A raucous cacophony of intimate musings by a thinker, a lover, and a dreamer of dreams.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Psycho-babble
When it comes to slips, I like mine Freudian. Silk is good too, for want of repressed childhood trauma or bottled up rage.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
T-shirt Wisdom
"The rich get ugly and the poor get ugly. The rest is history." - Reg Mombassa for Mambo.
Red and Black
I've been a little absorbed in social freedoms, libertarian V authoritarian political themed literature over the past few months, and it has got me thinking...
The problem with capitalism is that it best rewards the worst part of us: the ruthless, competitive, cunning, opportunistic, aquisitive drives, giving little reward and often much punishment - or at least much handicap - to honesty, compassion, fair play, many forms of hard work, love of justice, and a concern for those in need.
I'm not a Communist. I don't believe it works. I don't believe it works because I believe people like to own things, and as Hugo says, "equal partition abolishes emulation...and ultimately labour." Hugo sums sums up the fiscal and social dilemma of nations beautifully in Les Miserables - you can have a read here. (As an aside, people often ask me to recommend them a great book - Les Mis is the one tome I truly believe everyone should read at least once before they die - it will reshape the way you look at the world.)
So then, the question I pose is this: How do we get by; how do we prosper socially, responsibly, freely in this crazy old world?
The problem with capitalism is that it best rewards the worst part of us: the ruthless, competitive, cunning, opportunistic, aquisitive drives, giving little reward and often much punishment - or at least much handicap - to honesty, compassion, fair play, many forms of hard work, love of justice, and a concern for those in need.
I'm not a Communist. I don't believe it works. I don't believe it works because I believe people like to own things, and as Hugo says, "equal partition abolishes emulation...and ultimately labour." Hugo sums sums up the fiscal and social dilemma of nations beautifully in Les Miserables - you can have a read here. (As an aside, people often ask me to recommend them a great book - Les Mis is the one tome I truly believe everyone should read at least once before they die - it will reshape the way you look at the world.)
So then, the question I pose is this: How do we get by; how do we prosper socially, responsibly, freely in this crazy old world?
The Cure
A broken heart is what makes life so wonderful five years later, when you see the guy in an elevator and he is fat and smoking a cigar and saying, "...long-time-no-see." - Phyllis Battelle, American Journalist
Thursday, June 2, 2011
When the lights come on again.
We were bad for each other.
So in love it made us stupidly, irrationally, blindly insecure. We spent half the time screaming through walls and down phonelines, with wet eyes and shaking hands, consumed by the fear of loss, speaking unthinkable cruelties to mask the hurt or unable to find the words or the breath or the energy to make everything ok; or else swept up in a euphoric break from reality, lolling about all flaxen-haired and sunny-skinned, bare limbs twisted on white cotton, touching fingertips and drunk on the fantasy that one day we'd run away from the world and just be us, together and beautiful, basking in the devine and finally drifting off to eternity while we slept; old and wrinkled and gloriously happy, holding each other by the hand and the heart. At least we realised the overwhelming damage we were doing and got out before our mutual self-destruction; staring into the void of infinite nothingness, beside each other but all alone, a wasted pair of starry-eyed dreamers.
So in love it made us stupidly, irrationally, blindly insecure. We spent half the time screaming through walls and down phonelines, with wet eyes and shaking hands, consumed by the fear of loss, speaking unthinkable cruelties to mask the hurt or unable to find the words or the breath or the energy to make everything ok; or else swept up in a euphoric break from reality, lolling about all flaxen-haired and sunny-skinned, bare limbs twisted on white cotton, touching fingertips and drunk on the fantasy that one day we'd run away from the world and just be us, together and beautiful, basking in the devine and finally drifting off to eternity while we slept; old and wrinkled and gloriously happy, holding each other by the hand and the heart. At least we realised the overwhelming damage we were doing and got out before our mutual self-destruction; staring into the void of infinite nothingness, beside each other but all alone, a wasted pair of starry-eyed dreamers.
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