T E N
D A Y S
O F
P A R A D O X
N O T E S O F A N
O B S E R V E R
A D I A R Y O F L I F E
D A Y 1: Tuesday 24th February
I would like to focus more clearly and clarify my thoughts. I love to write about all sorts of ideas, but a defined subject keeps eluding my train of thought which ebbs and flows like the many atmospheric gases that we all breathe in our daily lives.
What would it be like to live and exist on a space station, suspended in an ominous vacuum like a tiny puppet on a string? This idea struck me as an exciting one when I was considerably younger and happily striving for the unattainable status of Elite© in the famous 1980s PC space trading game. Even now, because of this wonderful teenage experience the much lamented strains of Strauss’ famous ‘Blue Danube’ Waltz swim into the silent and singing part of my mind whenever I see a space station on the television, rotating slowly in the void of space, monitoring the Great Unknown.
I can remember in vivid detail how difficult it was to dock my spaceship in the game and I resolved to carry on striving and fighting until I could afford to install a docking computer on my type III Cobra trading and combat vessel which made the docking procedure much easier and my Elite© adventure unfolded before me like my own self-revealing fantasy. A bit like life in fact.
I have been to work again today and neither saw nor heard anything new or remarkable, or perhaps I just wasn’t looking? Work and exist is all that life seems to be at times, or do I just need to keep my mind open to all the little things that may actually be the keystones of the foundations of all life upon which the larger and more clumsy edifices grow and prosper around us all each day?
There are always more questions than answers but one thing I do know is that much of the time we all talk and listen to too much twaddle that can be very amusing and sometimes hurtful. Just like the continuity of my space station this makes me more resolved to be honest, open and true to myself and others and not to believe any of the twaddle until it actually transpires.
D A Y 2: Thursday 26th February
Most days it can feel a bit like we are all just treading water, but in an endless field of thick, ripe horse manure. ‘Shit soup’ as it could be more affectionately known. This term may come across as a rather vulgar and negative view of the modern world in which we all live, but it is actually quite the opposite, uplifting even, with a delicate sense of comic tragedy about it. Daily human life could easily be portrayed as the same old ‘shit soup’ with a slightly different hint of lemon or thyme thrown into the wildly delirious mix of our tangled emotions.
All of a sudden, while we are busy treading the detritus of the world’s bowel movements, a complete stranger may smile at us and acknowledge our presence, a beaming ray of golden sunlight that washes down upon us from the upper atmosphere and shows us in a fleeting instant our enduring human ability to remain positive in the face of a maelstrom of humdrum and adversity. Our own personal ‘shit soup’ is momentarily forgotten and begins to taste more like a warming oxtail or mulligatawny broth.
We all live in the comforting knowledge that despite everything that has and could happen to us at any time, we are all constantly sampling each others shared experiences as we interact with each other every day, sometimes without even realising the significance of our interactions. It is this knowledge that empowers within us a universal feeling of human spiritual bonding that manifests itself in an infinitesimal number of forms:-
Love, Hate, Pride, Envy, Jealousy, Suffering, Happiness, Tragedy, Comedy
…….feelings.
And as the list grows longer with each passing human year it is passed on and changed, as indeed we all change, on our journey through the generational abyss of human endeavour.
D A Y 3: Monday 2nd March
In these volatile times in which we all live, it seems as though everything revolves around computers and information technology. This whole virtual world which we have created can be very useful to all of us in moderation and the technology can be a brilliant organisational tool. If you simply push here and ‘click’ there all shall be revealed in an instant. An optical and mental illusion, but a rather clever one. The task is complete and your information is stored or sent……somewhere……and for what purpose?
The human brain is the most superior and complex microprocessor of all, but through our own ignorance it is in mortal danger of being insidiously supplanted by the very machines and processes that it designed and created. Organisational illusion could very easily become complete automated control if the human species allows it.
I enjoy playing video games and using the internet as much as the next person, they are a good release of tension and an escape into a fantastical world and a great source of knowledge. A couple of nights ago, I found one of my Fighting Fantasy© gamebooks and gave it a whirl, just for old times’ sake. The experience was as awesome as it used to be in my teenage years and once more my brain and imagination clicked into overdrive. I fondly remembered the days and sometimes weeks I would spend in quiet addiction to these great adventure books where,
“you were the hero!”.
