West of Soho

People: time to wake up from the hegemony

2012-02-15T11:32:00.007Z

(As I posted on The Guardian website today, in answer to the so-called debt crisis in Europe)

Let's look at the bigger picture for a moment.

Since 2008, Western governments have used billions and billions of tax-payers money to bail out the failing banks. And now these very same banks are demanding austerity measures in order to recoup 'their' debts.

Can anyone see anything slightly dodgy in this picture?

On paper, governments are meant to serve the people. In reality, the opposite is true. While the politicians, banks and their associate lackeys persist in perpetrating the illusion that ordinary people must pay to keep them in power, isn't it time we all woke up and threw off the shackles of this despicable despotism?

In my humble opinion, every single sovereign country should default on any debts they 'owe' to banks, immediately. Why, you ask (and I hear some of you screaming)?? Because it's time to end this hegemony, once and for all.

The 'money' that the banks 'lend' is nothing they themselves have earned. It is nothing of tangible value. It has simply been created out of thin air. This fiat money system, that really took a hold on our planet when the Federal Reserve was created in the US 100 years or so ago, has taken a stranglehold over the lives of everyone. It has been backed by a consumerist agenda that divides communities, induces people to chase after illusive, meaningless dreams, and simultaneously rapes, loots and plunders the natural world of its resources, depriving millions around the world of their basic rights to food, power and water.

Yes, I hear some of you still screaming, but it will be chaos, anarchy, everything will collapse. Yes, that is what you've been told. You've been told that you, we, all of us, are incapable of running things without these governments and institutions to look after us. The reality is, of course, the complete opposite. We do not need these parasites, they need us.

People, we seriously need to wake up. We do not want perpetual war, destruction, slavery and violence perpetrated in our name. We want, and we deserve peace and prosperity. This will NEVER happen under the current system.

People, it's time to wake up.

And yes, I can offer you tangible alternatives. We can trade without governments and banks controlling currency. Banks are simply utilities that should only be there to facilitate the flow of currency and exchange. That is ALL. The rest, the debt, the usury, the fiat money system, these have all been foisted upon you, and you've been told there is no alternative. There is.

And the first step is transparency. Total transparency in all administration that relates to any form of taxation or business. To empower ourselves, we demand to be informed. Knowledge is power. Time to share that among all of us.

Europe: one step closer to a fascist super-state

2011-12-10T11:34:00.004Z

It's hard for people to see the wood for the trees in this week's proposed Eurozone treaty change, and that's down to the heinous lack of transparency in European politics. However, the facts speak for themselves..

What is certain is that this German/French inspired plan to allow unelected eurocrats the right to veto the budgets of Eurozone members is one step closer to making Europe an outright fascist super-state. That an unelected body, based in Brussels, should have the power to interfere in, and even dictate the budgets of sovereign nations should be unthinkable; but so mired are European politicians in the 'Merkozy' fronted, banker-backed illusion, they have lost sight of reality.

Let's look at a few recent facts. Greece and Italy no longer have democratically elected premiers, instead they have had accountants foisted on them (Lucas Papademos, former vice-president of the European Central Bank and Mario Monti, international advisor to Goldman Sachs and European head of the Trilateral Commission). Why? To oversee the smooth transfer of wealth from these formerly sovereign nations to the politician-fronted banking cabal that currently pulls the strings in the US, UK and most of Europe.

When you understand the bigger picture, Merkel and Sarkozy's plan begins to make sense; it has nothing to do with democracy, and everything to do with enforcing outright control over the affairs of sovereign nations. Whether Merkel and Sarkozy were onside from the very start is debatable, but it can no longer be in question, they are not acting for the people of Europe, but for an unelected, economic oligarchy (i.e. bank owners and their ilk).

So what's Cameron's role in all this? It's actually quite interesting; in bald political terms, he has undoubtedly done the right thing. No sane, unaligned Premier could have acted in any other way when the sovereign rights of their own country, and indeed of other countries, is threatened. In the bigger picture, his actions are almost irrelevant: France and Germany will push this plan through anyway, giving almost total power to an unelected body over the affairs of sovereign nations. What Hitler failed to do, France and Germany in 2011 are close to achieving. At least the UK has retained some kind of independence. Whether that's to the benefit of her citizens, or purely to the bankers, remains to be seen.

That Miliband (leader of the Labour party), could even think, let alone say, that this treaty-change is something the UK should be a party to is frightening. Either he simply has no grasp of what's at stake, or he's simply another puppet, enslaved to this totalitarian vision, or he's an idiot. You decide.

The Chinese government wants to ban reincarnation

2011-02-18T11:35:00.005Z

..according to the Tibet Express.

You've got to hand it to the Chinese, they take mind control to a new level.

The idea that you could 'ban reincarnation' is a non sequitur so monstrously absurd that you know it could only come from a supremely paranoid State. A State that, while it purports to be secular, is, of course, merely perpetuating its own brand of monotheism.

The I Ching: on the State and the individual

2011-02-16T10:02:00.006Z

Today, thinking of a personal situation, I threw the coins to consult the I Ching, the ancient book of Daoist wisdom. I still use the Wilhelm translation which I acquired in 1980, now battered and bruised by the years, its words nevertheless speak to me with ever greater clarity.

I drew the hexagram 29 - K'an, with its warning of how to handle an objectively dangerous situation by being like water, which does not shrink from any dark place, but flows onwards, remaining true to its nature. And I had a changing line - six in the third place - which adds additional interpretation, and also creates a new hexagram; in this instance, 48 - Ching, The Well.

These words from Hexagram 48 - The Well - (from the general 'judgement') speak to all mankind, as clearly as water, about how to live life meaningfully. They are a profound guidance, not just for the individual, but for those who would govern us, and in its words, you will see how our modern 'governments' so patently fail to live up to their sacred duty:

"In ancient China the capital cities were sometimes moved, partly for the sake of more favorable location, partly because of a change in dynasties. The style of architecture changed in the course of centuries, but the shape of the well has remained the same from ancient times to this day.

Thus the well is the symbol of that social structure which, evolved by mankind in meeting its most primitive needs, is independent of all political forms. Political structures change, as do nations, but the life of man with its needs remains eternally the same-this cannot be changed.

Life is also inexhaustible. It grows neither less nor more; it exists for one and for all. The generations come and go, and all enjoy life in its inexhaustible abundance. However, there are two prerequisites for a satisfactory political or social organization of mankind. We must go down to the very foundations of life. For any merely superficial ordering of life that leaves its deepest needs unsatisfied is as ineffectual as if no attempt at order had ever been made. Carelessness-by which the jug is broken-is also disastrous. If for instance the military defense of a state is carried to such excess that it provokes wars by which the power of the state is annihilated, this is a breaking of the jug.

