The day, however, wasn't wasted

As I found this

Waste of a Night

Tonight’s history-making election debate: what a load of shit. The country is in a rancid state, from journalism through parliament to education, fundamentally fucked, and our politicians are just play-acting, hoodwinking for a living. No doubt they have their genuine emotions (well Clegg and Brown do, Cameron is almost a total automaton) but listening to them play their games is just wearying. The digital economy bill brought a lot of things to light. The highly immoral and backward-looking bill (in favour of major labels and old-fashioned industry over the music lover and modern internet/technology-embracing ingenuity) was forced through parliament in the “wash up” process (the time before election which allows the easy passing through of apparently “un-contentious” bills), after lobbyists/industry leaders and party leaders basically instructed MPs to vote in favour of it. The few MPs who were independently-minded enough to turn up at meetings to debate it anyway were lonely figures, and then on the day final day of voting their uncaring colleagues (these are the people responsible for the well-being of our societies) wandered in from lunch after the MPs who were against it had already spoken to cast their votes as if nothing mattered. Then David Cameron announced his plans to let “society emerge over government” (which likely translates into privatising everything), but how can government expect society to take responsibility when its MPs can’t even (and are not even encouraged to) think for themselves on such matters? The country is a vacuum of industry-led drones with only hints of happiness and consumer dreams to brighten their days, and the government has let it happen with their hypocritical approach to democracy. It’s not going to change by caring too much, and writing self-defeating shit like this. The end. Waste of a night.

A Monkey on a Rock

I attempted to cheer up a friend on a blog post today, promised her she'd be happy sooner than she thinks. But is that really true? And what is happiness anyway? Who's to say I'm not happy here, churning out poem after poem on a lost love and intimacy while the outside world drones along? It's just the intimation of something that hovers over the lovers, sucking up our juices. The loved one gets fat, the lover withers, but sooner rather than later the veil comes off, and at least in being lost in love you've been on a journey.

Maybe it's an illusion of the ego to think a love (singular) is ever lost anyway. There is a feeling that the word is never the thing, and if you trace a line back to innocence and sharing, it always ends when the word and thought becomes the thing.

And maybe love is never the property of one person, maybe the thing we're mourning is our own objectivity, in which love and friendship could flourish. I know in the height of the greatest feelings I've felt I've always felt a foreboding, an awareness that the ego is ready to make it a subjective thing, and as soon as this happens, you're as alone as a monkey on a rock.

The sun is shining and thoughts are playing in happy contradiction.