Now, all the heroes are older and forgotten in what could become a technological nightmare, a much bigger one than The Warlock on his Firetop Mountain could ever wreak upon us.
Simplify, organise and clarify. I found that I had great fun with my gamebook with nothing more than a pencil, rubber, paper, two six-sided dice and my imagination, coupled with a great love of reading and good writing.
It is not a prerequisite for life that all our daily affairs should be done and presented to us by an impersonal and unemotional machine and is probably quite an unhealthy state of human affairs. A virtual life instead of a real one. Computers and machines have their brilliant uses, but it is essential to keep their advances in balance with our much more powerful collective human consciousness so that they may aid our existence and not control it. They are our tool and we are still their master and can turn them on and off at will so that we can continue to think independently and for ourselves and each other.
I strolled in quiet contentment to the swimming pool tonight after work with not an ‘image’ or a ‘click’ to be seen or heard. I felt alive and free as I breathed the air, reassured by the overriding and inescapable truth that I am living and breathing energy and not an android.
D A Y 4: Thursday 5th March
If we were stripped right down to our barest of souls how would we cope with it? Or, to put it another way, how would we survive at the most basic level of humanity with nothing more than our wits to keep us alive?
In our apparently witless world the vast majority of us would probably perish without our improbable matrix of gadgets on hand to do everything for us.
The human species flourished after the noble discovery of fire. Once the fire is alight, the flame must be kept burning. A flame that lurks deep within each of us yet one that has been dimmed by artificial lighting and neon jazz hoardings or ‘technobabble’ as I like to refer to it sometimes.
Fire is heat, light, sterilisation and community, amongst many other things, and it has and always will bind all human civilisations together like no other element. On a cold and dark desert night a fire is the last piece of the sun that carries us through to another blazing dawn where it can boil the undrinkable and cook us our breakfast over an open spit.
If we all got busier embracing our need to survive then maybe we could live in a more idyllic and peaceful world where no-one would have the time or inclination to waste their valuable thoughts and energy on killing or betrayal. We could once again become a global human team all sharing the one true goal of survival, instead of the more destructive one of unadulterated greed and ambition.
The simple and very rewarding joy of sitting around a roaring campfire telling stories is a skill that appears to have been lost to us in our crazy techno world and with it the need to care a little more for one another.
Please keep telling stories.
D A Y 5: Sunday 8th March
A small, square log cabin with a neatly thatched roof sat alone at the bottom of a deep and leafy vale. Delicate plumes of light grey smoke were coming out of its single red clay chimney pot. The heat from the open log fire in the cobblestone hearth oozed from every one of the cabins walls. Well crafted and polished brasseries depicting scenes of rural life hung in neat positions upon this hearth around which two rosy-faced farm labourers were sitting, chatting and quaffing mild and rustic ale. The simple country tavern had a tranquil ambience which made it a very placid and relaxing place in which to sit and ponder life and these hardened country men were doing just that after a long hard day out in the wheat fields.
“But what exactly do you want to do John? What interests you enough to make your fortune?”
“Ah, George, if only I knew. I’ve never really had enough interest in anything to make a fortune out of it because I’ve never had enough interest in just one thing to make me do it or want it enough. I love everything about life and everything in it, I’m not particularly interested in just one thing. Bit of a blinkered existence is that if you ask me.”
“Oh right, you mean you’re quite content to drive a tractor around and tend the land all your days then?” John quipped with a slight sarcastic edge to his voice.
George slowly raised one quizzical, hairy eyebrow and stared into the crackling orange flames of the fire for a few moments before replying,
“Yes, I am. I’m interested in whatever I find interesting at any given moment and just living my life in whatever way I can, as long as no-one else who don’t deserve it comes to no harm. The way I see it, if all you’re interested in is making a fortune then you’ll never make it. D’you know, you’d really be better off taking a long hot piss into a strong valley gale after you’ve thrown all those dirty notes into the wind o’course.”
John chortled at George’s amusing little speech and took a deep and hearty draught from his pewter tankard and clapped it down on the table in front of him,
“Aye, I see your point mate and well put as ever! A real interest in life is probably just dealing the best that you possibly can with whatever turns up next and enjoying every experience.”
“My tankard’s empty John,” said George through a whimsical grin, “are you interested in that mate?”
John stared in mock horror at the two empty tankards on the table,
“Ye Gods! So is mine George, now that is interesting. I’ll get ‘em both filled because I know I can do that well enough!”