This hexagram applies also to the individual. However men may differ in disposition and in education, the foundations of human nature are the same in everyone. And every human being can draw in the course of his education from the inexhaustible wellspring of the divine in man's nature. But here likewise two dangers threaten: a man may fail in his education to penetrate to the real roots of humanity and remain fixed in convention-a partial education of this sort is as bad as none- or he may suddenly collapse and neglect his self-development."

Insane in the Membrane

2011-02-15T11:06:00.005Z

The difference between me and a junkie is that my time-wasting is mediocre. I don't resort to oblivion to burn down the time between me and death, I just sit here on my computer playing card games for hours at a time, watching my soul's tenuous connection with this earthly dimension gradually expire.

I'm occupying my ravenous mind with meaningless dramas. It has a similar function to many other human activities, except I'm conscious of its utter futility. Sometimes, to entertain my mind, I create rules, weave superstitions into the game. I must win so many hands. I have to get to this score or...

And even though my opponents in the game are just pre-programmed into the software, I give them personalities, imbuing them with emotions and motives that can't possibly exist. I become obsessed with beating them, start to shout abuse if things don't go my way, punch the air when I best them, get embroiled in feuds that go on, way past the original game, spilling over into further games, that become sagas, mini-epics of confrontation. It's usually North or West in Hearts, but sometimes East. I just have to beat them. Sometimes I can't. I may be sanguine in defeat, or throw my toys out of the pram. Oh look, two hours just passed, zip, just like that. Two more hours killed. Two more hours where I didn't think creatively, didn't breathe consciously, didn't resolve anything or pay bills or go for a walk or sing or dance. Two hours where I just sat in front of my screen and lost myself in a meaningless battle with a computer program.

Einstein said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results. I'm insane. We're all insane. Insane in the membrane.

The system is redundant: welcome to the New World

2010-12-31T21:07:00.007Z

Hello again. It's been a long time since I last blogged, and maybe I'll explain why in due course. But I haven't been wholly idle; I've been thinking, absorbing and processing a great deal of information, so that I can understand and hopefully pass on to you the reasons why the whole concept of a 'state' is out of date.

I grew up being told that the 'system', if we can use that generic term to describe a modern-day state and all that entails (social systems, state education, taxation, 'government' etc.), was all there was. I wasn't told this explicitly, it was implicit. It was implicit in my education, it was implicit in the way people acted and thought, it was implicit in the dominant medium of communication: television.

Even though, at a very young age (I was conscious of this at 5), I knew that the 'system' sucked, I had literally nothing to support me in this knowledge. As far as I could tell, everyone bought into the belief that the system was all there was. And yet I found myself surrounded by hypocrisy: at school they preached a garbled gospel of so-called Christianity, yet it was blindingly easy to see that not only didn't they believe what they were preaching, none of the preachers (teachers) acted out the teachings either.

It was also blindingly obvious to me that adults and parents were a) totally fucked up, b) liars, c) deeply unhappy, and d) apparently oblivious to a, b and c (or at least, they didn't believe they could do anything about it).

I was astounded. I found myself living in a world of lies, deception, hypocrisy and unhappiness. All around me, disgusting things were being perpetrated in the name of business or the state; and yet people believed they were powerless to act. It was insane; I was living in a lunatic asylum. Above my infant school, Hammersmith flyover conveyed an endless stream of lead-spewing death machines into and out of the vibrant, crazy city of London. In the playground, us junior human beings breathed this poisonous cocktail as we played, before running back to our classrooms to be indoctrinated with such bogus ideologies that they were laughable. Except no one else was laughing, and I felt like crying.

In that crazy playground, on that knee-grazing, head-bashing tarmac, we acted out our fantastic games. They were all apparently based on mimicking adult themes of 'goodies' and 'baddies' and I don't know how the tradition started, but I joined in, because I loved being part of a gang, and I loved playing. Cowboys and Indians seemed kind of meaningless (but fun), when it came to simply running around sticking a finger out and going bang, or firing an imaginary bow and arrow. But within this structure, I found there was a deeper meaning for me, because I could feel the essential values of Native American culture within me. Don't ask me how, I just did. Whether it was a past-life memory, or an intrinsic connection with truth, I knew there was something essentially right in these values. And without questioning it, I took on the role of a wolf in these games. I was a peace-making wolf. I would run on all fours between the warring cowboys and Indians and get them to put down their weapons and make peace. Yeah, that's right, aged 5, that's what I did. And as far as I can remember, the kids happily went along with it. It made sense to them. Even though running around whooping and shooting was fun, this gave the whole thing an added dimension, which was meaning. Now don't think I was some kind of precious little twat, far from it. I was sensitive. But what I was doing was weaving into the pattern and fabric of the game something deeper, unconsciously.

What I'm trying to show you here is that from a very early age, I wasn't duped by the bullshit. The illusion just didn't work for me. And although I spent nearly all of the rest of my younger life trying to fit into this system, because I was told that this was all there was, it was a desperately painful and traumatic process of feeling like a square peg being forced into a round hole. And all around me there were unhappy, lying adults who patronised us kids, and acted like they were superior, when they were patently not. They were just fucked up. All they had going for them was superior strength, size and a cabal that insisted that whatever they did to you, they were right. And all around them, was a world riven by war, strife, poverty, pollution, inequality and injustice.

But there was apparently, no alternative.

Okay, let's cut to the chase. After 49 long years of being in this particular incarnation, I have finally, fully, got that the idea that the state governs, and we obey, is bull. It's an illusion. A hideous, insidious, invidious illusion that has been perpetrated upon us all... an illusion so pervading, so clever and so intricately woven, that the best analogy I am aware of, is to call it the matrix.

But folks! Lovely folks! Friends out there, old and new, met and not yet met; it IS an illusion! We are all free, and in the coming weeks, I shall offer you my further insights and hope to show you why it's OKAY TO BE YOU.

God bless you, and, in the terminology of Western tradition: Happy New Year. x

Dostoyevsky agrees!

2010-10-21T13:12:00.003+01:00

My favourite character in Dostoyevsky's classic novel Crime and Punishment is the passionately intelligent, unrestrained bear of a man, Razumikhin. Of all the characters in this incredible novel, he is the one with the least artifice, who speaks the most intelligently and vividly, from the heart. It is also no coincidence that Dostoyevsky almost certainly derived Razumikhin's name from the Russian word 'razum', meaning 'reason'.

