It Can't Come Quickly Enough

It's late, and my eyes are burning. This biro, here in my hand, feels weak and slow as it scratches painfully across the paper. In front of me, Bono is clicking his fingers. The noise rattles sharply in the blank space around me, and sets my teeth on edge. Someone has just died. I would like to say that the pause seems like an eternity. I will it to be. But it is horrifically short. Painfully fast. His fingers snap again and somewhere infinitely far away yet unsettlingly close another faceless life becomes a lifeless face. That is why I cannot go to sleep. I've already written something small about Red Nose Day. But when I sit down and actually watch what's going on Out There; when you see just how ridiculous the whol affair really is... I could write forever and it would not be enough. Sixty quid? Yes. Yes that's enough for two hundred and forty children to have antibiotic injestions. Yes, it might give a family an education for a week and a future. Yes, the grand total may come to a million times that amount (sic). But you know what? With Bono snapping his fingers in time with death I realise that we're too bloody late. In the time it took me to raise my money, thirty thousand children died. How can you rationalise that? Perhaps you will think of your history teaching? You know all about the mistakes of the past. bgut the mistakes of the future are happening right now. Our children will not only learn that generations prior to us fashioned this hellhole out of their intense greed. They will also be taught of how out generation did nothing to stop it. Do you want to become a blot on the historical landscape? Do you want to become a dark mark on the history of this planet? I try to apply ethics, some might use psychology. But try taking out ethical doctrines to the AIDS-stricken woman who lies in her hovel all week and sees no-one by the nurse that tries to ease her pain. Utilitarianism? Kant? The Id? The grandeur of Western Society loses its sheen in the harsh light of tomorrow's Africa. I pause. I pause and I think of what to write next. But all hear is the clicking of fingers. The more I stall, the longer I pause, the bigger part I play in the mistakes of today. The clicking is always there - exam rooms, boudoirs, on Christmas Day, in pubs, on the bus, whilst we sleep. Out there, maybe a few hundred metres, are homeless people, abused wives, AIDS-infected mothers, HIV-Positive babies. It is frustrating to think that they are within arm's reach. But there are more frustrating things out there than that. Because out there - in our country and others - are the men and women who would put it right. No dressing up. No red noses. No hard-earned money. No effort at all, really. July, we are told. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. Onlt the latter really bears much truth, no doubt. The G8 summit will offer the chance of debt cancellation, aid and more trading freedom. But only a chance. A chance too good to be missed, certainly. But as I have already said, good does not factor into this. Because by July another 2.7 million children will have died than if they'd snapped their fingers today. They are dying right not. They have been dying for too long. Mere words will never express my feeling for this situation, nor my anger at my own inability to sacrifice enough for it. Everything seems to feeble and useless. But we must all try. When the desire to fight leaves us - that is when all is lost. Comic Relief is not the whole of the matter. It is the morphine, the temporary anaestheic, the glorious demonstration of how stupid this problem is. But the problem is deep. Horrendously deep. And perhaps even the G8's biggest actions would be nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But the least they can do is try. We can all try. I can hear the clicking now. Can't you? 2005 - Make Poverty History

