19/8/06
Raincheck in the pouring, driving precipitation – an odd thing to do? Not sure. Necessary this morning; the cold, grey light of awareness is picking on me once more and showing me the way to go, if that is possible.
Open the window a fraction, want to hear the water and wipe away the sleep.
Is it possible to be in a perpetual state of war drunkenness? A kind of hangover from the effects of daily bad news? For months – years - now, as I’m sure you are equally aware, the news has been the same. There is no progress in Afghanistan, Iraq, in the supposed W.O.T. (or ‘what?’ as it should be renamed). UK army troop recruitment is up to over 11,000 new young men and women who will be inevitably sent to one of these war zones. Meanwhile, a general in Afghanistan finally uses the term ‘war’ to describe the current clashes with Taliban insurgents and guerrilla groups. This is not even to mention the utter futility of the past month’s war between Israel and Hezbollah.
It’s depressing. It proves only that the conflict nature of humanity is as strong today as it always was. That it is inevitable. Violence and destruction is our cultural identity and it is the example we give to the impressionable and the rising countries and states of the world. Who will, in turn, perpetuate.
Living here, one is subjected to the onslaught of humanity in the most all-consuming ways. Thousands upon thousands of people flooding in on a daily basis, more people than the town can actually cope with. Bringing with them the unbelievable ignorance of the holiday Brit – drinking, shouting, hanging out down the chip shop. Nothing different in their behaviour to being home wherever that may be – and they revel in it. Meanwhile, others claiming to love the country block up the roads with their cars, pumping tons of pollutants into the local atmosphere, then driving out into the hills because they are too scared to actually feel the wind against them. They want their wilderness tame.
All the while, the RAF fly overhead – Jaguars and Tomcats – howling at the fells the constant song of death –
It should all be a bad dream, a fiction, something from which one wakes and looks out of the window and says to oneself ‘no everything’s fine, I can relax’ – no such luck -
Raincheck in the pouring, driving precipitation – an odd thing to do? Not sure. Necessary this morning; the cold, grey light of awareness is picking on me once more and showing me the way to go, if that is possible.
Open the window a fraction, want to hear the water and wipe away the sleep.
Is it possible to be in a perpetual state of war drunkenness? A kind of hangover from the effects of daily bad news? For months – years - now, as I’m sure you are equally aware, the news has been the same. There is no progress in Afghanistan, Iraq, in the supposed W.O.T. (or ‘what?’ as it should be renamed). UK army troop recruitment is up to over 11,000 new young men and women who will be inevitably sent to one of these war zones. Meanwhile, a general in Afghanistan finally uses the term ‘war’ to describe the current clashes with Taliban insurgents and guerrilla groups. This is not even to mention the utter futility of the past month’s war between Israel and Hezbollah.
It’s depressing. It proves only that the conflict nature of humanity is as strong today as it always was. That it is inevitable. Violence and destruction is our cultural identity and it is the example we give to the impressionable and the rising countries and states of the world. Who will, in turn, perpetuate.
Living here, one is subjected to the onslaught of humanity in the most all-consuming ways. Thousands upon thousands of people flooding in on a daily basis, more people than the town can actually cope with. Bringing with them the unbelievable ignorance of the holiday Brit – drinking, shouting, hanging out down the chip shop. Nothing different in their behaviour to being home wherever that may be – and they revel in it. Meanwhile, others claiming to love the country block up the roads with their cars, pumping tons of pollutants into the local atmosphere, then driving out into the hills because they are too scared to actually feel the wind against them. They want their wilderness tame.
All the while, the RAF fly overhead – Jaguars and Tomcats – howling at the fells the constant song of death –
It should all be a bad dream, a fiction, something from which one wakes and looks out of the window and says to oneself ‘no everything’s fine, I can relax’ – no such luck -
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