Cognition disabled

Between want and its think,
does the intellect shrink
to reject all conditions
that challenge position
as feeling meets static
in willing fanatics,
attracted to zealotry,
simple and tacit.

Cognition disabled,
crude labels get fabled
in finely tuned riffs,
adding pith to the myths
that enable the risibly
cheap narratives

as if actual factuals
didn’t exist;
as if truth got its proof
by the gift of low wish
and the gallop of Gish

until, hook, line and sinker
the sheep become fish

Cause: lost and found

In every party there are nasties
Tribal mirrors, every one
Pots and kettles in fine fettle
Bang their polarising drums

*~*~*

I feel a little odd. Detached from narratives but tethered by consciousness. Like everything is just next door.

There’s a mountain of injustice to level but I can’t bring myself to fully join in with any political organisation. I don’t feel as though I will fit into any of the groupthink box-rooms. I don’t think I want to, either. They come across as so stifling; so distorting. So small. And the minute you step into one, it looks as if you are expected to become the property of its ethos and objectified vessel of its mission.

And I just can’t pick one cause above another. They’re all connected and nearly all vital and devotion to any one part seems selfish; almost irresponsible. That sounds counter-intuitive, I suppose. Ungracious, even. After all, throughout human history there are people who devote their whole lives to a single focus. And there’s strength in numbers, right? And, anyway, you have to start somewhere, yes? But the grass is always drier and patchier on the other side of the fence and, if I sincerely believed that I might be able to save the nursery by rescuing a baby, which baby do I choose? Maybe I should admire those who want to and think that they can. Perhaps, deep down, I do.

As yet, though, I see no causal group to which I am enough attracted and in which I have sufficient confidence, to wear its badge. Albeit that I’m interested in most topics and quite captivated by many of their issues, I can’t reconcile the sentiments I share with those that make me recoil. I don’t want to be swallowed up by a tribe that will only reflect fragments of my values and whose ideas, approach and methods are, too often, not at all matched to mine. Neither can I bear the thought of being infected; weighed down and distracted by the trolls of ignorant misdirection and oversimplification. (Actually, I’d as likely be turned out on my ear for regular and persistent dissent. I think I’m one of those there’s always one people…) I can’t help it. It’s not that I’m not a team player. I know I am. Just I need to respect the team, be able to clearly see its integrity and properly understand and agree with its purpose and actions.

I don’t know how much this attitude is down to my own psyche or the damage of media spin and the extremely off-putting actions of the rabids in both the physical and etheric echo chambers who go, keenly, from impotent passion to explosive pettiness on the turn of a meme. Is my character flawed that I am so resistant to being pigeon-holed and herded; that I would rather journey separately than become moulded and shredded by a factional collective and its vicious opponents? How much of this is down to the wisdom of instinct – for instinct, it is – and how much is it a consequence of the country’s increasing polarisation by knee jerk outrage? Am I too full of nuance to commit to transitional fashions or a terribly flakey, thrice-denying Peter?

The world is in shadow. It is tempting to see the missionaries as pockets of Light’s hope but such movements are quickly made insular. They create cultish obstacles to sympathy and practical wisdom, ending up as distractions that inhibit rational debate and understanding, obscuring and delaying effective solutions. The suppressed very easily become self-righteous suppressors; those that fight polarisation in bubbles too readily create new-level binaries. The consciousness and perspective of the Public is in a fragile state; common emotion and reason are popularly out of sync. Every shift in consciousness is one tiptoe forward; two leaps back. What should be healthy, progressive friction is static in an airtight cage. That’s what I see.

I am irrevocably and willingly plugged in to the collective consciousness. I exist in solidarity with the highest and noblest of all human potential. I love my beautiful planet and all its teeming, wondrous life and mystery. I want to help to heal it; to heal us; to heal me. Is this better done by me lengthening the shadows next door or by concentrating on shortening my own? I feel pathetic in the face of the mountain. And yet, I think and feel that I do more good – and certainly less harm – by attending to the friction of inner light in my own house. Intuitively; experientially, I feel the more whole for it. That is use and cause, enough, both to me and to mine.

“Moderate”?

Moderate“?
Phfft… What?
Medium?
Measured?
Mild and fair?
Temperate?
Modest?
Adequate?
Ok?
Even?
Within Reason?

Where?

So-so
Easy
No great shakes
Bog-standard
Average
Second-rate
Middling (to diddly squat)
Insipid
Mediocre
Uninspired
Sober
Meh…
Commonplace
Controlled (for hire)
Bargain-basement
Regulated
Decent (liar)

There?

