Cause for Concern?

In the last month my blog views in Russia have been four times that in the UK, 196 to 54. Have Russian mice found an interesting new source of cheese? It’s confusing. Am I providing English language lessons to a proletariat eagerly preparing for their upcoming European holidays or being crawled over by state spiders? I mean I don’t mind humans of any hue reading this stuff but the thought of being fodder for mere trawling algorithms is depressing. I begin to feel like a fish. Maybe they’re impatient for insightful critiques of our excellent TV programs like X Factor and Big Brother. (British humour) Well I think Putin should buy a Premier League football team. It’s taken three or more years but I’ve noticed Abramavich’s once pouting childish face slowly change to almost adult joy. He’s actually enjoying himself now here in Blighty. Forget Ukraine Vladimir, buy Bolton Wanderers. It’d be a great chance to get your shirt off on the training ground, and they’re all against homophobia now. I’m sure you could join the Village People if you really wanted to. In truth I think we Brits appeal to the Russian sense of humour. That’s why they’re still wondering how on earth we won the war. I mean Hitler was the serious type and Churchill was a depressive comedian by comparison, it should have been no contest. But don’t underestimate the power of happiness over aggression, it’ll win every time. So happiness to all in Moscow and Nizhny Novgorod, Kiev and Donetsk. Make it so.

Looking Back.

I’ve just been wondering how I’ve changed over the years. Looking back at old photos, trying to remember etc I don’t think I have much. I mean the I that I am was pretty much in place when I was ten, and a lot of that was what I was born with. So in terms of personal progress forget it, I’ve been dweebling around on the eddies of circumstance unchanged for seventy years. Sure I’d like to claim a little increase in maturity but even that feels a little dubious. No I’m a prefabricated building ageing with the weather, losing paint and guttering rather than adding to it. I mean I’d like to lay claim to some improvement, but what? I think it’s ‘in relationship’. I’m more in relationship with circumstance, be it things, people, events and even myself. There’s less fear, less drama and from that comes easier meetings. And the drama and fear are the result of holding some quintessential honesty at bay. So am I more honest than I used to be? Yes? Well no not really. So what then? I’m struggling here, have I been a complete waste of time? Ah there’s a glimmer there. Surely I haven’t just got better at wasting time? OK I want to say no but yes in a funny way. I did used to waste time badly by not relating but now I’m somehow better at it. I still meander in a wasting time sort of way but I waste a lot less time doing it badly. So there you have it, my seventy-year personal progress, wasting time more productively by losing fear and drama to be more in relationship with everything. And the ‘I’? Well that’s just me.

Professionalised.

‘Professionalised’ It’s my offering as a novel and necessary addition to the Oxford English Dictionary, though I’m thinking a ‘z’ might add a better derisory bite. It stems from the Ashya case, but aren’t we all to some degree professionaized by walking through an office door and taking an income from it. Even as a toy designer, the most benign of professions, I slanted myself to the creation of young rabid consumers to pay my wages. Whether it be self protection, self advancement, self comfort or profit we wear the mores of our profession like a blinkering coat, and as an adjunct to it a scarf of justifications, of necessary rules, restraints and behaviours. I have on occasion opined a fourth way, the third already taken by some airy-fairy political bollocks, and the first two being capitalist slavery and Bolshevik mindless equality, i.e. slavery. This fourth way is, in a phrase, “Do what you like for nothing.” It is in fact a secret Conservative policy who, having given up on productive industry, the welfare state and effective government, are leaving us in the hands of unpaid charity workers. I realise it’s hard to accept the Conservatives as radical progressives but the facts speak for themselves. High unemployment, zero hours contracts, internships and the growing reliance on charities all point to paid employment becoming a thing of the past. Thatcher didn’t do it for the money she loved it and she’d want us to do what we love too. Screw that immoral screen-watching job in the city and become a postman, or conversely, if your feet aren’t up to it any longer, take an accounting qualification. If teachers love the kids but hate the education system do it the way you want for nothing or become a farmer. We all want to contribute for the sake of our own self worth and the rise in mental ill health, depression and suicide stem from the current payment system stopping us contributing that worth in a misguided effort to ‘earn a living’ instead of ‘creating a life.’ So vote Conservative and watch the edifice crumble, we’ll all love it on the scrap heap together. And when some billionaire comes round offering us money for a loaf and some sprouts we can tell them to fuck off.

Difficult to tell.

It’s hard to imagine that young Muslim men are going to Syria and Iraq for the right reasons. In England they see poverty and finance taking great wealth for itself, mealy-mouthed politicians and an aggressive foreign policy in the Middle East. They feel unheard and powerless to create a more caring and fare society. Their religion says they must fight for what’s right, so they go. It’s a malignant fairy tale that’s been told to our own young lads in 1914, to German lads in the 30’s, American boys since the 70’s. Many when they get there find a different truth, brutality and depravation. Not the opportunity to care and heal divisions but the necessity to hate and kill. What was offered in the friendly sanctuary of a UK mosque becomes a grotesque dream, a brotherhood of death and devastation. Obama may deplore the brutal killing of two journalists but the US’s ‘shock and awe’ tactics in Iraq, Israel’s bombing of Gaza only prove our brutality can be greater and deserving of a response. Yesterday a video of a grey bedraggled traumatised puppy that snapped and growled at every offered hand. With much patience and gentle kindness it allowed itself to be held and stroked. With more it was bathed and became a beautiful white fluffy puppy full of such excitement in its new life it could barely contain itself. It encapsulated our true desire and the way to achieve it. In its brutal fight to create a Sonni Islamic state ISIS is creating enemies faster than it can reload its weapons. Even moderate Sonnis are now against it. So should Cameron stop ‘radicalised’ Muslims from coming back or might they be traumatised, disillusioned assets in our struggle against snappy growling hatred? Difficult to tell.