How The Drag Queen Got Her Boobs

My feet are blistered and there are red lines along my toes where the high heels cut in. Just below my chest there is a pain where the bra was done up too tightly and my legs still have the vice-like sensation of nylon tights all over them. It was a draining experience. I am, it has to be pointed out here, a cynical and argumentative bastard at times. I write some pretty irritating articles - some of which are getting their just desserts currently on a sister blog - and I can be quite brash and critical of society and fluffy bunnies. Currently, in ethics, I am studying egoism. Pioneered by a Greek philosopher called Epicurus and updated in the 20th Century, egoism starts with a simple belief - all humans are selfish. In fact, psychological egoism went as far as to say that we are unable to make any actions that don't benefit us in some way. From praying to get ourselves into heaven to buying presents for a loved one to get some lovin', many philosophers were convinced that altruism, self-sacrifice and unconditional love were all completely nonexistent. And you know what? I sat there and nodded. They were, of course, completely right. All we wanted was what was best for us - in Epicurus' case he marked this as hedonis or pleasure - and all we ever do is look after number one. I didn't have a problem with this. It seemed pretty damn logical. There might be good consequences occasionally, but our motive is always one of selfishness. Today, I sat in my ethics lesson and smiled. My hair was a mess of red, gold and a hastily-washed natural brown. I wore a thin, purple, frilly top over a lacy black bra (padded, of course, with some file paper), and a suede beige skirt. Underneath, some skin-coloured tights and some bright, white, high-heeled sandals. To my left, a friend with a camera full of photos. To my right, a friend with a coat full of donation money. And somewhere in front of me, wandering around the school with a bucket, was a bloke dressed as a seven-foot tall bear. There was something immediately wrong with the concept of egoism, and selfishness. I couldn't somehow get away from the fact that I was doing this to justify myself. The night before I had felt guilty for not having raised any money at all for Comic Relief this year, and so the concept of a 'give me money to play dress-up' evolved from that. But, selfish or not, I had gone in dressed up to the nines like some New Age tarot throwback. And you know what? I raised sixty pounds. It is all going to the UK and Africa to help some of the most deprived and needy men, women and children in the world. All day long I witnessed acts of daring, of generosity and of inappropriate use of bears. Some of them gained popularity from this, no doubt. Many will have gained a sense of wellbeing. The believers amongst us feel closer to an understanding of unconditional love. There are lots of motives for doing good in the world. But the motives of our actions - selfish though they may be - still have genuinely good consequences. Tomorrow, tens of millions of pounds will fly away and completely transform the lives of countless numbers of people. But there will still be a huge number who are left along, dying. Thirty thousand children die every day. Throwing money at a problem will only help so much. And so, to Comic Relief. As I strutted up the hill back towards school after catwalking down to the shops and being looked at disdainfully by all, it struck me that what I was doing was selfish in some way. I was doing it to get rid of my guilt. But at the same time I know that the world will wake up tomorrow with a little more justice in it becuase of my actions. Yes, perhaps I am trying to seek popularity (although I've got a strange way of doing it). But at the same time, my fifteen minutes of fame has allowed abused children in the UK a chance at having theirs one day. Yes, maybe I was trying to reconcile myself with some god or other. But at the same time, I am giving others a reminder that someone, somewhere does care - godly or not. Epicurus, in many ways, was right. We are all selfish animals. Everything we do benefits us in some way. But that doesn't mean we should despair for all humankind. And nor does it mean that what was done today was done completely out of selfishness. Our desire to put right the wrongs of this world might have been to stop us feeling guilty for letting them happen in the first place. But they also have a undeniably good effect. The world changes for the better because of our selfish actions. But selfish actions was what created this situation in the first place. The reason I dressed in drag today was not simply for kicks, nor was it for fame, nor was it merely for sponsorship money. The G8 leaders could solve world poverty with a snap of their fingers. Sure, there would be fallout. But that could be contained too. We can protest. We can revolt. We can demand equality. But they will not give it to us. The point in Red Nose Day, and the point in what I did today is that we don't need to protest, or demonstrate, or fiddle politics. We can dress up in drag and help out the poorest people in the world. That's how damn easy it is. And if dressing up in tights and a lacy bra to supply starving children in Africa with a real future is selfish, then call me Scrooge. Red Nose Day 2005 - Just Do Something

Vers De Société

My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps You'd care to join us? In a pig's arse, friend. Day comes to an end. The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed. And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I'm afraid -

Funny how hard it is to be alone. I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted, Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted Over to catch the drivel of some bitch Who's read nothing but Which; Just think of all the spare time that has flown

Straight into nothingness by being filled With forks and faces, rather than repaid Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind, And looking out to see the moon thinned To an air-sharpened blade. A life, and yet how sternly it's instilled

All solitude is selfish. No one now Believes the hermit with his gown and dish Talking to God (who's gone too); the big wish Is to have people nice to you, which means Doing it back somehow. Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines

Playing at goodness, like going to church? Something that bores us, something we don't do well (Asking that ass about his fool research) But try to feel, because, however crudely, It shows us what should be? Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell,

Only the young can be alone freely. The time is shorter now for company, And sitting by a lamp more often brings Not peace, but other things. Beyond the light stand failure and remorse Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course -

Philip Larkin, High Windows

Why Does Nothing Make Sense?

