I didn’t want to write tonight- Anarchy, compromises and a nice cup of tea

I don’t want to spend my Friday evening writing. I don’t want to have to think too much, too hard, editing and sculpting my words down until they resemble something that could be passed off as a readable tract of writing. No, I would rather not say anything at all tonight. I would rather not rail against the deliberate ignorance that has invested 95% of the comic books that I read today. I don’t really want to upset the writers anyway, and they have kids to feed and they have bills and car payments and stuff, and I understand why they are running on the corporate treadmill. Yeah it’s a bit cowardly, but that’s the compromise of life, isn’t it?

If you want a wife, kids, a car, a house (and things to put in it) then you need to compromise, right? You need to put your morality aside and look after yourself first, right? Because that’s what most of us do. I look around me and I don’t see heroes. I don’t see villains. I see compromises. That’s what makes the world, those compromises fuel the evil that we pretend does not exist. Well, we pretend, but I’m here shouting about it on my blog, annoying those poor compromised writers, and I didn’t even want to write tonight, so I need to shut up. I want to make myself a cup of tea, put on some music, read a book that comes from the mind of somebody, anybody who refuses to compromise, because that’s what I want to do tonight.

Behind my left shoulder, on my clean as a politician’s soul (it’s actually a lot cleaner than that) floor, and amongst the silly, childish comic books there is a big old proper book. It’s a book about the potential that we all deliberately stifle in order to fit in, a book with a dirty word on the front cover. That book has a great title: NO GODS NO MASTERS- An Anthology of Anarchism by Daniel Guerin. Did you spot the dirty word? That word, of course, is anarchism. That filthy, never to be mentioned in polite society word signifies the freedom that we are not allowed to claim as our own, as long as we continue to bow down and worship a centralised state control system of human slavery. Yes, anarchy is such a dirty word. So dirty that it’s not allowed on television, well unless there is a university-approved expert there to soften it’s blow and remove any real meaning that it’s trying to convey. No freedom here, this screen is a no freedom zone.

Oh television, how you made me into something that I hated, moulded me into something that no longer even resembled a human being. We had a long relationship, too long, but I had to break away from you. You talked and talked and talked, but nothing was ever said.  We are strangers now. I look at you with pity, with the sad recognition that what we had was a lie, that I had to move on, that I had to grow the Hell up. Ha, I’m waffling now, so self-indulgent, and I didn’t even want to raise my head above the parapet tonight, but here it is, so take a shot. I’m a manic street preacher yapping like a little doggie into the big black bottomless GCHQ Internet void. A revolutionary, that’s me. No black mask or red flag needed, I drink tea and read a book, and I need to shut up now, stop writing (which I didn’t want to do tonight), put the kettle on and get back to my original plan for the evening. Goodnight, have a great weekend, don’t follow orders, be nice, and speak the truth.