This is Mass Madness You Maniacs

Six billion and counting

The acquiescent masses

The following crowds

Indiscernible faces of the hoi polloi

They are a mad multitude making the popular pick.

A peer-pressured populace.

So quick to forget the crimes of the majority –

Their flat Earth and revolving sun.

Laboured by the chore of choice the sheepish flock blinkered blind,

Bleating, bumbling beasts bored and bashful

Break their backs to be the better breed at the abattoir.

The life and times of the dumbed-down droves.

They are mad, I tell you.

A mad meandering mob of meagre minded morons. 

They are mad to accept.

They are mad to find meaning in this meaningless paradigm pandemic.

They are mad not to be raging mad these gullible, feeble, phantoms of their id.

That Seeingless Night

And in the heavy howling black of bat-blind night the house settles in. Doors creak eerily on their rusted bracket knuckles – left wide open they let the dark ink-thick nothingness seep into every nook and colourless cranny. Brutus howls at this faceless phantom as night tick-tocks and dreamtime knocks, counted flocks in fenced off lots and ghosts the grown-ups all forgot float in the emptiness of this place divorced by light and ignored by the sleeping townsfolk. Darkness grips tight onto the night seeping through fingers and hollow hallways. It holds steady to passing of the full evening’s blankness

Love, shmove

What’s with this falling in love business? What purpose does it serve for procreation that good old horny doesn’t?

I’ve seen people fall in love. It looks painful. I’m pretty sure that if you fall in love at least once a year you’re a sadomasochist in denial.

If you fall in love more than three times in your entire life then you probably deserve all the inexplicable suffering that comes with it.

It seems all rational thought one might have possessed before the tragic fall from grace into love is replaced by an illogical and primitive state where one’s judgment is always overridden by the conclusion that their “other half” has it in for them.

All of a sudden the only logical explanation for a missed phone call at two in the morning is infidelity.

It’s heroin, people. All you’re really fighting for is to feel the same way you did when you started.

I say, just find someone with whom you enjoy having intimate sex. Then surround yourself with friends you enjoy talking to. Find satisfaction in these.

Trying to find someone who embodies all of this is a bit of a big ask but those who are unfortunate enough to find this rare gem of a specimen well I say only you may fall in love. The rest of us can only dream of being so miserable.

The Meaning of Life

Life is just long enough for us to figure out that we’ll never figure it out. Maybe the real question, if there’s a question at all, should be what is the meaningless-ness of life?

They Come And Go

And they come and go; the smiling faces, the automatic pleasantries, the cold distances of everyday human exchange. These mimicries. These learned handshakes. These benign tooth-flashing displays, white curtains hiding the disinterested or malign backstage players, to be cued into the third act – True Colours. How appropriate. Trite appropriateness, that subjective cordiality for the dancer with no rhythm of their own but the bowing, bobbing and bashful bending to the choreography of the appropriate day in, day out metronome. They come and go these forgetful acquaintances. These come and go, depthless, devious norms they are for the forgetful, infantine mind

100 WORDS A DAY: To the Internet.

Subscribe. It’s your stamp, nod and seal of approval. It’s your “Can I have some more please, sir.” It’ll keep the provider providing and you provided for. Follow. It tells us we’re going in the right direction or at least it’s the direction where we’re not the only person on the path. It’s not just an ego boost but for the true sharer it’s like a reaction from the crowd as the punch line drops. Retweet. It’s affirming. And imitation is the highest flattery. Suggest to a friend. Because the Internet is truly the last, genuine democracy we have left. (04Aug11)

100 WORDS A DAY: This Life Business

It’s all a bit much, really, this life business. Its certain uncertainties; death and when it will surprise us, the untimeliness of failure, visits from the in-laws. To add to the confusion there’s a smorgasbord of isms to be for or to be against or to be Switzerland; capitalism, Marxism, passivism, feminism. It’s a cataclysm of isms of who is or who isn’t an -ist. And for a real laugh it all crescendos with the anticlimax of and "then he died", at which point your entire existence is a murmured summary of misquotes and badly told anecdotes in passing conversation. (22June11)