In this wonderful passage, a drunk (on vodka, on life, on Avdotya Raskolnikov's beauty) Razumikhin, escorting Raskolnikov's sister and mother back to their lodgings, rails against the vile use of cliche, and how its use pervades all our lives, obscuring truth:

'What do you suppose?' Razumikhin shouted, raising his voice even louder. 'Do you suppose I'm going on like this because they talk nonsense? Rubbish! I like it when they talk nonsense! Talking nonsense is the sole privilege mankind possesses over other organisms. It's by talking nonsense that one gets to the truth! I talk nonsense, therefore I'm human. Not one single truth has ever been arrived at without people first having talked a dozen reams of nonsense, even ten dozen reams of it, and that's an honourable thing in its own way; well, but we can't even talk nonsense with our own brains! Talk nonsense to me, by all means, but do it with your own brain, and I shall kiss you for it.
To talk nonsense in one's own way is almost better than to talk a truth that's someone else's; in the first instance, you behave like a human being, while in the second, you are merely being a parrot!
The truth won't go away, but life can be knocked on the head and done in. I can think of some examples... we're all of us, every one of us without exception, when it comes to the fields of learning, development, thought, invention, ideals, ambition, liberalism, reason, experience, and every, every, every other field you can think of, in the very lowest preparatory form of school! We've got accustomed to making do with other people's intelligence - we're soaked in it! It's true, isn't it? Isn't what I'm saying true?' cried Razumikhin, trembling all over and squeezing the hands of both ladies. 'Isn't it?'

The sea is not blue

2010-10-03T08:47:00.004+01:00

The sea is not blue.

Some time ago I sat on an old stone jetty a few metres above the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. The sea is blue, said my mind. I looked at the sea. And then I realised, with a eureka-like shock, that the sea is not blue. That in fact the very idea that 'the sea is blue' was preventing me from experiencing the sea as it actually was, in that moment; a heaving mass of incredible matter that was absorbing and reflecting and refracting the sunlight in amazing ways..
And beyond that, I saw that there is no colour.

Colour is an idea.

I realised that we have built our entire idea of what reality is by using a battery of concept thinking, based on a set of linguistic cliches. We think in cliches. We experience life through these cliches. We talk in cliches.

These cliches are preventing us from actually experiencing life as it is.

If you live your life through cliches, your life will in fact be a cliche. You will have lived and died with almost no direct experience of the world you are living in. And what is profound, shocking and fundamental, is that reality, beneath, beyond, before the cliche, is more amazing, more vibrant, richer and deeper, than anything you can possibly imagine from a cliche-based perspective.

I believe it is our duty, as thinking beings, to wake up to this reality, and go beyond the cliche. Think about it. No, go on, don't just dismiss this idea, think about it. Think about how you define your life by stories, by sets of cliches; and I don't just mean now and again, I mean all the time.

Think about it.

The future is not formed

2010-09-02T13:32:00.003+01:00

A couple of weeks ago I had a revelation: the future is not formed. I realised, with a deep shock, that up to this point, I had believed that the future was already formed; predestined, if you like.

I realised that I was carrying around the idea that my 'destiny' was determined, that my life was on rails, and that certain outcomes were inevitable. I had no idea I was a fatalist, but that's what I was.

The palpable sense of relief and levity that this realisation brought me was huge. The future is not formed. The future is not formed. The future is NOT inevitable! Outcomes are not certain.

My fatalism, I realised, ran deep in me; it was a result, I believe, of a childhood where it seemed the worst that could happen would always happen, and that nothing good would last, and that suffering was my inevitable (and deserved) lot. In a sense, I must have come to believe that I was being punished.

Unpacking this unconscious set of hard-wired beliefs led me to realise that my whole unconscious oeuvre mimicked a religious ideology. Indeed, I can see clearly how an unawareness of such unconscious beliefs could lead anyone to believe, unquestioningly, religious ideology. If ever there was a case for 'knowing thyself' this is it.

Without exploration of our inner drives and motivations, we are like victims in a sea of drama.. believing we are unable to change that which is most profound in us, we feel helpless against what appears to be an inevitable fate.

To discover that 'fate' is NOT inevitable, is profound. Amazingly profound. It is liberating. I accept that of course, deep-set tendencies in us lead us to see things in a certain way, and to perceive events in a certain way, and thus to react to those events in a certain way, leading us to feel that things are inevitable. But this is how one acts when one is unconscious. To wake up to the 'truth' of an unformed future is possibly akin to enlightenment. I don't know if it's enlightenment, because I don't know how many more layers of unconsciousness I have yet to reveal to myself.

If you believe life is inevitable, and that what will happen to you is predestined, then think again. Examine what inner beliefs have led you to this grim conclusion, and then allow yourself the glorious liberation of knowing this is not so.

Your life can change in many ways, at any time. Of course the generalities of your life will form an apparently semi-rigid context for your experience, at least for the time being. But the more you embrace the realisation that the future is unformed, and the deeper you delve into your unconscious to liberate your darkest and most secretive thoughts, the freer you will become. And as you free yourself, you realise your potential to change and for life to change may be almost boundless, defined only, perhaps, be the 'laws' of nature, of physics. But then again, we know that even these are mutable.

Watching Christopher Nolan's film 'Inception' last week, I accepted the allegory, the metaphor, whether intentioned or not, that 'life is but a dream'. As long as we remain unconscious of what drives us, life will indeed remain but a dream.

Throughout our history, we have used various naturally occurring substances to help us achieve this kind of liberation. We must embrace these opportunities without fear, but with a humble acceptance that these 'guides' are to be respected as teachers, and not to be abused 'recreationally'.. (although I've got admit, recreational use can be a lot of fun..).

The history of human enlightenment is long and fascinating, and there have always been forces, that through fear, have attempted to squash and contain and suppress human liberation. You have to go past the fear, to embrace freedom. It's the only way.

Many years ago, during an intense trip, I came up with the mantra: you've got to go through hell to get to heaven. Suffering seems something we all have to experience, and most of us spend our lives avoiding it like the plague. Yet as many spiritual thinkers have realised, suffering and pain may be the key to spiritual enlightenment; for without them, where is the spur to explore, to discover, to rise above our conditioning and break free of our shackles?

Freedom from fear, from fear of life and living; I cannot think of anything more liberating than this. Dare you take the first step?

Climate change action? It's a waste of time..

2009-09-04T21:11:00.003+01:00

Let's face it kids - it's too late. All this gnashing and wailing is just creating even more hot air.

Fact is, in the short term, we're fuct. But don't let that get you down. I think there's still plenty of fun to be had on this planet, especially if you're of the hedonistic bent. Spiritual hedonism, that's what I'm advocating. It's radical. Basically I'm saying: just really start to enjoy life. That's right, enjoy every single fcuking minute of it; love it, lap it up, LIVE it!. Trust me, it will work. Its reverse polarity will create a vortex, a bit like when Superman flew round and round the world really fast so it went backwards, so he could save Lois Lane.

All you bleaters, you're being conned, sucked into a vacuum of negativity. Don't you get it you suckers? The more you bleat, the more there is to bleat about! Enjoy life. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Dance round the maypole, swing from the chandeliers, embrace random animals, leap for joy!

Hooray, hoorah and huzzah!

Okay, now onto other matters: washing powder wears your clothes out. Use liquid, every time. Trust me on this.