As the amicable laughter of these two lifelong friends ricocheted around the tavern, John got up and took the two tankards to the landlord for refilling. George and John then continued to quaff in the next new dawn and their pleasant and humble village life progressed in the same calm and happy way that it always had done.
Everything changing with the seasons yet remaining constant and stable.
D A Y 6: Monday 9th March
Once upon a time there lived an ordinary chap whose name was of no importance and he had a standard and happy existence somewhere on Earth. He was bored one lazy summer day whilst taking a rest from his ‘standard daily applications’ (SDA) so he decided, quite at random, to design himself a map. He spent an incredible couple of hours in the warm sunshine creating it and when it was finished it was a very simple yet effective creation from the depths of his wild imagination so he rubbed a little cold tea on it, scrunched it up and made it look very authentic and antiquated. His map possessed lots of fascinating yet meaningless symbols and he loved it because it was his creation and therefore only held meaning for him.
The chap’s SDA then resumed as normal until one cloudy autumn day during his walk to work he paused for a few moments and in a casual manner buried his treasured map under a thriving bramble hedge next to his local post office before continuing on his way. To him, the burial ceremony was a grand personal gesture, his very own mark on the strange world that he was forced to inhabit. His own major achievement which gave him a happy and warm feeling of contentment.
******
The chap continued to grow older with good grace until his time came and he died a peaceful and natural death. The map remained buried and undiscovered for many more years until a gang of new build developers descended on the area to force change once more upon the face of the city.
One inquisitive labourer on the site was digging in his hole one day when he unearthed what appeared to be an ancient piece of parchment. He discreetly folded it up, put it in his back pocket and resolved to have a closer look at it during his tea break.
The labourer found upon closer examination that the parchment was full of strange looking symbols, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand them. At home that evening, the purpose of his discovery continued to plague him and on his way home from work the following evening his natural human curiosity caused him to drop in at the local press office so they could take a look at what he had discovered. As almost anything was deemed to be newsworthy in these more modern times the press company paid the labourer fifty pounds credit for the parchment and proceeded to launch an extensive local investigation and report about the origins of the strange and ancient scroll that had been discovered in the city. No one could fathom what the strange symbols denoted and a great series sprung up in the press from which the modest labourer was able to claim all the royalties less commission which enabled him to quit his job with the construction company and acquire a small holding for himself and his small family to enjoy for the rest of their days.
For its part, the map felt like it had assumed its own will to carry on after its creators death and keep his secret and mystery alive by leading all the nosey parkers a merry old little dance while the modest prospered. Job done. Powerful human soul was soaked right into it from the long forgotten cold tea of the dead chap. The map knew it still had a purpose all of it's own to devise for itself now as it sat with great pride in it's own gold-edged and security glazed case in the civic hall in the centre of the city for all to ponder upon.
The sky was the limit and its treasure was an unattainable one, the sole property of a dead and anonymous bearer, helping to ensure the quest of human curiosity and initiative would go on and on forever.
D A Y 7: Tuesday 17th March
They are trying to erode the rock that is the human spirit. Our chief functions of communication and collaboration are being eaten away piece by piece from under our feet by a dark and insidious automated octopus. Unless we all stand together and fight back this technological nightmare of a creature will forever consume our destiny.
It only takes a second to smile at another human, but that massive token of affection can help to form a contagious and protective chain around the earth, a little bit like the layer of ozone gases that shield us from the Sun’s fierce power. A machine, however, does not smile or display this kind of affection, it controls – without question. No matter what is thrown at us, our life force still remains resilient and flexible, helping to generate a powerful energy all around us without needing to be connected to anything tangible. It is this energy that binds us all together into a cohesive and powerful union that could repel with ease all those who seek to destroy our noble species whilst we are off our guard and immersed in machine code.
Let the wind howl at your feet, the rain fall upon your head and the sun warm your body. Breathe life, not data, and enjoy the feeling of just being alive. Simplify, don’t stupefy. Everyone of us has evolved over millions and millions of years from intricate biological and random genetic patterns, not technology. We created the machines and it is our onerous duty to control them.
D A Y 8: Friday 20th March
On my journey to work I saw a dead badger at the side of the road, all curled up nice and cosy just like it had crossed the road, got a little tired and taken a short nap. At first I thought it was a fox because I could only see its rear end as I idled past in the car, but on my return from work coming back the other way I was able to see the unmistakable black and white stripes on the pointed head which confirmed it to be an ex-badger.
