Every time we elect a new government we run the risk of that democratic decision turning out to be bad for the economy, bad for jobs, bad for trade, bad for kale chips, bad for permed mullets… but no one argues that the election result should be overturned to return to the previous government. Because, well, that would not be a democracy!
How is it so different with Brexit? Yes, there will be negative consequences… permed mullets will struggle, maybe even the up keep of those hipster beards as purse strings are tightened. Maybe there is a generation of young, hip folk who will have to clean shave, and it breaks my heart, but the consequences of Brexit are the same consequences of electing a bad government, and maybe not even that different in scale. I don’t know. (Does someone have some data comparing a previous bad government and their impact on male grooming etc. compared to the doom forecasts of Brexit? I don’t, and I’m certainly not going to trawl the internet for evidence. Not when it’s sunny outside and I’ve got tan lines to assuage.)
Good things and bad things happen all the time. We got through a couple of world wars, it hit us hard, kale chips were rationed and I think some people maybe died (??), but here we are, all these years later, with great tv, flashy trainers, no poverty or war, and it just seems like we need to buckle up and make the best of this. Show the world why the white British were once so amazing and respected and loved around the world. Remember how we gave everyone civilisation? That’s us! Let’s do it again… not give them civilisation… but show the world that when the chips are down the British stand up and rape and pillage their way to success.
The darkness is never more exposed for its inherent emptiness than when the humble candle is lit. For a million years the deep caverns can sit in the most untouchable depths of dark, but when that little light comes along…
Arhhh, well, you see.
And, here we are now, entertain us, little light. Because, the Tories, those bastions of all that is selfish, nasty, greedy and fraudulent, sit very un-pretty… revealed, naked, exposed and alone, as such vice always ultimately is, by the small, modest light of compassion and decency.
In moments like this, the world – this game – is a joy to behold.
But, this is not a mere lesson in politics. This is a lesson in life. When we choose to uphold the dark in our lives and societies then the dark can and will reign supreme. This is not a virtue of the dark, but a simple consequence of what we choose to do with our thoughts, our words, and our actions. Nothing complicated. Just our free will enacted upon the world.
Simply put, we have reaped what we have sewn.
Yet, here we are now, enlighten us, little light. For no matter how dark it has been and for how long, look – LOOK – at what one little light has done. And how swiftly, how efficiently, and how effectively the dark supreme was extinguished.
So quickly… so, so quickly.
This is a lesson for all ages. A lesson for all lives. Be good! Be honest! Be decent! Think of kindness, talk of kindness, act of kindness, and look – fucking LOOK – at what can be done.
There are no miracles here. Just a lesson that we have all always known…
Kindness and compassion, honesty and decency, humility and passion have, and always will, reign supreme. It might takes us a little while to orientate ourselves within that cave, and, for sure, we may fumble with the matches and drop the candle, but in that moment, that glorious moment, when friction bursts into flame… everything changes.
Khuram Shazad Butt was a lost and pathetic human being who, of his own free will, chose to use the precious gift of his life to murder his fellow human beings. Not because of anger or vengeance against those particular victims, but because of certain beliefs that existed in his head. There can be little more insane and senseless in the scope of all human experience, and, yet, this insanity has run rampant through human history.
Indeed, Khuram Shazad Butt was a victim of warped ideologies. But it was Khuram Shazad Butt who allowed these warped ideologies to warp his own mind and heart. Let it never be forgotten that this was a man with choices, and, that, in a realm of almost endless possibilities, for both good and bad, this is what he chose to do. How ridiculous, how bizarre, how devastatingly futile.
He was born innocent and pure. As a child he played and he loved. He brought joy to all those around him. He was born with talents and potentials that could have been used for the good of mankind. Without doubt he did good in his life. He will have been loving and caring with his family. Maybe he had a niece he rolled around the floor with, making her laugh, making her feel loved. Perhaps he performed acts of kindness on perfect strangers.
All of this is important, because his life did not have to end this way. He could have chosen otherwise. He had the same capacity for goodness that we all have. His actions were monstrous, but he was not a monster. And, if humanity is to have any kind of reasonable future, then it is vital that we hold on to this truth.