I ain’t

I ain’t no ‘Corbynista’
I ain’t no lefty loon
I ain’t your stick to beat him with
I ain’t deduced by parrot tunes

I ain’t no ‘Blairite’, neither
I ain’t that black and white
I ain’t your dream of what’s extreme
I ain’t the mirror you should fight

I ain’t your scapegoat matey
I ain’t your proxy fool
I ain’t got grace to save your face
I ain’t your weaponising tool

I ain’t your enemy within
I ain’t your threat without
I ain’t your bet; you ain’t my debt
I ain’t the reason you’re about

I ain’t your cause of irritation
I ain’t shaped by tribal lines
I ain’t got space for put-in-place
Oh, wait: I found some time. 😉

Our own worst enemy

There’s a juxtapositional dissonance that haunts our socio-political atmosphere. Like looking but not noticing how your eyes are taking turns at keeping closed.

David Cameron expects a hundred separate factions in Syria to unite around their complex histories and myriad agenda to make a common cause of peace and civic stability. The Labour Party can’t unite just two basic factions who claim, habitually, to share, in common, nearly every cause.

There are sixty-plus million people in this country, self-identifying with any number of every conceivable tribe and demographic and none. But no matter because nuance and perspective are on extended sabbatical so, if you have no idea where you belong or are more inclined toward the none group, there are plenty of people who will happily supply you with a label or two.

Refugee crisis, climate change, scroungers, terrorist sympathisers, Trident, values, etc, etc. Each, a captured meme, irresponsibly loaded, wound tight and released into the wild as a springboard for an emotionally charged and polarised population, fuelled by paranoia, cognitive dissonance and easy bias.

A great deal of the binary manifests as dumb and lazy stereotyping by vitriolic attention-seekers. It is irritating and unpleasant and it’s hardly conversational or constituting rigorous, healthy debate but, usually, the passion is still understandable, even if the right or reason is questionable. Its real harm is in the incremental traction that degrades us all, albeit slowly and less obviously. Still, over time, if polarisation intensifies because it is being incited, even the most reluctant will be forced to choose a corner.

And, increasingly, many do behave as if it were their very duty to directly harass, de-platform, even intimidate and physically hurt any person, public or private, into ‘correct’ thinking or silence. This is the free speech and free will of self-importance and superiority that mocks Free Speech and Free Will. Acting like and treating each other as enemy contestants on a cheap reality show, editing for outrage and sensationalism, has consequences: groupthink and censorship are in conflict with one-upmanship and hedonism. This, as Britain debates how to deal with the terror of Da’esh, a fascistic conviction of religious hysteria, currently claiming and exacting domination and punishment of others as a duty, gifted from God.

We are told: they hate us, not for what we do but for who we are* – Is not what we do informed by who we are? Are we, then, as a Society, as factions and as individuals: are We** acting genuinely, from within ourselves or are we behaving quite out of character? We are well aware of the authoritarian character of our Government that throws its ill-considered, exploitative weight around the world and meddles at home, to divide us and diminish our freedoms and rights. We know it doesn’t trust us. It probably doesn’t even like us. And our fixed horizon is down to more than Media framing and the fractured state of opposition. It is us, too. If we are our own worst enemy, we are outnumbered.

Perhaps, in the grand scheme, we are undergoing a collective right of passage and Humanity’s psyche is negotiating a higher puberty but I listened to Hilary Benn’s rhetorical turn and I thought: Here We are, not only subject to a Machine that holds our democracy and universal values in contempt but We hold us in contempt. We hold our values in contempt. We hold our belief in tolerance and decency in contempt. Here We are, with our own tide of petty, tribal fascism. The Conservative Government tells us that to thrive in the global race, We must be competitive. At this rate, we will beat Da’esh to it and defeat ourselves.

 

*Of course they hate us. They’re an anally retentive death cult.
**Pronouns are interchangeable. I use ‘We’ (and ‘you’) to include anyone or everyone, generally and so as to avoid singling out specific individuals.

Misc.

Have the eclectic quirks
In people’s online heads
Replaced the curiosity shops
Wherein, among
The bits and bobs
Of whimsy and antiquity,
We browse, instead,
For random gems to spot?

Bigot

You can keep your tiny boxes
To yourself, my fundamental fool
Along with all the certainty
In which you have been schooled
For if I thought obnoxious doctrine
Was a relevant life tool
I’d’ve gladly walked the catechism
Of my own accord

So you can take your pious overreach
And shove it where imagination
Festers in your whimsy, flimsy,
Soul-refining mind and wind your neck in
Lest the reckoning
You beckon in is thine;
You mind your own soul, chum
And I’ll take care of mine.

I can do without your pity
And your precious little wisdoms
And your judgemental prescriptions –
You can stick ’em with
Your nonsense conscience
Where the sun don’t shine
Because, despite your crude reproof
I know I’m fine.