The world swirled at his feet, a mess of things that were too urgent for him to take any notice of. The deadlines, the appointments, the obligations all merged into a slurry of missed opportunities and wrong decisions. He looked down at it from the throne of his computer desk, but his fingers remained poised on the keyboard. He closed his eyes and let his fingers find the letters they wanted. He opened his eyes. W, S, D, N, M. He paused and studied the keys. Why Does Nothing Make Sense? He smiled. He wasn’t sure why that had come up so quickly, but it fitted in nicely enough. He typed out the title, and the words spattered onto his monitor. And then… then there was the pause. It was then that he realised he wasn’t trying to answer the question. He was waiting for the question to answer itself. Why didn’t anything make sense? He paused again, and his eyes strayed down to the clock. It was late. Except, he reminded himself, it wasn’t late at all. But he was too far into the day to salvage anything now. Alex had been right. The day really did break up after eight in the evening. So why didn’t anything make sense? The question still lay there. Unanswered. The blank void underneath it that stretched out into the infinity of his hard drive mocked him endlessly. But then… then it came. Some things didn’t make sense. But they had to be there to remind him that not everything had a solution. Not every question had an answer. Not every lock had a key. He leant back in his chair, not satisfied but no longer hungry for an answer because there was no question. He let his fingers settle on the keys again. T, Y, M, K. Make The Key Yourself.

Absolutely, he thought.

"I Know What You're Thinking - Why Didn't I Take The Blue Pill?"

You know why we're here. I mean, aside from the usual reasons like boredom, God's indirect action in the world (take that, Peter Vardy) or surfing the net. We're here because of us. you're here, basically, because you put yourself there. That's the important bit. You did. You might tell me you were thrown into the computer chair. You might suggest that society doesn't let you do anything else. You might not be able to say anything because you're tied to the floor. It doesn't matter, really. It's all your fault. No don't argue. Don't argue at all. I've already been through this before. It's all about you. Everything is. Ultimately, you sat through all those school assemblies because you wanted to. You didn't brutally murder the old lady living across the road because you chose not to. There might have been incentive bonuses to try and sway you. Maybe even the threat of death or the loss of your basic human rights. But nothing removes the choice. So you're here because you chose to come here. Right? Of course. Sartre would be proud of the both of us. But why am I here? Is it enough to simply say because I chose to? I don't think so. I'm here for myself, true. But in a different way. I try to coax people into writing blogs like these, but they rarely do so. Either they're scared of people reading what they've written, or they think they can't write anything worth writing. Well right now I'm writing a load of rubbish about something completely unimportant. And hey - you're still reading it. Aren't you? Yup. Don't think I can't see you. Writing is all about self expression. I can't write poetry. I know that some people can, but I simply can't. I also can't paint. I've got a GSCE in art, but that was from the canvas of a PC monitor, and I used pixels, not pastels. But I can write. I can write, and see what falls onto these pages. I know sometimes I might not make any sense, but only through writing can I make sense of myself. And so back to the main thrust of this article. You. Me. They. Us. We're here because we should be. Because we're trying to find out what we're here for. Not our place in the cosmic balance - I know most of you don't believe in such crap. Maybe not our mission from God - as I'm sure even less of you believe in that. But our place in humanity, and the place we want in humanity (as they are often radically different). I argue a lot with people. I've been described as intimidating, mean, rash and thoughtless at various times. But everything I do I do because it is who I am. And I can't escape that, no matter how much I try. Others are happy to sit tight and take what comes - through ignorance or reason, I can't tell - but I cannot do that. It is not who I am. But who are you? Who are you, really? Are you happy with the nine-to-five that Mufkin describes? Do all those hazy friday evenings fulfil you? Do they make you whole? Do you think that one day they'll just disappear and you'll suddenly be in your dream job with two-point-four-children and a villa in Spain? If so, good luck to you. Self is about evolution. Most people are more atuned to self-deception than self, however. I thought I'd write some more temperate articles on this blog, instead of the usual preachiness. And then I thought... no. That's not the way. Okay, I can't go shouting and finger-pointing every time I post. But on the other hand there's no point in concealing my emotions behind a wall of maybes. Yes, this article might be a mess. But I guess that reflects some aspects of my life - and my desk - right now. It's all about me, myself and I. And I think now I realise that.