How frail the grip that life has on us all is such a stirring thought. It weaves and wriggles, never letting us know which direction it will lead us in next, but most are often exciting. Each new day brings us a new dawn enlightened by the same sun. It is important for us all to embrace each moment and every second otherwise we may as well just curl up and die along the road like the ex-badger, tragic victims of our own past which nobody else has the time or volition to care about. Why should they?
It is your path to tread and no-one else’s.
Life is a fleeting series of occurrences and rich experiences from which we all draw breath and develop as humans.
The badger is dead. Nothing can develop from that occurrence but diminished reality. The path that each and every one of us chooses is free to us alone and will always end at a solid and secure door. Death is the only constant thing in our lives so we should treasure it like we treasure our fleeting lives, but above all it is important to do just one thing and that is to,
“C H O O S E L I F E!”
D A Y 9: Tuesday 9th June
What is it that stops us from packing a rucksack of basic survival tools and escaping on a hitchhiking adventure around our small, blue planet? Let’s face it, there isn’t that much land mass to go at as the surface of the planet is constituted of over eighty percent water!
So what stops us then? Is it the constant state of false security that our modern society has us all trapped in? Or is it the case that for most of us it would be regarded as something that is “not done” or “not normal”.
Paradox follows paradox as what is often “not done” or “done” is not always right or wrong.
We have the power deep within ourselves to escape if we choose to and it might further cement our notable status as the most successful, versatile and adaptable species of the animal kingdom. Since the dinosaurs left us we are no longer hunted by any animal – except ourselves.
Paradox of the mind. Survival of the fittest gene.
Sleeping bag. Ridge tent. Candles. Flint. Steel. Bow and drill. Water container. Swiss Army Knife. Imagination. Inspiration. Perspiration. Dedication. Real life.
Armed with an immense and very complex supercomputer in our own heads and these few simple tools our great escape is always available to us at minimal financial cost if we choose to take it. Our boundaries would be endless and filled with limitless opportunity, yet we are also a stubborn species at times and accept the decadent trap that is forced upon us by our unseen masters where we are surrounded by millions of useless things that we are all told we must covet and own for “comfort” and “standards”.
Our blind acceptance of everything that is shoved in front of us only serves to kill our free and animal spirit that urges us to move and create. Instead the species appears more determined than ever to squander it's life opportunities and burn itself to a sad extinction.
Accept nothing, question everything.
We must endeavour to shape our world for the good of all life and the only thing that prevents our hitchhiking adventure from starting is ourselves. We constantly strive to fight the one aspect of the human spirit that is there to protect us and the one to which we are all adapted from our conception, whether we like it or not.
The struggle of modern society will continue until we relight the genetic fire within.
T H E L A S T D A Y: Wednesday 10th June
A railway station is one of those wonderful places that is at once uniform and ordered by the straight and perpendicular while thriving on a mass random conglomeration of humanity in a rather strange paradox of life.
There is always something immensely soothing about relaxing with an ice cold beer in a station café bar and listening to the life around you and the gentle, rhythmic ‘swish’ of a passing train. Each individual life on board tearing by in a communal blur. Through the dark of the tunnels to the light of the day, the railway is constant in a busy, sometimes very stressful but forever changing material world.
The only break from the wonderful and timeless solace of the station is that unemotional and robotic voice telling us for the third time what most of us are able to see on the digital displays with our own eyes,
“The train now approaching platform…..”
As I look past the colourful hoardings of the station concourse I can see the old and disused sections of track where Mother Nature maintains her rightful grip on the planet. The various plants and shrubbery still thrive among the old cast iron network which has been bolted fast to the skin of the planet. Rigid and organised human lines amidst the beautiful chaos of nature, colours of green and violet diffusing a grey and ordered world.
The railway station provides a warming enclave from the chaos of society that spreads outside its confines and is a place that is supposed to be regulated, safe, secure and spontaneous all at the same time. A paradox created by life itself in which I feel free to think, watch and listen, eavesdropping on passing conversations and experiencing the secret joy of overhearing complete strangers sharing their own little portion of life with me.
Life is a burden and an immense privilege all rolled into one chaotic package, full of beautiful experience and wonderful paradox.
T H E
P A R A D O X
I S
W I T H I N
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