And finally, I've been thinking, deaths. On the news, every day, it's deaths, deaths, deaths. This person died, that person died. Especially amazing, special people: ooh, this amazing special person died, that amazing special person died... on and on and on... well how come they never talk about all the amazing special people who've just been BORN? Huh? Work THAT one out suckers.

Laters potaters.

What's wrong with Now?

2009-08-11T09:24:00.005+01:00

Nothing, in my humble opinion - it is the pinnacle, apex and acme of our being. Yet these bloody religions will persist in purveying their archaic nonsense, and gawd I am tired of meeting yet another otherwise intelligent person who belieeeeves.. let alone the lobotomised morons who parrot their patriarchal pomp like robots. JC, Moho, Buddhawiser - they're long gone folks. Yes, hello, wake up! Stop hiding from reality in your shrink-wrapped mysticism. Embrace the NOW. FFS.

Next -->

Marina Hyde..

2009-07-25T21:24:00.020+01:00

Hasn't that last post driven you mad yet? How did you stand it my munchkins? Its lumpen logic labouring through cyberspace like an wounded walrus..

But never mind, this page is now a shrine to Marina Hyde, the goddess of the intellectual barb, her withering dissections of the entity that is Trudie Styler alone stand her high on my pantheon of latter-day saints; but this girl's not just smart, she gets sport too..

...............................................seriously, what's not to like?

....................................... I'm in Love.

Marina writes, almost ubiquitously, in The Guardian, now home to a host of female columnists who seem bent on leading us towards a new, edgily comfy irony as they purvey their world views all over this once serious institution - but Marina out-does the frumpy Lucy Mangan, eclipses Zoe Williams and out-acids Shazia Mirza - she is the queen.

Next ->

Buttercup in the park - a treatise on our modern predilection for superstition and alternative beliefs over rationalism.

2009-06-11T11:40:00.030+01:00

As I walked through Queens Park on a warm late spring afternoon recently, I passed a family - a mum and dad and their two girls. The elder girl, aged about seven, was holding a buttercup under her younger sister's chin. She had the air of someone conducting an important scientific experiment.

'Yes', she announced seriously, after a few moments of careful scrutiny, 'you like butter.'

The parents watched, amused. The pronouncement made, the family continued on their way. But it caused me to stop and think. Why is it that we are still drawn, almost inexorably, to the rites of old wives, to the rituals of superstition, instead of the calm clarity of rationalism, that was gifted to us during Europe's 'Age of Enlightenment' in the eighteenth century? Why do we still prefer the drama of the obscure to the common sense of reason? (Yeah, okay, forget the idea that it might simply be 'fun' for a moment, and bear with me, because there is something incredibly revealing in this).

Do you have an emotional reaction to this? Does the idea of reason irritate like a prickly burr? Why is that? How have reason and logic come to be seen as cold and heartless, compared to the apparent warmth of faith, superstition and religion?

I thought about this again while I was watching the latest Star Trek movie. Spok, as always, represents logic and reason - cold, and almost emotionless, his saving grace are his half-human genes. Kirk, on the other hand, impetuous, hot-headed and brave, is the warm-blooded hero we are drawn to. In Star Trek, emotion is seen as greater than reason. Love triumphs over logic. Reason and logic are essential and highly valued of course, but in the end, it is only the complex cocktail of intelligence and feeling, that constitutes a fully realised human being.

Yet reason is a great gift, especially because at its root, I propose that reason incorporates feeling. And by feeling, I don't mean dramatic emotion, I mean actual feeling.

How does something actually feel to you? Are you afraid to experience this? Why??

I believe the reason why is exactly the same as to why we prefer superstition and drama to reason and logic. And it is this:

For millennia, most early human societies (you'll have to take this as read because I'm not going to cite all my sources in this essay), were based on social values that included the freedom to feel and experience all human emotions, without fear, including of course, our sexual feelings and desires; the idea that these feelings were in some way wrong did not exist. Because, of course, they are not 'wrong'. They are simply natural feelings. Thus making any personal decision was far easier for people, because they were not afraid to express and feel their feelings.
(Try it next time you feel all tied up in knots trying to decide whether to do this or that, especially in relation to someone else; if you allow yourself to feel how you really feel about it, the decision is easy).

What happened? Organised religion happened. The reason why organised religion happened is admirably covered in a book that I urge you to read - 'Guns, Germs and Steel' by Jared Diamond. To précis Diamond, early societies that had access to an excess of resources - food and suitable animals (for transport, work and food), quickly developed social hierarchies, with a 'king' type character at the top. To maintain the king position of power, the (fiendishly clever) idea of the 'divine right' to rule was invented, supported by a bureaucratic class of priests, who interpreted and officiated over this divine right; in other words, they told people how to act and what to do, according to the words of 'God'.

Once you have a ruling elite in place, it's downhill all the way. Decisions are no longer tribally democratic, they are always determined by the best interests of the ruling elite. As your society grows, the need to control people becomes ever more important. And what better way to control people, than through fear?

If you make people fear the very essence of their being, if you tell them that their natural feelings are bad, and that they are, at their very core, 'wrong' ('sinners' in religious parlance), you have created a mentally enslaved population who you can manipulate at will.

As human cultures evolved, the interpretation of divine will become ever more sophisticated, and the systematic destruction of pre organised-religious societies took place. We were of course still happily rolling out this perverted ethos throughout the Victorian era and beyond, where missionaries set out to 'save' the ignorant savages across the globe.

Indeed, we can still see this power-play at work today, where the most powerful countries feel free to invade other sovereign nations, because they have a divine right to do so. Because they are 'superior'. We know of course, that their true motivations are more basic; ensuring access to wealth and resources for their resource-hungry nations.

The British Empire was predicated upon such a divine right; 'we' were just and noble, bringing democracy and justice and Christianity to the heathen. The fact that this was a license to plunder the resources and enslave the people of Africa, India, Asia and the Americas (other empires of course joined in) was somehow overlooked in our great crusade. The new American Empire happily followed this well-trodden path.

I have digressed slightly, but if you're still with me, I hope you'll see that because our natural ways and feelings, our easy relationship with ourselves and nature, were systematically suppressed to further the interests of a ruling elite, we lost the ability to trust our feelings. Instead, we had to base decisions on ever more complex systems of morals, theories, dictates and laws that were interpreted by self-appointed priests and enshrined in great tomes such as the bible and the koran.

This is not to say that there isn't much of huge value in these treatises (as well as a lot of archaic nonsense), but because at their root they are based on fear and control, they are, in my humble opinion, forever tarnished by this pernicious association. Oppression of feelings creates the uniquely human experience of perversion, sin and guilt. Before organised religions and social control came into being, perversion, as we know it, did not exist. There was no reason for it to exist.

Fast forward several centuries, and we reach the Age of Enlightenment in Europe, where science and philosophy unite to create rationalism; a way of looking at and experiencing the universe that is not based on superstition, or religious belief, but on reason.

