Oooh, I Need a Dirty Woman, Oooh, I Need a Dirty Girl

Right, now that I've got your attention... (Well, ish. There is actually a sort of reason for the title, apart from it coming from an awesome Floyd song.)

Here's something I don't think I've ever discussed here. I'm somewhat of a nihilist - I see most things as concepts, as ideas, and not much more. Logically, these ideas and concepts don't actually exist, but we act and behave as if they are, because it's easier, and helps us explain what's going on when there is no explanation. Mental software, if you will.

Just by reading this, you're doing it (yes, I know the concept of a reader is ludicrous, but run with it). These words don't actually mean anything, they're just symbols, that you then give a meaning to based on what you've been taught. Fairly simple, and the upshot is exactly the same, as long as you and I have been taught the same thing. Dictionaries are powerful tools.

That's all fairly menial, not really all that complicated. So let's take it a bit further. Time to use the E word: emotion (insert generic dramatic music). Science has shown that emotional states are caused by some sort of chemical balance/imbalance that's far too complicated for me to enough imagine understanding, but the theory is simple enough. This is scientific fact, not too controversial, admittedly, but fact nonetheless, and so the only idiots who would take it on are the Bible Belt preachers.

But "happiness," "sadness," "fear," "lust" (I said there was a reason for the title), and all the rest of them are all, logically, concepts. "Happiness" doesn't exist as anything else but an interpretative state - like words. The chemicals themselves are just there, and our body reacts accordingly, based on how it interprets these chemicals. That's all very well and fine, if not at all romantic. That hot girl isn't what causes the lust directly, she just causes the chemicals to move around a bit.

Therefore, it must be wrong to say "I am happy" or "I am sad" or any other feeling. I can't be "happy," it doesn't exist, it's just that the chemicals were in a state that was pleasurable. This one act of logic pretty much destroys the concept of emotion, turning us all into fleshy Daleks.

Except, obviously, apart from all the stupid fighting we get into, we have, sometimes, saved the odd life.

I struggled with this for a while, like a lot of things, it didn't make sense. If "happiness"doesn't exist, what the hell was that drug I'd taken when I saw the pyramids through Cairo's hazy horizon?

Then something hit me while I was picking up skittles. Metaphorically speaking, of course, none of the pins or balls have hit me yet.

What if we consider "happiness," not as an emotion, but as analogy. Doesn't make it any more real, but lets us play around with it a bit more. A bit like melting some weaponry down, and turning them into something useful. I can't explain why we let these ideas affect us, or rather why we consider them as something more than concepts, but we have to. Even Hitler felt something, not nice things, but things nonetheless. I can't explain this paradox. Someone probably can, and I'm sure a psychiatrist would probably say this whole thing was a load of - in the words of Ford Prefect - dingo's kidneys. But if I consider these emotions as analogies of what is actually going on, it's suddenly a lot easier to justify it all.

When I say "I am happy," it's an analogy for the chemical state that's being caused, and my unconscious willingness to accept it. Makes things much easier, and means that I can actually still use these concepts do describe myself. No need to break any annoying habits that I've picked with them (like learning to stop saying "thank God" when I was old enough to have picked the saying up, but then realise what I was actually saying). The best thing about it is that, to all intents and purposes, I hadn't got anywhere, just seeing things in a slightly different way. And that realisation made me happy. Oh, see what I did there?!

Right, now that that's solved, where that dirty girl gone...

And gathered on the Cenotaph, they all agreed with hand on heart to sheath the sacrificial knives. But then...

Ok, here's something that's nice and uncomfortable.

The right wing media, spearheaded as always by Rupert Murdoch, inevitably likes to bring up the armed forces, or "heroes" as we're supposed to consider them, and heap all sorts of praise and admiration on them. Can't blame them, they're right wing, it's what they do. Just like an infant can't help shit itself.

But, as a pacifist (though I'm willing to acknowledge the existence of a just war, but the only example of that to me, in modern times at least, would be the Second World War), I can't accept their titles as "peacekeepers." I'm not interested in discussing the actual reason why we're in Afghanistan, or anywhere else, the reasons are far too complex for some pretentious little shit in a bedroom to even imagine understanding.

Let's consider things from the very top, the Ministry of Defence; an Orwellian name if ever I saw one. What part of "let's go into another country and topple the leader" sounds like "Defence"? No, I'm not interested in a discussion about the merits of Hussein either, but the war was an inarguable attack by us. Legal/just or not, "we" were the attacking party. Ministry of Defence, indeed.

These "heroes" have all, for whatever reason or cause, have all decided that they are willing to kill. As far as I'm concerned, doesn't matter what uniform you're wearing, if you intentionally kill someone, that's murder. It's not a moral or ethical issue, it's a simple one: what right does anyone have to destroy the existence of another?

