Background
The poem below is about one of the most disagreeable families and groupings one could ever encounter.
It involves a brother, my younger; a cousin, older than me; plus a mass of their friends and acquaintances all too eager and willing to do ill … and all in the interests of delivering what now we call #cognitivewarfare.
How it started
It all started in the first place because my younger brother had had an affair with my aforementioned cousin before and after I also, to my shame, did myself. The previous year, 2003, I had been judged by the British state to be a paranoid schizophrenic, when in hindsight this was utter balderdash. Nevertheless, the following year, 2004, my cousin encouraged me to embrace my diagnosis, whilst I spent four days in her family home, absent of all other members, saying to me over and over that the diagnosis as it stood (still stands because of people like her) was sexy and fun.
Although our affair in the physical sense lasted four days, the relationship hung around like a miasma of the most foul for more than a decade after. She was simply a toxic woman of the worst, capable of getting a doctor friend onside to cover up her historical behaviours with an equally ludicrous mental health diagnosis to mine.
How it continued
Since then, three man from her country, Mark, James and Dermott, as well as innumerable others along the way, over all this time it has to be said, have pursued my interests and life opportunities to prevent me from ever breaking away from the monster she has been, both in my life and — in the deepest sense — in the lives of so many others.
Particularly her menfolk, too.
I called it a while ago, maybe three or four years now (this thing which these people around her have being doing to me), the following: #neoterrorismontheindividual. It’s essentially a tech-driven gaslighting conducted by groups of ordinary people using easily available mobile and similar technologies:
• Text-based version of my idea around #neoterrorismontheindividual
• Slide-deck version of my idea around #neoterrorismontheindividual
It’s anti-democratic because it uses tools such as Facebook and WhatsApp and Instagram and Messenger to deliver outcomes of private choice over any intervention possible by legitimate law-enforcement agencies, or maybe even just others with a minimum right of democratic expression to apply such force in representative fashion.
Where I am today
I am happy today, despite all the above, because I realise on my 61st saint’s day — I used to have the middle name of Andrew in a language I now find generally bitter (why I no longer name myself thus) — that I quite like, after all, being kind of a fisher … not of men, but of humans.
How it affects us all
Our civilisation is dying, this is clear. And it is dying in part because we rely on the decision-making capacity of structures that don’t allow for nonconformity: Western democratic corporate and related teamwork dynamics allow for many things, but one thing they work firmly against is creative leaps of faith of the very best by individuals.
What’s been in charge as we move straight to #globalboiling is a teamwork that wipes out the hyper-individual thinking which otherwise can lead us to genius: maybe, even, a species-saving genius too.
What needs to be in charge, surely, is that which I advocate today: a democratised capacity to deliver unpredictable thinking, predictably.
Just this …
• gb2earth.com/pgtps/isolate | essay
• gb2earth.com/tools | introduction to the wider concepts involved
• gb2earth.com/pgtps/genesis | #platformgenesis
• gb2earth.com/pgtps/space | #thephilosopherspace
i'm sitting at table 42
in storyhouse right now
and i am reminded of
the worst year of my life
when i met a woman
who was someone else's wife
as chattel it must be admitted
so wrong as wrong could be
even i would say this true
a woman who didn't know how to be
in this world at all at all
even to the extent
she preferred to see wrong
as right
in philosophical bent
claiming blue was black
and as black as any top hat
she demanded be doffed in her presence
they called her
those who loved her
(and then there were some of these)
a gentlewoman of sorts
brought up by the violence of a father
who knew only the life of bully
and as part of the scurrying
and blustering brutality
that those northern isles did bring for so long
to her very own native inhumanity
callous and biting
with the tongue of thieves
as she dismantled
every single manhood she met
and that she uncovered out there
as they were
in pursuit in reality
of the parents of hers who'd known nothing at all
except how to set traps
in amongst the future of this rock
where nature takes stock
and then piles on the cruelty
of all these bullied women and men
who find themselves unable
to do anything whatsoever
except conduct their children and society
to funeral pall and requiem of every one of their counted kin
and finally i see
how all this wasn't me
but just the war they chose
to baldly conduct on my person
and so then it is now when i start
to feel good
and utterly upheld
in all the things
i sold and still do sell
because there is nothing worse
than to be a team member
when the function of such grouping
is to DISmember a world
and it's this
that i have firmly resisted
during this time and all along:
i refuse to form a part of you all
when you all are fully engaged with clearly what is wrong
me myself i was powerless all this time
so entirely blameless too
as the only thing i had was my rhymes
but you had all those big jobs instead
and those cocks and cunts that wrote up societies
and claimed to be making this real
and something in truth for all our kids
when in fact you didn't no you didn't
only prefer to fuck me around
but gladly you chose to fuck your own kids
and their futures and ways of seeing true
with you gas-guzzling cars and mortgages
and nicely imported wines
and the nightly dining brightly in line
in fab island cities
of good food so cool
where the environment was a toy
of awful casual tool
and all this time as i say
i myself had zero impact at all
but all of you ALL of you i say
with all your positions of power so fine
neglected one thing
and WILFULLY too
(whereas i found my person honestly good
whilst all this time
never stopping marking the time in that there hood)
re your very worst cards and jokers
kept so close to family and friends
of unacceptable end
and of terrible secrets
and undercurrents
that justify everything all these years
which you yourselves have preferred to deliver on
as right and absolutely so
when the only thing they really are
is fucked-up humans like you and yours
who'd much rather
bloom falsely and mad on days of idle
than take a hold
of the root of the problem
being that which involves
having all that fun you still choose to enjoy
at the expense of a future
for all our CHILDREN
mil's page 