Monday, July 25, 2005
Not raving but frowning
Sod that. I should cut down on my internet use, certainly, but blogging can stay. I feel an odd sense of duty at the moment, anyway - and it really is odd, because people end up here when they've typed 'bee porn' into a search box, so y'know. But given that they're also coming from here, maybe it's not so odd.
This was always meant as a personal blog - somewhere to vent, offload, blurt, waffle. I write about the news for work, and while it's very much part-time, I don't usually feel the urge to put much of that in here. But I'm discovering something of a . . . what is it? A conflict. One of those.
I was not directly affected by the London attacks, and do not (yet) have to deal with what Londoners have to deal with, in what may well be a whole new state of living and being and thinking. I feel like I want to write about it, though, and who's to stop me but myself?
Yes, me. I indulge myself on here, as far as I am able. Writing about the miseries of the world right next to my own petty bothers, I fear some horrid smudging effect, whereby these gravely important events get all trampled on by some whinging about some chicken I had to throw out cos it had gone off even though it was meant to be fresh (I hate wasting food). . .like that. However, my bothers are my bothers, and whilst I am grateful that they are the sum of my complaints at present and that I am not living in fear or crippled with grief, they are still the things that fill my days, occupy my mind and make me in part who I am. Along with my joys, of course, which I do have although they may only make cameo appearances here. (Why is that? I'm such a grouch.)
I want to write about whatever is on my mind, but I want to delineate between what's only important to me and what is important to others without ascribing any relative value. And without blurring one into the other. Or sliding inelegantly from discussion of terrorism to my own selfish moping. Does that make sense? God, I'm knackered. So - yes. I suppose it's a dichotomy I'll have to live with. This is just for-the-record stuff.
The trouble - well, not necessarily trouble - is that world events often inextricably link themselves in my mind to local things or personal things, and vice versa. Get upset about one, knock down some mental dominoes, get upset about the other. Things expanding and contracting and pulsing like jellyfish, zooming in on the picture and out again. Think of the London attacks, of Londoners' resilience, of Blair's brief moment of dignity before the inevitable tumble back into obfuscation and worm-on-hook squirming; think of how indescribably, perfectly awful terrorism is, how disgraceful and spineless governments can be; think of the truly rotten things human beings are capable of; think of someone who's really upset me lately; forget about the bigger things. That's how it goes. I don't know if that's the norm, but bugger it, it's my norm (hi, Norm), and there's not much you can do about that other than be excruciatingly aware of it. Maybe that is how most minds work; maybe it's how they must work, so that they don't crumple under the weight of the world.
I'm a selfish creature, though not very good at looking after my own interests, which is probably why I consider them to such a ridiculous degree, hoping that will be enough. But I do give a shit. And I try to . . . oh, you know.
Therefore, in future I'm going to write about my life, because I can't not do, and write about other things because sometimes I feel I have to. They'll get jumbled occasionally, but I'm sure no one will be hurt - and if you are, please mail me and put your foot in my butt.
*
The Stockwell guy wasn't a terrorist. Just a 27 year old Brazilian electrician, who may have attracted suspicion by fiddling with some wires and batteries, and may have run and kept running out of sheer panic alone, or sheer panic plus a bit of coke he was using to supplement his income.
It's not anyone's fault but that of the terrorists who have brought about this new state of affairs. It is genuinely tragic. It made me realise that a change has occurred - attacks are events which you hope will be isolated, but this one stupid unneccessary death following the others shows that things have changed. It flags the place where a line was crossed, and it is insupportably sad.
And frightening, to find that the reach of terrorism extends further and further, curling its tendrils around everything - turning people against each other, turning people against themselves, and now turning the police against the citizens they're protecting. It all seems like so much puppetry.
If they'd managed to take out a terrorist the day before, this might not be so bad.
I want to stay out of the arguments about this. There will be uproar from various quarters but it just seems to me that again, everyone involved in this situation is a victim to some degree. They didn't create this mess. The shooter will have to live with it for the rest of his life. What's to be gained?