We cannot afford to create unstoppable evil monsters. It is a convenient headline and a helpful line in for politicians itching for control and war, but it is simply untrue. This is not how Khuram Shazad Butt had to live his life. This did not have to be his fate. We must remember this and draw hope from it if we are ever to end this dreadful cycle of hatred and violence. Put simply, this is not how it needs to be.
His actions are not just a stain on his soul, but reflect a wider stain that permeates the whole of humanity. None of us live in a vacuum. Everything has causes. And he was, at first, the victim of, and then the villain in, a species that seems utterly unwilling to – not only embrace peace – but to even give it short thrift… kindness and compassion have become a punch line, a sneer.
How desperately, desperately sad for us all. This violence is not going to end on the terms of violence. Only peace in our own hearts and minds can bring peace into our world.
I was playing 8 ball mini-pool on my phone at the time. I was half way through a rather competitive match-up when one of those awful, urgent, rumbling shits came on. Fuck. Fortunately for me and my statistics (win percentage 65% and climbing), I can play and shit at the same time (so long as I am on a toilet).
I artfully waited for his turn before venturing out to the bathroom, as walking, navigating and avoiding human interaction becomes difficult when engaged in elite level sporting combat.
Upon reaching the bathroom, however, I realized that the combined force of the twin distractions of ‘Game & Shit’ had led me to forget to take the toilet paper with me (I live in a house share, and, as much as I want to be generous and sharing, if you give a square, they’ll take a roll, and one day, you’ll be left with nothing… NOTHING). It was a rookie mistake. I consoled myself by acknowledging that other human beings had likely made the same mistake before, and that really cheered me up.
The shit was quick and relieving. I was spiritually refreshed and felt good as I continued to battle forth for a further three minutes. I lost, but, no shame there. Every champion suffers defeat. It’s what makes us champions.
That’s only half the story… well, maybe a third. You see, not only was I shorn of my trusty toilet paper, but I was aghast to discover that I had much too much of a messy arse to pull up my pants and dart for quilted relief. A large load at the laundry is £7, and I for one am too poor (£86,000 a year, can you believe it… I’m on my knees) to be wearing two pairs of pants in one day.
Fortunately, I suffer from chronic nasal congestion which means – when in form – you will always find me with a packet of tissues. The best ones are the Kleenex. And i’ll tell you why… leave those bad boys in your pocket on laundry day and they’ll come out whole… fucking WHOLE! It’s a sight to behold and worth the extra 50p just to avoid the wrath of my girlfriend / Mum / Grandma / neighbor / immigrant.
Today, though, I was bang out of form. Not only was I sans toilet paper, not only did I lose at 8 ball mini-pool, but I had no tissues! What was my world coming to? Thing is, I say ‘no tissues’, but that’s a bit of a half truth, because, in fact, there were tissues… soiled tissues – that is, tissues that I had thoroughly relieved my congested nose all over.
I had no choice. I was a cornered animal with an arse like a Nutella pancake. What could I do? So I wiped my arse with the snot covered tissue. I did. Of course, I’m no brute, and, so, I chose the drier of the two tissues. It is what it is. I dare say you would have done the same.
According to the latest ICM poll 64% of over 65’s will vote Tory in the coming General Election.
It is absurd in the extreme that human beings, many of whom will be dead within 20 years, are allowed to have their personal selfish desires and (frequently) outdated and wrong ideas determine what kind of world the younger generations will inherit. These are the same older generations responsible for rampant environmental destruction, ongoing poverty and inequality, and numerous ongoing conflicts around the world that have killed and maimed countless fellow human beings. So, any notion that these older generations are somehow older and wiser is an utter nonsense (although, in fairness, it is quite smart to set up a system that allows you to live the good life for your whole life, only to die just before you experience the dire consequences of said system).
The future of the country and the planet exists in the minds of the young. It is the role of the older generations to nurture the ideas and minds of the young, to help them to refine and understand their instincts and thoughts, and to contribute nuance and insight that is only gained through life experience and education. It is not the role of the older generations to determine what future the young will have through voting for their own personal wants and desires.