But for most societies, trying to roll-out scientific rationalism, over the top of superstitious belief (religion), has only created more confusion, and more inner turmoil, because now a conflict has arisen between what was supposed to be (divinely) right and what reason tells us to be right. For ordinary people, losing the security of an all-knowing, all-powerful religion (After all, 'God' is supposed to be omnipotent), is a very scary thing. Which is probably why many of the citizens of modern societies are the most mentally disturbed in history.

The advances in science of the last three hundred years allowed for the technological advances of the industrial revolution and beyond, which, while benefiting us in so many ways, have also enslaved us even further (the surveillance society in Britain, for example, where almost your every move is tracked, recorded and potentially judged, as are your personal communications), and also possibly terminally harmed us (the destruction of the environment being one obvious example). Science and technology have been a double-edged sword, both a boon to humanity and a poisoned chalice.

Therefore, perhaps unsurprisingly, when we have through science and technology, an unprecedented opportunity to embrace 'reality' - as opposed to a dramatic and fear-based superstitious view of the world - we are drawn, inexorably, to the sense of an alternative reality, through which we think we can experience our true nature, and we reject science and technology, logic and reason, as cold, heartless and dangerous.

(Alternative medicine, and associated values and ideas, are often profoundly valuable of course, but it is the resort to them without any form of reason or understanding, but simply because they are alternative, that I am discussing here).

Our intrinsic fear of our true natures, which has been deliberately created by controlling elites, leads us to fear the very thing that can save us - direct, honest, rational experience.

What I am arguing is that, at its very root, direct experience is divine. There is nothing more real or perfect than this - the experience of our own nature. You don't need God, or a bible, to experience this. Indeed, you are free to experience this at will. Yet I wager you do not experience this at will, but rather, your more common daily experience is one of fear and confusion, mixed (if you're lucky), with moments of joy and clarity, but often only through resort to drink or drugs.
(If you disagree with this, and if you feel joy as your primary state, then I truly congratulate you on achieving liberation).

We need to see that rationalism and reason, rather than being some kind of enemy, are indeed our greatest friends. If we can unhook ourselves from the unhealthy addiction to drama and superstitious belief that perpetuates mental strife and discord in ourselves and in society, then we can liberate ourselves from a mental slavery that has blighted us for millennia.

We live on the cusp; as once mighty nations teeter on the brink of economic collapse, which way will the dice fall? We will revert to fear-based superstition and control and all that entails (fascism, for example), or will we embrace our deepest natures, which are the very things we intrinsically feel and know we lost, so long ago, and liberate ourselves from this long nightmare?

Over to you..

Peace out dudes.

Google - just how much DO they know?

2009-02-09T00:37:00.008Z

You want spooky? I'll give you spooky -

I did a YouTube search for a clip about Near London - a virtual shopping and social networking site that uses our technology... watch it here, it's pretty damn funky.

Now here's the spooky bit - there's nothing to connect me - online - with the Near clip, yet what comes up on YouTube as a related video in the search 'Near Virtual London BBC'? Try the search yourself and see. It should be this this.. In fact it seems to be the first related link that comes up... except it's NOT related, not related to the first clip in anyway, shape or form that I can think of... except for one bizarre fact: I feature in the second clip - a trailer for my friend's film, which I co-produced... but how on EARTH does google put the two together? Furrreeeky stuff. Personally, I take it as a sign.

We're on the way folks.

Onwards.

Israeli/Palestinian? Rich/poor? Possession is 10/10ths of the problem..

2009-01-12T10:36:00.012Z

Hell, said Jean-Paul Satre in his play 'Huis Clos', is other people.

Currently on this planet we occupy, we are systematically turning paradise into hell. Why? Because we are possessed, it seems, with this idea of property, of ownership. The root of all of our fears is the fear of loss. We fear to lose face, to lose control, to lose what we think we somehow own. The reality is we own nothing. And in that reality lies our freedom. But we have become so utterly possessed with the concept of owning our little piece of something - be it physical property or simply an idea - that we have become isolated from our being and our own brothers and sisters - from each other.

And this idea of ownership and control is so utterly endemic in the very structure of our society, that we believe its truth to be as concrete as existence itself. And the whole of our capitalist/consumerist system is predicated on this idea. We exchange tokens we call money, for objects or concepts which, protected by 'laws', become our 'property'.

Take this idea one step further, and you can see clearly how the determination to control and own ideas is at the root of all religious and political dogma: 'I'm right, you're wrong.' And we can see this borne out the world over in the terrible conflicts that continue to rage, over property, over ideas, over the sense that one group of us is different, better, more chosen, than another.

I was re-reading Ursula Le Guin's beautiful novel 'The Dispossessed' over New Year, and it reminded me how isolated I can become, not wishing to share the time of day or even acknowledge other people. The possession of our minds is the root of all misanthropy. Most of us walk along the street in some kind of mind-created bubble, believing ourselves separate from our fellow beings. But we're not, are we? Truly, we all share the same space and breathe the same air. Le Guin's incredible vision of a world without laws, without property, without money or ownership, brought this all back to me.

On the train from Stansted airport back into London last week, I watched the most incredible sunset. The vista from the train across the stark landscape of frozen lakes, gnarled oaks and still-lithe silver birches, suffused with the most sublime pinks, oranges, reds and blues raying through scrawled black clouds was breathtaking. Experiencing this sunset brought me a joy that I have never had while standing in an art gallery perusing these little objects that attempt in some way to capture this glory. I do not wish to denigrate art, but to challenge the idea that we can, in any way, own any of this. And yet, what joy to discover that ownership is unnecessary anyway, when the greatest joys are laid out for us all to share.

I have visited Israel several times over the last 25 years, and witnessed the terrible disintegration of what was once a relatively harmonious society (in terms of Arab and Jew), although it must be said that this fragile balance did depend largely on the fact that the Arabs were, to all intents and purposes, second-class citizens.

Partitioning Gaza and the West Bank was never the answer in my humble opinion; the answer would have been to try to integrate the two communities, especially economically. The failure to do this has only polarised the situation, and until it is rectified, it will only get worse.

To have one people walled off, both physically and economically, from the benefits that others enjoy, can only result in strife. And when you throw the Molotov cocktail of religious extremism into the mix, you've got the situation we see today.

Economic and social integration is the only answer. It means someone has to start sharing. The same goes the world over. It's only when we accept no one has any more right to live on this planet than anyone else, and that we all breathe the same air, and that religious and other equally spurious divides such as skin colour, are insane, will we progress.

Hell may appear to be other people, but we are also each other's salvation. No God, no belief, no religion, no political or economic idea can do it for us, while we still grasp fearfully to the idea of possession. It is only when we let go of this idea, that we can finally become free.

Time to turn things round..

2008-12-17T11:03:00.004Z

Once upon a time..

2008-12-05T16:24:00.013Z

..I was a rock band manager, and here's the proof..

