, but they will forever remain objective and factual. Fighting against them was a waste of time and only for stuffy philosophers working in their dust encrusted offices in some long-forgotten corner of the university campus. If they got close to the truth, they simply died, no one batted an eye as being a philosophy professor meant you were old, even if you were 35. Try it just now, think of a philosophy professor who is under the age of 70, your mind does not allow it. The words have guided you to see the world in this way. You can not free yourself from the images they have created for you, the guidance they have created for you in perceiving the world. You are trapped in a false reality, words have made you create this false reality. You can not just take a red or blue pill, you are here whether you want it or not.
We need to find a way to break this hold of words. We need to bring down culture, we need to bring down religion, we need to bring down art. We need to hard reset the human race if we genuinely want to be free. But what if we do that? How do we stop the words coming back and taking over our existence? Is it just human nature to allow words to rule us, dictate to us about how we see the world around us. How would we run a society without words? Are words just making me think that we can not survive without words? Are words always going to be a feature of society, or is it this reality that makes us believe that words are the only way we can communicate? Does communication exist without words, would we use shapes? Are hieroglyphics a deeper set of words than our current scrawls?
I always find when I stand at a bar I become invisible, I can never seem to project myself so as to be seen by the bar staff. I have found myself taking half an hour to be served in a quiet bar before. This has probably fed into one of my main fears and phobias in life, automatic doors. I always worry that I will be invisible to them, it just will not open for me but will for other people. Would this finally be enough to send me over the edge, the final part of the irrefutable proof that cogito ergo sum is a fallacy?
I take a photo. It has lochs, hills, and trees in it. I post it and prove that my life is great to everyone so we all can move on and not bother with interaction. I complain about interaction but really am I craving it?
Definitely not, do I protest too much?
Still a no though. Interaction brings complexities into view. Do both parties fully understand each other or not? Generally, not, because no one actually listens. When things in your life go really wrong and people notice they will all say to you that you should talk, “if you only talked we could have helped you”. You hear that a lot and all the time in your head you are screaming “I told you. I FUCKING TOLD YOU 20 TIMES!” People just don’t listen or as I believe they have already worked out what you are going to say so that they can carry on a conversation in a certain direction, so what you actually say just doesn’t matter as they have decreed what you will say.
This is when you realise how meaningless words and language are. No matter how you try and use them, how rationally you use them, or even talking as verbosely as you can manage, no one really listens. The moment that you all sat down at the table they had already pre-arranged the conversation in their head, they might not even have noticed but they did. The conversation will all be out there, most of it you may feel is inane but that is how people get through their everyday life.
They talk and never listen, listening would mean they have to take into account their surroundings and well that would spell disaster for many people. They would have taken in to account how all their dreams and hopes were lying shattered around their ankles. They can never afford that house they really want, they will never be paid enough to do that but rather than give up they carry on doing the same mundane tasks that are rotting their life away from the inside of their soul to the outside selling of their labour.
They will sit and tell you how they are not a slave to money but they will always describe themselves by the job that they do. They will never describe themselves in any other way unless they are unemployed and then a form of shame will come over them and they will be a freelance shelf stacker or something similar. Just awaiting that right vacancy to come along, it never does and this is why people can not communicate.
They are ashamed of who they are. They hate who they are. If we talk without using our pre-arranged script then we are liable to give ourselves away. We would be opening ourselves up into a whole world of acceptance and despite our protestations, we do not truly believe in self-acceptance as an option for life. It is much easier to keep plodding away and pretending that everything is going just how we planned it in our career book.
They send letters in white envelopes now. Not, the brown envelopes of yore. White envelopes. It makes them look like a circular. Chances are putting the letter straight on a one way trip to the bin. Is it by design that they do this now, don’t fill in your assessment form and you’ll find your health benefits cut? An easy change for someone to make if they deliberately want people to miss their appointments.
Am I being too cynical, too jaded, too paranoid? Would the government really want to treat the worst off in society in such a duplicitous way? Watching the news and you can’t help but think so. Is it a further nail in the coffin of a once “civilised” country? We were once proud and tall and now we are all but pastiches of the previous glory that this country once held itself in.
Perhaps it is just better to consign oneself to the bin than the letter.
I place both my hands on the steering wheel, my head slumps forward and hits the horn, like it could really do anything else but that. I sit there with my head resting against the black of night steering wheel. I don’t even know where I am. I just drove. What am I going to do? My phone is still ringing. I’ll just avoid that, eventually, I will ignore it often enough that it just stops ringing. I look at my fuel gauge. At least I had the sense to fill the car up before I leave if you ever think you will have anxiety attacks that will make you run off into the middle of nowhere make sure you buy a car with good miles per gallon figures. I am glad that I did as I still have fuel. Everything around me is black, except for the illuminated country lane in front of me. High hedges on either side of the road and the odd tree amongst the hedge plants, giving a sort of avenue feel to wherever I am. Should I drive forward or tun around? I settle on driving forward.
Words, they constantly float around in my head. Ideas bubble and pop, nights are passed with scenarios running through my head. When it comes to writing them down, they evaporate. Those scenarios have run off and hidden around the corner. That idea that was bubbling along nicely has now gone off the boil.Read More »