What we need now from the older generations is sacrifice. You’ve had your fun and you’ve fucked us over, but, before you go rot in red felt, why not put aside what is good for you (you can live and die without the holiday in the Cotswold, but we’ll let you keep the heating on… unless you’re already poor, of course, in which case, keep calm and carry on!) and use whatever useful attributes you have to help the young create a better world? The fact is that, the young cannot do this alone. Ideas and attitudes are not enough. The passion of the young for a better world is wonderful, but it must be reinforced and tempered by an understanding of just how complex and difficult the world is… this is not to rebuke their enthusiasm and knock them down, but to refine it into something potent, profound, and truly world changing.
The young are naïve, ill-informed, and, frequently, embarrassingly dumb (well, at least I was)… but they CARE, and that care is what the world needs so, so, so fucking badly. It is your job to help to turn that care into true compassion and meaningful, effective action. Because, otherwise, we really, really could be done for as a species. I know you’re nearly dead and all, but do you really want to merrily skip off this mortal coil leaving this world behind for your children? If, in this world, and, if, in this general election, you are voting for what is good for you (Vote Tory!), then so much better that you die than inflict your petty and selfish want for shinier things and comfier perches onto the shoulders of generations yet to even be born.
If, however, you are 65+ and you do care – and I know that there are many, including, of course, Jeremy Corbyn – then don’t vote for your pension and your holiday budget, but, rather, for what is good for all. And, most importantly, vote for what is good for all those with their whole lives ahead of them. And, even more importantly, help the young. They / we (I’m 34 so I’m not sure I count.. it’s a weird age, I’m sure I’m old but I’m reassured that I’m not quite there yet) need what you have, and that is the appreciation of nuance that runs through every facet of life that, otherwise, can only be appreciated and understood by getting old. Educate us/ them!
So, please, share! Help! But share to help refine their ideas, not to inflict your own, because – now soak this up good – the young do not care what you think. And do you know why? Because the young see the world afresh. The young are not conditioned and surrendered to the bullshit yet. And the young – inexperienced and naïve as they might be – know full well that the bullshit that is rampant is the bullshit of your making. So, share and be humble. Don’t even begin to pretend you’ve seen it all and you know best, because, one brief glimpse of the world as it is, is enough for all the young minds to explicitly know that you had no idea what the fuck you were doing, and no amount of old age, life experience and purported wisdom have done anything to save you or our planet from the looming disasters of your ignorance and your greed.
Apologies to all the over 65’s who are nice and voting Corbyn.
The Labour leader said there must be more money for law enforcement, as he suggested Britain’s intervention in wars abroad had fuelled the risk of terrorism at home.
“Many experts, including professionals in our intelligence and security services, have pointed to the connections between wars our government has supported or fought in other countries and terrorism here at home,” he said.
His comments drew immediate criticism from the Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, with Sir Michael Fallon, the defence secretary, accusing Corbyn of “very muddled and dangerous thinking” that implied blame on Britain for somehow bringing the Manchester terror attack on itself.
I’m with Fallon. I see no reasonable, logical, emotional or spiritual connection between us dropping bombs on them and their desire to retaliate by bombing us. I mean, everyone knows that all human beings are perfect and holy, devoted practitioners of impeccable forgiveness, with endless patience and an eternal resistance to anger and pain. So it’s not even possible – logically or emotionally – for a human being who has had their children blown limb from limb, their parents burnt to a shrivel, and their local Tesco Extra (or whatever they’ve got over there) bombed into a temporary and inconvenient closure to then wish vengeance upon the perpetrators. It’s unfathomable!
I mean, who cares, right? We’re all chilled here. Ain’t no biggie. And, yet, here’s Jamie Corbyn suggesting that there could be a connection. Well, I say ‘hell no, Mr Corbyn… hell no‘. We ain’t called GREAT Britain for a laugh. The clue is in the name… we’re great, we do great things, always have done, always will do. There’s no Fabulous France, is there? No Super Switzerland, right? Just Great Britain… being great, doing great, feeling great. And the world looks on in awe.