Yep, that's me surrounded by the ever-so appreciative of my management skills, the adorable, quixotic, anarcho-syndicalist crusty funk monsters, The Thunderdogs.

That iconic wall behind us is the boundary wall of Christiania, the self-proclaimed anarchist free-state in Copenhagen. This huge ex-naval base was first squatted in 1971 and the community has been there ever since. We stayed there during our Danish tour around 1993/4 (can't quite remember, it's a bit of a blur), in a wooden house built entirely without nails in the shape of a banana.. called, appropriately enough, the bananahuset..

I had one of THE craziest nights of my life in this funny little place..

After our last gig I finally succumbed to this strange British outcast Kenny and his infamous chillum. The rest of the band had already been Kennyed and feeling that it was safe to let my hair down at last, after what had been a pretty hair-raising tour, I lay against the back-stage wall and took a walloping great lungful... and then my head exploded. It felt like my third-eye had been split open with an axe and I descended into dope-hell. I had the entire tour takings in my pocket and this huge wad of money turned into a fiery snake-like thing that I had to get rid of, immediately. I tried to stuff the wad into my best mate and lead singer Tone's hands, but he had no idea what was going on and tried to give it back to me. But by now I was stricken with horror and there was no turning back. Picture the scene if you can, the two of us shoving each other around, banknotes flying as the rest of the backstage party scrambled to grab the money and mostly try and shove it back in my pocket. Within moments this surreal scene became too much for me to bear and with a yelp I ran out into the cold Copenhagen night.

Pinballing off lumbering drunken Vikings, I desperately tried to find my way back to the Banana House through the wild darkness, but somehow I got caught up in a hedge and spent frantic minutes trying to disentangle myself from this gargantuan beast. At last I broke free and sprinted across the wasteland towards our funny wooden home.

I slammed the door behind me and bolted it, convinced there were hellhounds, or worse, on my tail. I dashed upstairs and flung myself on my bed, trying to calm my ragged breathing. The only person still in the house was Nut, our photographer, and sensing my distress, she came and sat by me, soothing my fevered brow and telling me everything was okay. And I did begin to feel all right, until she turned her head.. and revealed the half of her face that had been in shadow until now. She had covered it with these Maori-like black swirls. In my uber-stoned state, I thought she was some kind of soul-stealing demon. I screamed in terror as poor Nut tried to hold me down. At this point I looked up and saw a distant red light through the upstairs window, and suddenly it all dawned on me with horror: I was still inside my mother's womb. The whole of my life up till now had been one long twisted dream, and the horrible reality was that I had yet to be born into this hell-world. The red-light was the only way out, the exit from the womb, my mother's pulsing vulva.. and it was just too much for me!
"Cut me out! Cut me out!" I screamed.
Nut dashed for the phone and amazingly managed to get hold of Tone back at the gig.
"He's gone mad!" she gasped "You've got to get over here now!"
Somehow the boys made it back in record time. I was a gibbering wreck. Tone grabbed me and began to shovel sugar and rescue remedy into my mouth. Incredibly, within moments, I was back. I had just been about to disappear up a flowing river made of Shiva's hair, but the sugar assault had worked its magic. I stared round the room at my shocked friends. They had seriously thought they were going to have to call the men in white coats. I smiled weakly.
"Er, hi guys.. I think I'm okay now.." I grinned, and then I collapsed on the floor.

And that, my friends, is but one extract from that insane tour. Maybe I should write a book about it. It makes Spinal Tap look positively tame...

Laters dudes..

Sentimental... moi?

2008-11-30T15:35:00.006Z

Excuse me, but I couldn't resist! Jamie just sent me this pic of me and my god-daughter from a few years back... yeah, I know, I'm gonna get slated for it... but... some of you might like it ;-)

I've just spent two weeks in Mallorca, chopping wood, building fires and helping to look after Lola-Mae and Memphy and I think it's been the most rewarding fortnight I've spent for years. Basically, I think I'm just cut out to be a dad!

I've had countless brilliant ideas for posts in the last few weeks, ranging from my take on the US presidential elections - Wham Bam Thank You Obama - to the Joy of Hypochondria, and all I can come up with is this. Is that what you're saying? And I used to be such a reliably cynical correspondent. What IS going on??

Strictly

2008-10-27T12:18:00.002Z

What's that old twit John Sergeant still doing on Strictly? He can't dance and he looks and sounds like Jo Brand. Get him off.

It's official: Left is Best

2008-10-27T11:03:00.011Z

I’m left-handed, and proud of it. And you might be amazed to know that the next US president, whether he be Obama or McCain, will be left handed. Indeed, they will be the fourth left-handed president out of the last five. How about that. The chances of this occurring are apparently 0.00009. Which one of ‘em is a rightie? Yeah, you guessed it, only the loathsome Dubya…

Given that roughly one in ten of us are left-handed, we definitely punch (southpaw) above our weight; Leonardo Da Vinci, Aristotle, Einstein, Julius Caesar, Emperor Charlemagne, Napoleon, Marilyn Monroe, John F Kennedy, Jimi Hendrix, even Jesus for Christ sake… all left-handers.

It’s fascinating to note just how many actors are left-handed. At a rough guess, I’d say it’s 50/50. Check it out for yourself next time you watch a movie… Robert De Niro, Ray Liotta, Steve McQueen, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt – I mean, come on!

But because of the cultural imperative that in the old days you had to choose which hand you wiped your arse with – the poor old left got the bum rap. Now you know why it’s called cack-handed. Sinister (from the Italian for left), gauche (from the French).. thank goodness modern hygiene has finally allowed us to flourish without prejudice.

Considering this yesterday, led me, by a tentative left-handed path that I can’t remember now, to thinking about personality. This was my thought: without other people to reflect back to you the kind of person you are, do you actually have a personality? I know, I’m going to bang on about it again, but who is the ‘you’ that you think you are, when you’re on your own?

I find my ‘personality’ entirely portable and chameleon-like. Sure, over the years I’ve grooved a personality that like an old overcoat I grudgingly slip on when I’m in company. But when I’m on my own… wow, you wouldn’t believe the different people that I am. In fact, I find that I can let the whole personality thing go, and watch it blob and morph around like a balloon without a social circumstance to anchor it. Do you ever sit and watch your personality going through its motions? When you go out, does it go through a check-list? Witty – checkish. Cool – hmm – kind of. Handsome – err, sort of. Suffering? Worried? Angry? What’s my story again? Oh yeah, I’m a 40 something would-be writer/reader/raconteur/iconoclast/decorator/dad/football fan/bon-viveur/traveller/thinker/seeker/visionary/natural philosopher/ bastard/has-been/fuck-up/survivor/guitarist/singer/songwriter/wanker/lover/man. Aren’t I?

Well, I know one thing, I’m left-handed.

Laters.

(PS I lied about Jesus, but hey, you never know.)

