Loss (the instability of consciousness)

Imagine sitting in a chair that is hard and uncomfortable. No matter how you wriggle, you always end up with an ache somewhere. The top of the chair digs in to your back, so you hunch further down into it, but that only makes things worse in the long run. So you go back to how you were at first, having forgotten the feeling of a wooden bar against the top of your spine. You turn sideways, but now your neck is cranked at an awkward angle and in futility you begin to massage your shoulders. So you hunch down.

This is what my consciousness feels like inside my head. Disjointed, disorientated, confused. Uncomfortable with itself, it struggles between uncomfortable places.

I believe this is for two reasons, both metaphysical and intellectual: the first is that I have not accepted that there is no centre, that consciousness is intrinsically afloat on a stormy sea, and the second is that change and loss is the nature of all things.

I will focus on the second. Everything comes from something and dissolves back into that something. Change is a blessing when you are in pain, for it won’t be forever. But it is not a nice though to think that what is familiar to you, people and places, will someday cease to exist. This is especially true when we have a strong sense of memory and the places that made us happy.

Good days are the ones we want to hold on to, but inevitably they come and go. And when we really think about it, we were never truly in control of the millions of factors which fed into those good days. Indeed, that is what made them good!

So longing to recreate them is futile. What has been has been. Things are gained and lost. People in our lives also; found and lost.

Trying to predict every factor that feeds into this impossibly complex ‘equation’ that is life / lyfe – such a thing cannot be done. And is not desirable – imagine how terribly contrived it would be if everything fit your dreams to perfection and was entirely of your creation; there would be no other autonomous people, just you directing everything.

Yet insecurity and instability are frightening, so it is understandable that we want a foundation of control. We could talk about balance here, but I feel that will be naive. What balance? What sense of control?

None of us will ever be given one for long. Consciousness, echoing the nature of all-things as transient and permeable and centre-less, cannot sustain itself forever. It evolves by virtue of what it is.

Even this article has no coherent central theme, just fragmented paragraphs loosely linked together. That is more profound then you may think, if you can work your head around it.

Holding on is anxiety, letting go is anxiety!

Perhaps this universe was made as some kind of joke, one that we human beings, limited in power and perception, can never truly see the funny side of. The joke is really cruel because we have the infinite abilities of thought and imagination, without the inner-strength to truly make sense of this great something (which doesn’t have much of a meaning anyway), we are beholden to. Sometimes it is funny, at least when people take it a bit too seriously and fight to hold on to their illusion. But largely it is tragic, and it is only in being together that we can survive in such a universe for long.

God has been taken away from us and there is nothing to take His place. Well, except for the microorganisms which feed on the bloated corpses of the fallen perhaps.

Ha ha.



London Syndrome

London you have torn me in two

An abusive lover, indifferent to my pain

But I still want you.

I hate the pace you set on life

The rushing, anonymous crowds

But I want their recognition.

You lock me out of your plazas

And price me out of the culture I helped create

But I still come knockin’.


What are you promising, exactly?

Anything at all? Or nothing.

For I never found my way

Along your busy streets

You never sheltered me or held me

In your deep bosom.


Our traumatic bond, London

It is all I have known, London

I am afraid to go, London

But I am more afraid to stay.


So fuck you, London. We’re finished!


(But you’ll take me back if I wanna come home right?)

Laugh, or die!

Here are your options in life – laugh, or die. Absurdity will confront you, stupidity also. Bad things will happen, people will snap. Accidents are never afar. Irrational people will do irrational things. Rational people will do irrational things. Crows will poo on your head.

In our quest for security, let us not become humourless. For humour is security. Jolly people live longer, and the merry have a better, more optimistic outlook on life. They can see opportunity, they can bear the weight of the world. Whatever life brings, can we not at least laugh?

Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Things are funny. The deranged are funny. Trump! Trump!

This world has strong notes of tragedy. Doomed people, dumb pontificators, useless tyrants, bumbling fools, arrogant warblers, mindless drones, bitter widows. Laugh!

Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! There lies strength, in sending it all up. Store them as power. Convert them into mana. Ignore not the hilarious stupidity, embrace it. Ha!