#OnRepeat: The Meme Machine

And the wrong / right lyrics for 2015 would be:

The meme machine
the price of fame
the fools are wise and the mad are sane
It’s just the hollywood system by another name

Look at my smile, suit and shoes
Im here to distract you from the falsity of the mainstream news
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#On Repeat: On WYSIWYG

Familiarity breeds contempt. Something to think on the next time you recognise your own reflection

No-one who is used to having friends they understand and can understand them knows what it’s like to not be able to speak your mind with the people around you.

Nor can they understand the sense of relief when you lose your last solitary f*ck and you start speaking from the heart. It’s as if you’ve suddenly transmogrified into a evil universe version of yourself.

Like your non-identical twin has suddenly switched places with you. The same but not the same. The stranger in your skin. I’ve had that experience and I was as shocked and entertained at the words that came unbidden from mouth as everyone else in the room as I stopped speaking from the social script and said what I meant and what I felt. Truly felt.

We all wears masks. We’re not superheroes or supervillains but we all have a secret identity. The real us. There are very few of us who WYSIWYG. What you see is what you get.

We all lie. We all lie all the time.

Civilisation is held together by little white lies, half truths and fudged facts.

Have you seen the news? That was a trick question –  you haven’t. Chances are unless you are a journalist none of us have really seen the news. What we get is the processed meat product of TV not the raw dripping fresh meat fresh from the scene. We are as packaged and prepared and edited as the evening news. Within and without.

TANGENT: I loved Sir Terry Pratchett and I miss him as if I knew him personally. One of the scenes that sticks in my mind comes from the Witches novel Witches Abroad

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered silvery world
‘Where am I?’
‘Am I dead?’
Esme turned and a billion figures turned with her
‘Where can I get out?’
‘Is this a trick question?’
Granny looked down at herself
‘This one’ she said

#On Repeat: On Needs

Wants. Needs. Desires if you will.

We no longer differentiate what we want from what we need.

To expand and explain. I have £500 watch. (Its not worth £500 now but it was when I bought it) It’s the most “Luxury” thing I own. I need to tell the time. I wanted a good looking watch. I desired a Swiss watch because it was grown up’s watch and “MANLY” but I knew I didn’t need a Swiss watch. I knew I didn’t even need a watch because we are surrounded by clocks. Clocks on walls, on phones, on billboards, on screens. I could go without a watch quite easily never mind going without a Swiss watch.

Even then my mothers voice in my head made me buy a discontinued watch on a discount from a second tier watch maker rather than a bling-bling name. I wear it because it feels reassuring to wear something solid and well built rather than plastic-y. Even after all that I don’t wear a months salary on my watch and don’t wear gold on my fingers. Indeed Its asceticism in spirit if not in deed.

If you confuse your needs with your wants and desires you are are a slave to your ego.

We live in a world where no-one thinks they have enough.

Those “without” – think they need what they haven’t got. They are right.
Those “with” – think they need something better than that which they already have. Therein lies the problem. There is enough to go around but those “with” don’t share because they can’t tell their needs from their desires.

People need food. Certain heartless politicians will tell you that they don’t need to eat lobster or have refrigerators. Needs are absolute, the means to satisfying them change over time. Lobster used to be the garbage bottom feeder fish that was thrown at the slaves to eat and now its on the top table and the slave descendants are queuing up for (Processed) beef.

I went Sunday without eating for my own reasons, practical and spiritual. I had a meal of vegetables Saturday evening and ate nothing till this afternoon on Monday when I broke down and had myself a big fat tuna pizza.

24 hours on tea, water and protein shakes. You know you’re hungry when you’re watching Bear Gryll’s on TV and the wild animal he’s skinning looks good.

I was out walking and it occurred to me that there was last thing I owned which I could make do without and it was my watch. I was passing by a pawnbroker and went it on a whim to sell it. I would have to but their “watch” guy was out of office for the long weekend. But it’s a nice feeling of clarity to know I’m not attached to the watch on my wrist.

A guy told me one time, “Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”

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Why do so many multi-writer films stink out loud?

Why do so many multi-writer films stink out loud?

Because writing is solitary. It’s a vision thing. You can’t listen to other people while you’re talking. You can’t explore your vision while others are trying to make you see their vision.

Putting a group of writers in a room is like putting a half dozen cats in a box. Someones going to get f*cked, someones going to get scratched and someones going to wind up curled up in a ball in the corner.

#OnRepeat: On Avoiding children

So I was at Comic-Con day today.

Just a few hours, half day from work. But it was so much better than last year.

Last year I went on a Saturday. I queued for two hours to get into the Excel centre stuck behind a home counties Harley Quinn, a male Black widow, a teenage Gandalf and an impossibly sexy cat suited anime character who’s pants were so tight you could count the change in her back pocket.
£2.47. Sorry (Not Sorry)

This year I arrived at 2.30 on a Friday and walked in without waiting. Whats the point of going on a weekend when the queues for every coffee, sandwich, autograph and game demo are so long you need a weekend pass and come twice to see everything?

And the stalls have always run out of anything worth buying by Saturday lunchtime. Which should be noon-ish but ends being 3 after you’ve queued to eat your double priced authentic sushi which will send you running to join another hour long queue for a toilet cubicle.

But above and beyond my dislike for the great English pastime of huffy, bored annoyed queuing is the same reason why I like going to 18 movies over 15 movies. My desire to avoid children.

Now allow me to explain before you all clutch your pearls to your buxoms and gasp. I have nothing against children. (There’s a joke in there but I’m above that)

I dislike the effect that the children of today have on the parents of today.

Watching children torture their parents is like watching Katie Hopkins clubbing baby seals. It feels wrong to watch but you can’t help yourself and it makes you feel sad.

I’m single, spawnless, sexy and starved of sex! o sole mio.

I get it that the fruit of your loins has a barb in you like a deep sea creature and I won’t deny that you appear to be in some beautiful symbiotic relationship but as practiced observer of humanity I don’t see love in your eyes so it must be locked in your heart. All I see in your eyes is the empty horror of the thousand sleepover stare.

Watching children drag their parents around is like watching a cartoon where road runner gets lasoo-ed and then drags the poor coyote around.

I hate to show my age but I’m old enough to have grown up in the age when children were seen and not heard and when they were seen they were seen to be slapped on the arse by a frustrated mum.

The first generation without discipline had grown up, popped sprogs and after starting to bring up their children the way they wanted to be brought up are now rethinking their options and wishing it was still OK to slap the snot out of their seed.

Your child can walk. Why are you pushing a seven year old around in a stroller or towing a nine year old around on their scooter as if you were some sort of pack animal. Your child literally can’t stand on their own two feet. Literally.

I learnt patience and perseverance from walking till my feet hurt and then being glared into silence when I whined.

I feel a mix of schadenfreude and pity watching children suck the air out of their parents lungs one privileged, selfish demand at a time.

Oh yeah while I’m ranting off my rag how about children in movies. What adult thinks its Ok to bring a 10 year old to a movie that only made a 15 certificate after they reduced the number of expletives. What’s up with that?

Every Saturday multi-coloured, plastic dante-esque hellholes called playgroups and funhouses open up and swallow the hopes and dreams of once free spirits.

There. My two cents worth. Which you probably need after your progeny have rifled through your pockets to get their video game monkey off their back.

And yes I was a child once too. Look I have proof

Sorry (Not, sorry)

100 miles and running…


Live your life…


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