..creeps in this petty pace

2008-10-25T11:23:00.005+01:00

Yesterday, my uncle died. I'm struggling for something to say that has not been covered a million times, about death, about the experience... that is not clichéd and platitudinous and glib... I can't think of anything. I am mired in suffering and the constant challenge of being; I want a break, forever, from this tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.. signifying nothing. What is it that cries, and yearns and burns? The ego, the ego, the ego... let go, let go, let go... collapse, surrender, go within... how does one do that, in London, right now? Does one shun all social life, become a hermit? Should I travel to India, seek solace, lose myself? It's the physical thing that gets me most you see. And the anger that comes with it. Why me?

And yet reality keeps breaking through. The sound of water hitting the enamel bathtub in the shower. The cool calm of autumn sunlight on still-green leaves. The whole terrible, still, beyond reckoning, sense of being. It's here and now. Always.. underneath, beyond, behind... vast.. being.

The seductive reality of the surface, that I find myself always drawn to, the rush and chatter of human daily trivia, promises solace, delivers it, temporarily. Temporarily.

Thank god one can express one's self. I feel better now.

How many rivers?

2008-10-09T21:34:00.010+01:00

It's been a tough week. Tough but incredible. At Shaka's wake on Tuesday afternoon, I was moved to tears several times by what people had to say about him. But also by the people themselves. I was blown away by the beauty, the openess, the courage, the depth of my friends, and how willing they were to be seen, to be open, to be honest.

The same again at Shaka's funeral yesterday. It's been so good to feel this connection and to finally release the pent-up emotion that was stuck inside me. And insights have poured into me - I have seen myself measured against others and found myself wanting. Why is it, I ask myself, that I still find myself stuck with this carapace of pain, tension, and insecurity? Is that really me? Well no, it's not. This is one insight, that despite my understanding this truth again and again, especially through the hell of last year's emotional burn-out, I'm still coming to terms with. This stuff: it's not me. So what the hell is it? Who is it? Who am I? Do you recognise a unique emotional-psychic flavour that is you? You know the one - it's the one you relate to, when you hear your name, that's who you are, that cherry-vanilla burnt acid ice-cream sundae. But is that you?

Then today my aunt called because my uncle - her brother - was in a bad way. I hastened over to see him and ended up going into hospital with him. Here's a man who has reason to want to let go - at 88 years of age, and having survived the loss of his wife, his job through modernisation (he was working up until earlier this year and received a CBE for his contribution to his field last year), he's been hit with incurable cancer. I helped him change to go to hospital. His arms and legs are shockingly emaciated. He is so much more feeble than last time I saw him 2 months ago. He didn't want to eat or drink.

In A & E as he waited on a gurney, I asked him if he wanted to die. Yes, he said, I've had enough; I want to go to sleep. After doctors came and went and procrastinated I finally managed to persuade them to put a drip in his arm because he was so dehydrated. Eureka. Half and hour later he was feeling better. Still weak. But able, eventually, to go home. And I think how often I've wanted to die in recent years. Why? Because of the immense amount of pain I've been in. Is that an excuse? Probably not. Eckart Tolle says women are closer to enlightenment that men because they have to endure more pain. Well I don't know what the fucking yardstick is - but I can tell you, in terms of emotional pain, I've ridden the hoary razor-backed monster to hell and back. In terms of physical pain... well, I guess having 50% of your body covered in thick plaques of searing, burning, crusted skin, so sore there is NO release... 24/7.... that must qualify me for some kind of enlightenment equivalent, by Eckart's reckoning. If you consider I've been enduring this torture for the most of the last 20 years...

But what of it? There is no cure in resistance, and even less in self-pity. There is certainly redemption in love. Despite, in spite, of this suffering, I have managed to feel, more and more, that I am loved. And to say to myself, if I can truly feel this pain, and be in my body, and accept this, then I can be cured. Become whole. At Shaka's funeral I felt the bonds of love, and friendship and family. In truth, I felt this: that WE ARE FAMILY.

Peace out brothers and sisters.

Shaka

2008-10-02T14:28:00.028+01:00

Sometime on Monday, Shaka, a beloved friend of mine, died on the Harrow Road. He was 32 years old. At the moment no further details are known.

To think that Shaka died just down the road from me, possibly alone, certainly with no close friends around him, hurts.

Being with Shaka always made me feel good. He always brought a smile to my face, he could always make me laugh, even when I was feeling down. The last time I saw Shaka, just over two weeks ago in the Salusbury pub, I was jokingly telling him how I'd love to inhabit his body just for a day, just to experience what it must have been like to be him. Shaka had the moves. Shaka had inimitable style. To see Shaka on the dance floor was something else! Women and men alike adored him. I know he was troubled, and for years struggled with the dark side of his nature; something we shared in common, and would sometimes talk about... but no one was the life and soul of the party like Shaka was... his smile lit up every room he entered, and warmed every heart that was blessed to experience it.

One day last year I came out of my house and Shaka was walking past my front door. He was feeling very bad, as his relationship with the woman he was deeply in love with had broken down. To see this gentle man laid so low really touched me. At the time this was another thing we shared in common.

I hoped I was able to bring him some solace, through the experiences I'd had in life, and I know that recently he was in much better spirits.

But we had so many fantastic times together. In Mallorca. At festivals and parties here and abroad. In Brasil, Christmas 2004, we roamed the countryside of Bahia, swimming huge rivers, feasting on freshwater crabs, mangoes plucked from roadside trees and generally living it large. Shaka's love of food was legendary and boy could he cook a good steak! One of the funniest things that happened was the way he heard the Portuguese for 'thank you' - obrigado - as 'boogazzi!'. Boogazzi became the way we always greeted each other from then on. Boogazzi baby!

But now he's gone and he's left so many devastated friends behind him. My heart especially goes out to his mother.

Shaks, I miss you man.

Tales from the City

2008-09-02T18:58:00.014+01:00

Ah Brixton. The bustle. The hustle. Skunkweed mate, skunkweed? Popped over to my old mate Tone's squat in Coldharbour Lane last week. Clifton Mansions retains a faded boho glamour, crack whores notwithstanding. The architectural details that were lovingly crafted are still in evidence, even though the paving stones are now split by rampant weeds and too much London rain.

Another old mate, Natty Bo - eclectic DJ and frontman of Ska band the Top Cats - was also there. We got to talking about the crazy misspent days of our youth, the 80s, that seem so distant now, like something out of myth. How we dabbled, foolishly, in things beyond our ken.. magick.. mystery.. madness..

Natty recalled a typical day, when he lived in his old squat in the Pullens Buildings in Kennington. This was before we barricaded ourselves in and fought a pitched battle with the police and the bailiffs...

It might help you if you visualize Nat sitting at Tone's kitchen table in his Che Guevara beret and zoot suit, gold front tooth glinting, smoking a spliff as he recounted this tale (that's Natty in the pic below)..

