This fucking hat

I’m currently sitting here wearing a cheap woollen fedora which I paid thirty whole pounds to purchase in a misguided attempt to emulate a 1950s noir private detective, mainly out disenfranchised hope at a bleak and eternally fucked and bland environment. It disgusts me. It disgusts me, not least because it was thirty fucking pounds for a terrible hat and I looked like a woollen headed twat in it, but because it was thirty pounds spent in a world half racked by famine, disaster and wars, a society colluded with bastardness and peopled by the scared and lonely who know only to belong to self-interested and uncaring cultures. The hat was not going to help change any of those things. To add to that I was goaded into this by a companion; one of those people you see once in a god-knows-when, just coming out of an art exhibition on bubbles and Japanese businessmen paddling around rooftop marinas. I have no fucking idea why these people exist, I imagine just to anger me, to keep me on my toes.

People’s selfish sense of belonging has just gone too far now. Yes you have every right to express or invent any culture or subculture you so wish, but paying multiple of hundreds of pounds to look like a creepy Japanese doll, fucking hell! It’s not just the money which could go to charity or to basic relief efforts or just being spent on something more potentially helpful, it’s the very idea that people would rather distract themselves with their own egotistical self experimentation than just reaching out and fucking helping someone. And let’s not take this to the plain face value of volunteer work, donating to charity, or helping a suicidal woman off of a roof, I mean basic compassion and concern for the state of human existence. You out there must realise that, no matter what majority or minority groups or cultures you belong to, ultimately you are in conflict and resolution with everyone, the very fabric of your ethics and behaviour being criticised and justified by others. Even if your continuing journey to convert your face to a curtain rail means you have no time or desire to understand or empathise with other people, you could at least try to concern yourself with the position of your own culture and lifestyle. Whether you aim to cement it or just put serious consideration into its integration into society and with others, whether all barriers and prejudices should break down and it should mix and evolve naturally or if its individuality should be preserved. Fuck it, just get stoned and the shag someone of the opposite gender then the same gender, we both know you’ve obviously given up because you think its too difficult and won’t even sacrifice some of your time and potential experience to save FUCKING HUMANITY!

I imagine by this point you think I either jest or exaggerate, or am insane, but let me put it this way: humanity is not in a fit state nor does it have the knowledge to decide what is a good society and what is a bad one, only various models everyone is convinced is right regardless of the fact that it only helps the 0.1% of the population they are in. If we can’t objectively work out what is good or productive for everyone, and no-one spends their time thinking and musing on whether there is any achievable sense of equality, how the FUCKING HELL do you expect to develop as a specie? Or presumably you’re just happy riding out the tail end of the century of the self because the wars, famines and persecution aren’t affecting you right now and the unease and suppression is tolerable.

More thought needs to be put into luxury and production, classes and continents already suffer from disproportionate basic amenities as it is but in a world with limited energy and resources are Psychic television channels really necessary? Nobody has truly thought about what is a gratuitous waste of resources and what is culture and tradition, but while stripping down society down to the most efficient and wasteless model possible is economical how do you justify the abolishment of culture and such human qualities which define existence to be more than just live, eat, die. Is it all a complete fucking waste, or is there really a way we can prune of the useless stuff (whatever useless is). Out of interest unlike the geek chic clothing and various other uses of raw materials and money, which progress nothing, the earlier mentioned art exhibition did at least teach us something, if only by extension. That you can’t deny art because it is wasteful, but hopefully one day we might be able to.

Although on second thoughts I do look quite good in the hat. Who’d have thought you could polish a turd.

What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?!

I’ll tell you what really fucks me off. Everything! It seems like we’re living in a walk in-shit storm these days, with the most irritating annoying and horrible shit happening not just daily but whenever you take the time to stop bludgeoning your self to death or rubbing crack into your tear ducts. Reality is a full time white noise alcoholic blurting out incoherent advertising when you’re just trying to get over your hangover, it’s a noisy shitty boring mess of pension plans and chronically underachieving wankers. In a time when all the school kids carry knives, which is making it much harder for me to beat their dinner money out of them. And it’s always morning! If it’s not morning it’s afternoon, if it’s not afternoon it’s evening, if it’s not evening it’s night-time. WHEN DOES IT FUCKING END?! Never! That’s when it ends. A billion glass shards of tedium and angry distraction pelt down on you on a fucking daily basis, and it NEVER FUCKING ENDS! But on the upside we have oyster cards and fridges which can connect to the internet.

God is in the details. Well he would be, he’s certainly not fucking hanging around compassion, social order, tolerance or anything remotely important. Although I suspect some of you may have been carrying out a task so mindlessly that the only reason for such torturous tedium would be otherworldly punishment from some cunt of an office deity. This is what happens when you take a job in this world, it’s all a case of shunting imaginary numbers around until piss and blood dribbles out your ears all in the fucking vain hope that the pretence gives you a justification for existing. If this is you then I suggest a vocational change, preferably to arson starting immediately. If this is not you, then I suggest arson anyway as there’s nothing better than doing a job you love. However in your soul crushing duties you may have achieved a stage where you fall into a Zen like moment, this is not characterised by introspective philosophical thought or a sense of wellbeing with the cosmos, but just that your mind has become such a penny slut that your eyes fog over and your movements start becoming light and barely conscious. The complete opposite to Sartre’s moments of existential dread, but just as fucking horrible.