Forgive, Forget, For What?

"I'll forgive you, if you forgive me." they said to me - and to be fair to them, it was supposed to be a coy remark, it was supposed to lighten the mood and make me smile. But it didn't. I realised that when I was supposed to be embracing and thanking whichever spirit that is in charge of such matters that an argument was over, I was in fact frowning in thought. I'd said I was sorry. So had they. Forgive, forget and move on. But for what? My mind is suddenly awash with thought. Look Around You is one of the most surreal, and yet most entertaining things I've watched all year (and from the BBC too, believe it or not). It's a spoof of 70s television shows that embraced bizarre inventions and tried to predict the world of the future. Despite the seemingly unconnected jokes and uncaring time slot, the show works and the gags are cared for. I watch it because there are some elements of the past that really intrigue me - most of which don't need exaggeration to make them bemusing. Cultures, similarly, can offer a lot of surprising information. People that know me personally may know that I have a certain interest in Japan and oriental culture. It's not just that I find it a beautiful part of the world, nor merely that I admire its people - it is also something to do with the unique qualities of their culture. Take, for instance, Christmas in Japan. It is considered inappropriate for a woman to be single on Christmas Eve, and they are referred to as 'unsold christmas cake' if this happens. This is something that has arisen in the last few centuries, since the main religion is Shinto, but even over such a short space of time - as Look Around You shows - things can change dramatically. But this article is not about change. Maybe another day. You see, in Japan there is also a very different way of apologising. In Japan it is very important to apologise for an error or a mistake even if it is not your fault at all. Flight attendants are trained to apologise profusely to Japanese tourists if anything - at all - happens whilst they are travelling. Secondly, it is very important to attempt to resolve the situation diligently... even if you have no hope of doing so. Flight attendants are also told to make it appear that they are working as hard as is possible to solve any problem, even if they have no way of even beginning to solve what is wrong. It's just the way things are done. In Japan, apologising is a symbol of concern for others, of humbleness - but not of submission. But, for want of a better phrase, I think that's bullshit. I'd like you to think for a second along the lines that I thought - 'sorry' simply doesn't exist. When you say 'sorry' to someone, it means nothing. What you're actually saying is 'forgive and forget'. It's an ancient pact, written on our hearts by our ancestors. You forgive me, and I'll forgive you. Apologising simply doesn't enter into it. You see, I'm not sorry for calling Japanese culture bullshit. Nor am I sorry for using the word bullshit three times in a single article. If I apologise to you, it will be because I want you to forgive me. And you will. You'll forgive me because you're hoping that I'll cover for you some day, and maybe that'll save your ass. Or maybe you're forgiving me because you hope that some god or other will do the same...? There's a website somewhere that tries to train businesspeople in the art of apologies. It lists eight kinds of 'sorry', but not one of them is a sincere apology. Do you really believe in the laws of this land? Why do you think it is wrong to murder, to steal, to rape, to lie? Is it because you find it morally unacceptable? Is it because you think it is not how we're designed to live? Or is it because you're afraid of being murdered, stolen from, raped or lied to? Do you really believe you're sorry? Why do you think you should be sorry? Is it because you feel bad for what you've done? Or is it because you want to be off the hook, and the only way of doing that is by trading forgiveness for forgiveness? I suppose you can't knock the notion. The Catholic Church have been at it for two millenia. I'd say I was sorry for that last line... but you'd be too suspicious I was lying to you. Goodnight, ladies and gentlement. Sorry for the swearing. ^_~