You know, I remember a time when two burglars broke into the family home. I must have been 10 at the time. My Mum was tied up and raped and my Dad was tortured with boiling water (from the stove too, it took them ages to find the matches, my Dad valiantly refused to locate them for them, and, then, well, you know what they say about a ‘watched stove’! ) because the burglars – wrongly, as it turned out – had believed my parents had valuable jewels in the house. But the only jewel in our household was the jewel of universal love for all human beings – a jewel shared by all human beings.
Fortunately, my bedroom was up in the attic space so I remained safe from rape and torture, although, perfectly privy to the sounds of all the ‘goings on’. And, you know, I have to say, I was totally chilled about it all. I really didn’t mind my Mum being raped or my Dad being tortured at all. Because, I’m a human being, and far, far evolved from petty emotions like anger, horror, terror and pain. So I cracked on with an eight man team battle on Tekken 3.
I always started with Hwoarang, he had incredible kicking ability that could quickly accelerate into a devastating flow, and, if my memory serves me correctly, I think this was the first time I did the ‘full sweep’, i.e. with Hwoarang alone I beat all eight of the computers fighters! God I was good back then. Fast, sharp, great defence, and, although my friends decried my ‘basic moves’ (I had no time for combo’s, I wanted the kill, not a show), I became almost unbeatable for a good six months at my peak. Good times. Really.
Anyway, my Mum was raped for 2 hours and my Dad ended up in hospital for 14 weeks, but I didn’t bat an eyelid, just cracked on with my Tekken 3 training regime (5 hours a day), and my parents weren’t fussed at all. In fact, I seem to remember my Dad being more perturbed about the stove being left on! Because, you see, this sort of thing – touch of rape, dollop of torture – doesn’t bother us human beings.
So, I get it. From experience. I know that Iraqis, Afghans, Syrians, and all the other ones, don’t give a shit about their parents, partners, children, friends, selves etc. being mutilated, disfigured and killed, because this is not the sort of thing that bothers human beings. We are whole. We are one. We know that life is an illusion – no more real, no more substantial than a giant virtual reality game. So why be bothered? Plus, don’t Muslims have Mohammed, and didn’t Mohammed tell them to be peaceful? And, isn’t it just that easy to be and do something once you’ve been told?
Fact is, these terrorist attacks are incomprehensible. No-one know why it is happening. It’s an unexplainable phenomena that can’t be explained. Personally, I think this might be a case for Mulder and Scully! You see, I’m chilled, and quick to humour / reference pop culture. Cos I’m perfect and holy, you’re perfect and holy, and our world is perfect and holy, and if you want to bomb my home, kill my children, or even rape my Mum and torture my Dad, you’ll find no anger or desire for vengeance from me, nor any human beings. Nuh uh. So suck on that evil alien overlords and your plans for world domination. You’ll never rile us with your big lasers and impenetrable force fields. We’ll just love you, forgive you, sooth your pains, and return you to your home planet lighter, happier and more flowery.
I’ve lost track of what I’m saying, but, basically, suck a minging cock, Corbyn, you big old dick monkey.
Probably not. I don’t know. What do you think? Maybe he just rapes other children. Who knows. There’s no reason to believe that he does, although, it has to be said that, when revelations came out a-spewing that certain politicians were raping children, he wasn’t so quick on the gun as he was with, say, the ‘swift and firm’ justice meted out to the London rioters of Summer 2011. No, those pesky sneaker stealers managed to top trump even the good old child rapists.
Some have accused David Cameron of a cover-up, his response was ‘conspiracy theories’, but, I don’t think that hand plays anymore, Dave. His response is understandable, though. I mean, the truth of the situation is so unbelievably and utterly disgustingly depraved, mind-bending and reality-shattering, that, he really does have every reason to stall, cover and minimise as much as he can, because, well, who wants truth and justice for children who have been raped by the elected politicians of the UK people?
And, I mean, really, really?
Oh. You do, do you?