I know you've got to argue, and I'm usually more than up for it, but not this time.
This was always meant as a personal blog - somewhere to vent, offload, blurt, waffle. I write about the news for work, and while it's very much part-time, I don't usually feel the urge to put much of that in here. But I'm discovering something of a . . . what is it? A conflict. One of those.
I was not directly affected by the London attacks, and do not (yet) have to deal with what Londoners have to deal with, in what may well be a whole new state of living and being and thinking. I feel like I want to write about it, though, and who's to stop me but myself?
Yes, me. I indulge myself on here, as far as I am able. Writing about the miseries of the world right next to my own petty bothers, I fear some horrid smudging effect, whereby these gravely important events get all trampled on by some whinging about some chicken I had to throw out cos it had gone off even though it was meant to be fresh (I hate wasting food). . .like that. However, my bothers are my bothers, and whilst I am grateful that they are the sum of my complaints at present and that I am not living in fear or crippled with grief, they are still the things that fill my days, occupy my mind and make me in part who I am. Along with my joys, of course, which I do have although they may only make cameo appearances here. (Why is that? I'm such a grouch.)
I want to write about whatever is on my mind, but I want to delineate between what's only important to me and what is important to others without ascribing any relative value. And without blurring one into the other. Or sliding inelegantly from discussion of terrorism to my own selfish moping. Does that make sense? God, I'm knackered. So - yes. I suppose it's a dichotomy I'll have to live with. This is just for-the-record stuff.
The trouble - well, not necessarily trouble - is that world events often inextricably link themselves in my mind to local things or personal things, and vice versa. Get upset about one, knock down some mental dominoes, get upset about the other. Things expanding and contracting and pulsing like jellyfish, zooming in on the picture and out again. Think of the London attacks, of Londoners' resilience, of Blair's brief moment of dignity before the inevitable tumble back into obfuscation and worm-on-hook squirming; think of how indescribably, perfectly awful terrorism is, how disgraceful and spineless governments can be; think of the truly rotten things human beings are capable of; think of someone who's really upset me lately; forget about the bigger things. That's how it goes. I don't know if that's the norm, but bugger it, it's my norm (hi, Norm), and there's not much you can do about that other than be excruciatingly aware of it. Maybe that is how most minds work; maybe it's how they must work, so that they don't crumple under the weight of the world.
I'm a selfish creature, though not very good at looking after my own interests, which is probably why I consider them to such a ridiculous degree, hoping that will be enough. But I do give a shit. And I try to . . . oh, you know.
Therefore, in future I'm going to write about my life, because I can't not do, and write about other things because sometimes I feel I have to. They'll get jumbled occasionally, but I'm sure no one will be hurt - and if you are, please mail me and put your foot in my butt.
*
The Stockwell guy wasn't a terrorist. Just a 27 year old Brazilian electrician, who may have attracted suspicion by fiddling with some wires and batteries, and may have run and kept running out of sheer panic alone, or sheer panic plus a bit of coke he was using to supplement his income.
It's not anyone's fault but that of the terrorists who have brought about this new state of affairs. It is genuinely tragic. It made me realise that a change has occurred - attacks are events which you hope will be isolated, but this one stupid unneccessary death following the others shows that things have changed. It flags the place where a line was crossed, and it is insupportably sad.
And frightening, to find that the reach of terrorism extends further and further, curling its tendrils around everything - turning people against each other, turning people against themselves, and now turning the police against the citizens they're protecting. It all seems like so much puppetry.
If they'd managed to take out a terrorist the day before, this might not be so bad.
I want to stay out of the arguments about this. There will be uproar from various quarters but it just seems to me that again, everyone involved in this situation is a victim to some degree. They didn't create this mess. The shooter will have to live with it for the rest of his life. What's to be gained?
I know you've got to argue, and I'm usually more than up for it, but not this time.
