court

I was on trial for some reason. I was in court.

“he was fine until he got into the drugs”

“yeah those nasty drugs ruined his life”

“Excuse me but fuck you both, this is hegemonic horse shit. It makes sense in a very basic commonsensical way but is it true? Its a load of fucking bollocks! I wasn’t fine before I got into drugs, if anything getting into drugs has allowed me to be more fine than I was prior to that. I have never been fucking fine. I have demons that circle like some kind of evil fucking distorted Alexander Calder piece and I can never escape unless I die, and sometimes when I take drugs I can partially escape for a bit, at least I can feel a gush of fresh air at the back door.”

“Drugs may exacerbate situations but they don’t change a character. So don’t blame drugs, don’t even blame the drug dealers. Blame the Queen, blame Rupert Murdoch, blame representative democracy, blame libraries, blame Tesco Express, blame Apple, blame Instagram, blame those machines you find at the entrances to supermarkets which sort out yr change for you. Blame me. Blame me. Blame me. I fucked up apparently, I’m sorry. Blame me but do not blame the drugs.”

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gone sour

We were beginning to resent each other for various small unmentionable hypothetical indiscretions. Communication had broken down entirely and we just mutually existed in some kind of raw apathy or simmering inward looking hatred. Love was lost.

“I have spent my whole life being pushed around.”

“Me too”

“Why do you always say “basta!” when I touch you on the arm.”

“Because yr not currently capable of loving me in a sensible way”

I stood up and walked out of the back of the house, jumped a fence into the neighbouring field and climbed the hill up towards what looked like a small copse at the top of the hill. When I got to the top of the hill I was exhausted and there were no trees. I lay down on the grass and looked at the sky. Small black dots floated in and out of my field of vision like ballet dancers. Sometimes in the countryside it can be very quiet. When I hear ‘silence’ I hear a high frequency hum, a phasing mid-frequency robotic sounding phrase and the sound of imaginary horses hooves on their way to apprehend me.

When I got back to the flat Daisy was masturbating on the bed wearing one of my t-shirts, she had a bored look on her face. I sat down on an armchair and watched her. Then I lit a cigarette and started doing things on my phone to pass the time. Eventually Daisy climaxed or at least she got somewhere close and gave up. She stood up and walked over to me, she sat on my lap and her wet cunt started to saturate my jeans.

“I’m feeling a bit paranoid, like, I think that everything I do is the wrong thing and I feel like you hate me. I feel like I’ve annoyed you.”

I looked at her blankly, I felt completely disconnected from her. Daisy began to cry and I felt uncomfortable about the crying and the cunt on my jeans and the fact that she was in such close proximity to me.

“do I suck?”

“you don’t suck any more or any less than anyone else does”.

I didn’t know what was going on, who was I? Who was Daisy? Why were we together in this flat?

Daisy’s face ( a few inches away from mine) was just an achromatic blurred haze of vagueness.

clever lying

Pascal says: ‘Kneel down

move your lips in prayer

and you will believe.’

In western post-Fordist

capitalism we are taught

to consume a niche

and we will be

rendered whole

our work will become

valid and worthwhile

ideology is based on

false assumptions

its all a big lie

a big fucking lie

and we go along

for the ride

austerity

Austerity is not just an ideological dildo for fucking the poor

Economic austerity manufactures emotional austerity

to such an extent that austerity is realised in full colour

as a representation of a collective state of mind

Althusser

reproduction of the items needed

to make concrete the means of production

and so on and so on, its a never ending spiral

and the deeper it goes the less it makes sense

 

why are we locked in this?

why can’t we escape?

sick

we can judge a society by examining the ways in which it is ‘well’ and the ways in which it is ‘sick’. In post-Fordist western capitalism we define ‘wellness’ with reference to agents’ ability to work and shop. Production and consumption. Our leisure time is reified and our work time is mythologised.

A more accurate look at this will come courtesy of the ways in which we are ‘unwell’. Depression, anxiety, other mental health conditions, eating disorders, self harm, these things are endemic in the millenial generation.

Why?

academic revolutionaries

the language is so complicated

its hard to know what the fuck

is actually going on and

I have to say thats not my idea

of

fun

 

you are not changing the world

just macho intellectual flexing

to what end? to what end?

I’m serious, whats the point of it

you

scoundrels

web of lies

empty the click, aint it

we can’t hashtag this

its far too complicated

someone has paid someone

for the privilege

of getting ‘exposure’

and its sickening

bring me less product pls

Queens

Time change! Space change! Place change! Speeding all night then attending difficult lectures on Hobbes running on fumes. Oxford, Brighton, Belfast, New York. Occasionally the background of my mind is haunted by fuzzy images of yr chest tattoo and perfect tits but you were not the one for me, I know that now. I’m pretty wrecked but it doesn’t matter cos the sky is blue as fuck behind the Manhattan skyline across the water tantalising and distant. Yeah, it really doesn’t matter cos i’ve got beer and cigarettes and the birds sing and the street people are friendly. Yes, the birds still sing and all of the rest is true, the birds still sing beautiful songs, in Queens.

cheese

In America you can buy a four cheese mix of shredded cheddar, monterey jack, asadero and queso blanco. The cheddar didn’t taste like cheddar and the rest didn’t taste like anything either. The scope of expectancy, decline and failure here is a direct example of American capitalism at work. Endless access, hype, an illusion of choice. The technical level of choice in volume of items is favourable but the choice is simply many examples of trivial variations and distinctions designed by agents who have been economically coerced into working within very limiting parameters which are so stringent that any notion of choice within them will be so minor as to be ultimately meaningless.