Monthly Archives: March 2014

The New Great Fear

Neo Cold War… Wouldn’t they just love that great fear to return? Rabid military budgets, ghosts of original McCarthyism presented as protection against terrorism, tighter controls on the public ‘for our own good’. All while the elites traverse the world without hindrance, for they will know that the spectre of war is nothing but that.

These days, nobody makes war unless there is a profit to be made. Truth, justice, humanitarian care, it’s all secondary to the wealth to be had or retained.

Fear stops people thinking better than hatred. Combine the two, give the masses something to hate and fear. That should stop them wondering where all the money goes.

Add this to the climate crisis, impending food shortages and fresh water scarcity…

There’s a profit to be made when wealth becomes the new natural selection.


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Posted by on March 21, 2014 in Uncategorized


The Days When the Dream Wears Thin

Everybody has them, I presume. Some more often than others, if recent analyses of social networking impacts on mental and emotional health have any bearing on reality. I get them. Had one earlier this week and am riding the turbulence in its wake as I type.

You know them well. Those days when you’re restless, or bored, or both. When nothing seems to interest you and you cannot summon up anything to raise a hint of doing anything. You wonder about what you’re doing or have done, and hindsight gives you a kicking when your defences are down.

The best way to alleviate your ‘man-flu’ or some other socially acceptable term for this sort of psychological constipation is do something. Do something now. Do something alone if possible but of your own determination regardless – it’s got to ‘feel’ right. Spend a few hours rewatching that TV series. Browse the net for utter trash that makes you grin or raise your eyebrows. Rearrange the bookshelves/DVD racks by topic.

This ennui is a feature of your mind and your mind is waving a little flag saying “Gimme a moment, I need to sort a few things”. Most of the time, sleep is when your brain tidies house. Sometimes it needs you to be awake but diverted while it deals with something. Chances are that you may never know what it is, but you will feel the ‘cloud’ fade away. More likely, you will suddenly become aware that it has gone.

There is no crime in giving yourself time in this hectic world. “Physician heal thyself” is entirely appropriate for non medical people too. Now, there may be an underlying problem. In which case, this time you take for yourself should allow you to discern the nature of the beast. And, more importantly: how to leash it, send it away, or accept it and add it to the zoo of psychological traits that comprise you.

Sometimes, you will only succeed in identifying the cause as the solution lies without. That’s good. Of all the things people can deal with, the unknown cause is the most detrimental. You’ve identified it. From there, it may not be simple, but a remedy (if necessary) can be worked towards.

Above all: don’t stop, don’t give up and don’t let anyone rein you in. It’s you body, mind and soul. Learning it takes a long time. These moments can be some of the most beneficial after the bleak part is over.


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Posted by on March 13, 2014 in Daybook


The Green Park Hop

Sitting here with a mild outbreak of lonely-and-pissed-off-with-life caused some eccentric connection to occur and a memory surfaced… The rock ‘n’ roll time machine is taking me back three decades…

I spent a lot of my time going to gigs at Hammersmith. It was a long train journey and the last train back to the South Coast meant you could just about see the whole gig, encore/s and catch the train if you left quick and got lucky.
Anyone who’s heaved out of a gig in London will remember the roiling crowd. In my case, it was a moving mass of leather, denim and attitude, with side orders of chips and loud. Getting into the tube station could be a problem, let alone getting a train.

After that herculean task was achieved, most folk changed at Earl’s Court to head for Victoria. But an old gig-going companion introduced me to a cheat: rather than fight the hordes, ride the line to Green Park and change onto the Victoria line. No crowds, more room to get a move on.
But getting a move on is where the ‘last blast of the night’ came in. To go from Piccadilly Line to Victoria Line at Green Park, you had to traipse down a long, straight corridor. We didn’t have time to walk if we wanted to avoid kipping on the platform at Vic for a night. You had to run. Flat out, just short of a sprint, hair flying, cutdown and leathers blowing back, ‘normal’ people heading for the walls as the pack stormed through.

It was a rush. The momentary power of mob-induced fear giving us a grandiose coda to the gig. Heady but harmless, I thought. Until one of the last times: I had linked up with a different crew to blow through the corridor on the ‘Green Park Hop’.
As we hollered and ran, an old lady loudly commented: “Bloody hooligans running wild!”.
One of the gents with me pulled up and turned to her with a smile: “We’re not runnin’ wild, missus. We’re runnin’ fer the bloody train.”
Her indignation vanished and with a smile she said: “Thanks yer for stopping. Now yer better bugger off sharpish.”
We did, chuckling – and we made the train.

That running with the pack feeling was superb. But what I remember most is the relief in that old lady’s eyes when she realised that we weren’t a threat.

Leather and denim and respect.

No matter what your tribe, have courtesy towards everyone until they prove unworthy.

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