So we are being asked to commemorate, to feel indebted towards, to glorify all these people who are willing to serve an entity to its fullest, and put them on pedestals, and call them "heroes." They want us to thank them for killing?

Fuck off.

But I will be the first to accept that it's not their fault that we are at war, nor that they are ultimately responsible for the overall outcome; they are, after all, only following orders. Which is what makes me uncomfortable.

They are all, obviously, not bloodthirsty ogres looking for a meal. But in the same way, I cannot see them as the noble protectors of the people, slaying the dragon that ate the rather nice looking princess.

Its not helped by the fact that so many people have been taken in by the right wing media, and believe in their heroic qualities. I'm reminded of the commentary on some football game; after a wayward shot from some way out, the commentator would ask: "is he brave? Or is he stupid?"

I can only ask the same question of the people who willingly join armies. To me, at least, I can think of very little more shameful than being a soldier. To have willingly joined an organisation that openly ignores the humanity in people.

So when I see parades of soldiers, people cheering them all on, thanking them, praising them, the same people who decry the same parades made by the Nazis or Soviets, I get that same sickness I get when I see the Union Flag. That uncomfortable detestment of all that it represents. And the worst part is the knowledge that there are people who have the nerve to openly disagree with me, that this view is, or at least seems to be, in the minority.

Hydref eto a bydd yntau gyda'r dail.

Yes, I know...

Anyway, I've been off for weeks now and have, of course, used that time wisely. By doing nothing. Filling my days with crap, getting up in the afternoon, going to bed after the street lights have gone off - and everything in the middle a bit like the filling of a mini roll - looks nice, tastes ok, but hardly the highlight of the day.

And as per usual, the hours before sleep are filed with assorted musings about life, the universe and everything, before I eventually wake up at some stupid hour again, ready to ignore and forget any resolve I had.

The musings of late have been strikingly similar to the last few posts, and as you can guess by the gap, I'd forgotten about them. So, re-reading the words of an absolute immature git, what struck me?

I haven't gone anywhere.

You'd have thought that seven (or however many) months down the line, I'd have finally got bored of trying to solve the universe in a paragraph, but apparently not. Asking "what's the point?" a million times, disguised in a million different ways is, of course, ultimately futile, etc, etc. I've been here before.

And will go there again at some point, I'm sure, racing around that same circle, over and over. Nice. I can't be arsed to go through all the shite I've written here, but I'm fairly sure that I'd still agree with it all, in some form. Maybe.

Quite frankly, I'm bored. I've lived in the same house, doing the same things on the same planet for nearly nineteen years, never daring to go out, because I've settled into this same pattern that people expect me to follow, which is fair enough, and can't be arsed to go through the whole culture shock of revealing that I have an extra ear on my shoulder, or whatever, and the reaction that that would give.

Ok, bad example. But the point is, things have got stale. To take the half-arsed food analogy to the end, variety is the spice of life. Yes, I'm well aware that anyone who uses that saying sounds like an utter twat. I've got a vague recollection that I've mentioned at some point that I have this stupid and futile need to justify all that I do, in some way (pathetic, isn't it?), and I don't like spicy food. So if I were to suddenly say, "ah, go on! Cover the chips in pepper or whatever little black bits people put on food for some stupid reason!" I would get weird looks. That's ok, that's nothing new, I encourage it. But I just can't be arsed to deal with those looks. Do I really want pepper on the chips that much?

Ok, I'm going to stop with the food analogy there, hopefully it makes some sort of sense (I highly doubt it), because I have a (cunning) plan. Or more a sort of experiment. Just run with it. Anyway, on the futile notion that there is someone actually reading this (ha!), I have a proposition. It's called:

Rent-a-Rant

Yes it's audience participation time! On the basis that my mind is simply re-visiting old ground in some pathetic attempt to be deep and meaningful (yeah! (the sarcasm is, hopefully, palpable)), I'm inviting you, the aforementioned non-existent, imagined reader (let's face it, after however many months, even fucking Stephen Hawking has got up, turned off the light and left), to suggest something for me to express an opinion on.

Despite the name, I'm not charging, you can give me money if you really want, (please don't...), just something I haven't covered. There's a lot, I know, but my thinking is that something random to bullshit on might kick this braindead fucker into action. Or not, it doesn't matter. I would say that I will continue to write regardless, but at my current rate, that's a pretty stupid thing to say.

If, like me, you too can't be arsed to do much, and have skipped to the end, what I've said, in a nutshell is this:

I'm bored, give me something to do. Please!