Whether you are pounding away at a flimsy piece of plastic like a spastic on guitar hero or shuffling the figures for your company that manufactures magazines for expectant mothers to bombard them with advertising crap (as if having a child wasn’t fucking bad enough), it’s becoming decreasingly common for people to actually stop, stare at themselves and ask what the fuck they are doing. In order to deal with the uselessness we are forced to endure, a part of our mind shuts off, the constant awareness that you are just filling time until you eventually die is a bit of a downer when you are trying to play twister. In many ways the potential for humankind to completely reject responsibility or even self awareness of the way they spend is almost awe inspiring, or at least it would be if it wasn’t SO FUCKING PATHETIC! What’s that, you’ve been given an inexplicable and nebulous existence which holds true mysteries and is objectively unsolvable? Well you’d better think of as many ways to ignore the infinite mystery as possible and make yours and everyone else’s entire existence about property television programs and the slim slice of reality you see on the news and then feel the need to complain about because there are people you don’t understand whose very existence enrages you.

I suppose if religion and spiritualists have their own little world they live in, nurturing their own little contentment and murdering their own little heathens, then it follows that a consumerist culture would have the same. One is all about who has carried out the most Herculean feats of pointless deistic masturbation, the other is about whether you’ve got a decent pension plan yar, because you really need that kind of security yar. I honestly couldn’t say which is worse.

Maybe it’s the only way for people to cope, maybe the wonder at the inexplicable and new naturally fades over time, maybe people are just fucking idiots as always. Who knows and/or cares, just stop talking about your fucking mortgage!

Who are you people?

I’ve been of this world for some years now, a few of you may have even seen me in the street, I was the one scowling at you as your semen appreciably dribbled down your drunken girlfriend’s leg. However for all these years that I have held a position of contempt and sadism on this earth, I have never once taken to society’s rims and combined this innate hatred of mankind with my desire to stick my genitals in new and interesting things. That is not so for everyone, as there are literally thousands of people and conservative ministers who on a daily basis get sexually aroused by the act of giving or receiving pain, either physical or emotional. Now literally three of you may be surprised that such people could possibly exist, this may be because you blankly cover your eyes, ears and arse when running from building to building in the hope of not coming into contact with cultures in any way, shape or form - but I am not here to judge anyone, only to swear inordinately in their direction so that they shut up, disappear or end their lives as quickly and quietly as possible.

Let’s stamp one thing down into our petty brains now: I am not a prude, a moral crusader, or a small two bedroom flat in Aldershot. I’ve been to fetish clubs, I’ve seen my cat’s worth of curiosities; I don’t partake but that’s just my way, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad then the mountain can just fuck right off is what I always say. Fuck, these are the kinds of people that leave me picking bits of hard-on out of my shorts for weeks to come. However there is a vast difference between accepting and tolerating the existence of someone and agreeing not to hammer the tiny stupid faces of every man woman and child (well maybe not child) that shits foul latex clad borderline-religious bollocks at me. I have realised that you have unusual and different sex, I don’t think at any point I stopped realising that you have unusual and different sex, I don’t see why you keep telling me that you have unusual and different sex. What’s that? Because it’s better? Is it now? I suppose it’s better in the way that rock is better than pop, books are greater than films, or that Jesus could beat the shit out of the Holy Ghost. Now you should listen up because this bit is important, if your entire meaning and justification for existence hinges on the fact that your subculture acts out Hammer horror films whilst having sex then you should prepare your rectum for rapid head evacuation.

Now this doesn’t just go out to BDSM, this is for subcultures, ‘hard workers’, religions and anyone else who is so scared by the uncertainty and possibility of a hostile cosmos that they have to rank people based on the amount they have performed an arbitrary task. So you're a sado-neo-proto technophile, you're the newest ten second social rebellion. Well done, now fucking grow up. Living isn’t a simple task and I would expect a certain degree of discrepancy and disagreement as to whether there are any values or ambitions we can live by, I would expect and encourage conversation and discussion between peoples on what to aim for or how they want or should spend their time, what I do not expect is people to be convinced they are living a better life because their garage has three cars in it instead of two and they get a blowjob on the weekends. I live by the principle that if you do not understand something then you should accept so and try to learn, similarly if you are too much of a mentally crippled human being to survive the prospect of uncertain and immeasurable goals then using your own cock length as a philosophical yardstick is not a reasoned alternative.

Please feel free to stop me if you think I’m off the mark, if you think that the act of validating people’s lives based on whatever fad is in the mind of Vogue’s editor that month is somehow a well thought out and valid way for humans to lead their lives. I’m sure that the best people to attest that these beliefs are valid and constructive are the frightened, scared and confused of the world who grasp out in need of help or aid but only receive the fragile support of an empty shell. Yes, I’m sure what they really needed was that league table of achievement you gave them. And for all the rest of you trying to fuck yourselves to enlightenment, don’t believe your own hype.

I love you people, just stay the fuck away from me.