Ahh, but… do you? I mean, really? Really really? Really, really, really, really? Let’s talk about YOU. Let’s talk about your outrage. Let’s talk about the action that you’ve been taking to expose the truth and bring justice for those children. Let’s talk about the stand you’ve made and the streets you’ve marched on and the government you’ve toppled and…
I mean, we just had a fucking GENERAL ELECTION one year ago – kind of our chance to make our thoughts heard and all that jazz – and, whilst I heard a lot of thick-minded ‘immigrants boo-hiss’, the volume was noticeably down / muted on the old ‘politicians are raping our children boo-hiss’.
Maybe it’s me. Are my thoughts becoming a little unwieldy here? Am I stepping out of line? I feel like I’m making a big deal out of this. But that can’t be right. Personally, I feel like I’m making a molehill out of a mountain, because, whilst truthful words matter, for sure, it’s nowhere near enough, really, is it? It’s just all I have right now – my alphabet weapon and a vain hope to stir you / someone / please, God, someone, up and get you fighting back.
I don’t know. Reality bites hard these days and everyone is donning +150 armour. I understand. Truth is rude and inconvenient. The truth takes the soft edge off a hard earned evening, curled up in front of the fire, bottle of red and some good TV. I know. I get it. I like The Wire as much as the next Game of Thrones fan (The Wire rules all, btw). But politicians have been forcing their erect penises into the under-developed vaginas and anuses of small children and, well, they’ve been doing it on OUR watch, which kind of makes, erm… US responsible. That’s us, not the United States.
I know, I know, how rude, how inconvenient, how utterly offensive and depraved, how diabolical. It’s okay. Go pop the kettle on. Let normal return.
It’s a sad and surreal state of affairs. Maybe there’s a twist coming and it turns out we’ve all been dreaming. But that means we’d all have to be stood in a shower together. Or, maybe, this is real and David Cameron rapes children… rapes babies… rapes dead babies… rapes decomposing babies… rapes ashes of babies… rapes the DNA strands of caveman babies…?? The funny thing (in an un-haha sense) is that it’s not like that ain’t on the table these days. It happens. Some people like fucking dead babies and some of those people might be elected politicians.
Personally speaking, I don’t think that David Cameron does rape children. Asides from that austerity thing with all the child poverty, food banks and suicides, he seems like a thoroughly decent chap. Oh, and then there’s the fox hunting and the bombing brown people and the secret court trials and the snooping laws and the TTIP, and I’m sure there’s something else – oh tax credits… but, other than that, a jolly good bloke.
But, then again, that is what we thought about the others. I don’t know what a child rapist looks like (sans Jimmy Savile). So, who knows. Maybe David Cameron does rape children. Maybe he raped his disabled son and that’s why he died. I don’t know. That’s a despicable thing to say, right? Truly outrageous. Beyond the pale. BUT – and bare with me for just a moment on this one – is it any more despicable and outrageous than, hmm, I don’t know…
POLITICIANS RAPING CHILDREN.
I thought not.
Terrible thing to say, though, just frightful…
You know you live in an insane world when spoken truth is more offensive than the hells of which it speaks.
Maybe i’m being hard on you. Maybe things have changed. Maybe people are ready to hear truth. I don’t know. I guess we will see. But, let me be clear, if the sting in your precious eyes is a little too bitter from such said truths then that is, unfortunately for you, TOUGH-FUCKING-LUCK. You don’t get to live in blissful la-la land no more. Not whilst children are being raped, not whilst wars are fought in your name on false reasons, not when 22,000 children under the age of five die every fucking day because of poverty, not when the very environment that we and countless generations to come depend upon for their very survival is raped because, well, I don’t even know why. Cos I don’t see anyone any the happier for all this utter insanity. Anyway…
Instead, I ask you to imagine David Cameron pinning his disabled son to the floor, smothering his anus with an expensive lubricant (aloe-vera extract), before repeatedly forcing his erect penis into his hemorrhaging and traumatised son. I know, I know, such an awful thing to say… quite unconscionable. But THIS is child rape. THIS is what YOUR elected leaders have been accused of doing. And THIS is what you… YOU, YOU, YOU… have been doing NOTHING about…