Jim Vane – the Morrison-like lead singer of Ring of Roses and the New Apes, was sitting on the floor of Nat’s front room, singing toneless, repetitive nonsense, using the grab-handle from an old tube train as a microphone. In the background, Nat’s Teac 4-track added a backwards looping wallpaper of slurred sound..
There came a knocking at the front door. Abadab Terry (or Terry Dactyl as he was sometimes known) burst in, followed by a bunch of his gormless acolytes. Abadab Terry was one of those self-styled gurus that seemed to abound in our early 80s milieu.
Terry pulled out seven ready-rolled joints and commanded all present to smoke. He then began a toneless chanting of his own, a weird counterpoint to Jim Vane’s odd bleating.
All of a sudden, Terry leaps to his feet, grabs a dusty jar from the shelf and turns to Nat.
“Can I have these?” he asks.
Nat was dumbfounded. How on earth did Terry know where his magic mushroom stash was? Without waiting to be told, Terry stuffed the entire stash into his gob and began munching them manically, eyes popping, grinning like a madman. The background droning continued. Nat eyed Terry nervously. Terry sat back down, eyes streaming and cheeks bulging like a bullfrog as he inhaled hash smoke from a red plastic bong. Suddenly he leapt up again and grabbed a book of spells from the shelf. He began reciting one at random, then let out a piercing scream, pointing at Nat. Then he ran out of the door. Moments later, his acolytes followed. Jim was still droning into the tube handle. Relieved, Nat headed to the kitchen..

The following day, there came a hammering at the door.
“Let me in,” pleaded a voice, “the police are after me”.
Nat edged open the door, and Abadab Terry burst in. In one movement he punched Nat full in the face and then pulled out a large kitchen knife.
“I know you are in league with the Devil!” Terry screamed. I saw it all last time I was here. I’m gonna exorcise this flat!”
Nat had a kind of mandala patterned carpet. Terry pointed towards it.
“This is the source of your magic power!” He fell to his knees and proceeded to cut the mandala out of the carpet with the knife. Pulling this up with one hand, he grabbed the book of spells with the other and ran out of the door.
Apparently Terry then ran down to St Agnes Place at the back of Kennington Park (they used this as the location for the Buddha of Suburbia) and held up two Rasta drug-dealers at knife point, before legging it over to Lefteye Lee’s place. He kicked Lee’s door down and demanded Lee submit to his superior will. And give him all his money. Lee eyed him carefully for a moment and then knocked the fucker out with a smart left hook to Abadab Terry’s jaw.

So as I say, a typical day in the life, back in the day. I was telling a similar story, recounting the wild late 70s/early 80s Richmond nightlife and the crazy characters who inhabited it to someone l met on a date a few weeks back.
“You make me feel like I’ve hardly lived” she said. Well she did seem to have led a sheltered life..

It’s been an intense, edgy, lurching rollercoaster these last thirty years or so. But who would swap it for safety and suburbia? I wouldn’t.

Laters prudes.

On Hampstead Heath

2008-08-22T15:18:00.007+01:00

With an hour to spare before a meeting in Hampstead last night, I strolled up onto the Heath. It was a beautiful late summer's evening, the sun beginning to set behind sturdy cumulus clouds. The August bank holiday fun fair was already set up in the lower car park, the bumper cars neatly parked, the Wurlitzer in wraps.

I wandered through the deserted site; I've always felt strangely drawn to the traveller lifestyle. A rottweiler looked up eagerly at my approach. Around the perimeter of the site the trailers are parked up, washing hangs on the line, the latest model 4x4s with personalised plates, the mobile homes spick and span. Coming back out onto the path just above the lower pond, a red transit passed me. I caught up with it as the occupants exited, a man and a handsome woman in her 40s - we smiled at each other as I approached, a companionable smile.
'Are you looking for work?' She asked me.
'No, I'm all right thanks.' I replied. She held my gaze.
'Well, if you're looking for work, or you know anyone who does, just call here - she indicated the large white trailer behind her - and ask for Barry.'

I walked on, between the ponds, through the wild woods towards Parliament Hill. I felt extremely pleased that she'd asked me that question, whatever the implications..

Sitting on top of Parliament Hill, looking out across London, I felt a peace I've never felt before. Deep and constant; my heart is finally opening.

Here we go again

2008-08-18T21:53:00.008+01:00

Summer? Ha! Rain spatters the window. The nights are closing in already. It's a full moon comedown. I'm partied out. Time to quit smoking, again..

From the recovery position on my couch I laughed, cried and punched the air between coughing fits through a golden Olympic weekend. But now it's Monday. Muted, moody, munted, mundane Monday. What to do? Bed by 10pm and Nausea by Jean-Paul Satre. Does life always have to be great? I celebrate the ordinary. Vive l'ordinaire.

Laters.

World Without End

2008-08-02T15:43:00.000+01:00

Walking through the sleepy August streets today I was struck by how little life has changed; the same daily rituals are enacted today as they have always been. All that has changed is the perception that life is moving on at an ever increasing pace, and it is that illusion that fascinates me.

I wonder if in our limitless desire for the new we seek to escape from what is. Why are we so afraid of being? Why are we perpetually driven to fantasise about the future, or reminisce about, or continually revise and review our past?
The enduring fascination with sport illustrates this perfectly; in sport there is always another challenge, a new contender, the ever-present possibility that things might change for the better, for our team, for our hero.. and among football fans at least, the delicious schadenfreude in the anticipation or experience of our rivals downfall. We can happily remain stuck in this pseudo-reality for our whole lives. People claim allegiance to their team as a substitute for identity. It fulfils a deep need to belong, to be recognise, to experience life's glories vicariously.

Yes, we are apparently increasingly exhorted to explore these triumphs for ourselves, to go for it in the gym, to travel to far flung places; always more, always something else, always onwards. This kind of aspirational culture for the masses is something new, yet it goes hand in hand with a deep dissatisfaction with simply accepting what is. Acceptance in this sense is perceived as something negative, a cowardly surrender.

Yet in this dissatisfaction lie the seeds of liberation as well. This is what all spiritual texts point to; to look within, to find the way that leads to salvation from this world without end.

I find myself continually poised between desire and acceptance; I want to prove something to the world outside and to myself, I want to 'make it'. I want to be a contender. At the same time, I want to let go of this desperate pursuit and turn within. I think I enjoy the delicious suffering this induces. In a perpetual either or situation I find my identity stretches and warps, but at the same time deeper truth is revealed, a melting and reforging.

Maybe this seems like a melancholy first post for the revived West of Soho; no flash, no bravado, no tales of mishap or mayhem.. but then it is August. The month when London empties and for a month or so and there is a semblance of peace in our careworn streets. Plenty has changed since I last posted, and yet much remains the same.. all I can say for now is that I am conscious that I am different in some way.. and it is that subtle difference that I will try to elaborate in my future posts. So until then, take care out there dudes..