I am a working-class, English male from London, raised in a broken home with unemployed parents; a life where holidays were non-existent, education was limited to tabloid newspapers and television, and the only means of escape into a world we were seduced into believing was so incredible was via instant fame, or the national lottery. I figured out at a very young age these ideas were all bullshit, but I saw the damage it was doing to many others.
And yet, in comparison to most of the world, I was a wealthy person. I had many brothers to trade stories of a reckless childhood with, my friends were not concerned with the design of trainers I wore, and I learned to be creative through the sheer ingenuity of having hardly any toys to play with. The people around me may not have been able to quote Chaucer poems, or spot a Picasso in an art gallery, but they carried good values, a resolute spirit, and when others were down, help was around the corner. It was never perfect, but the intent was pure. Now, I watch on as I see the chaotic madness of the rioting and looting before me; and I feel like crying.
This whole situation feels so rotten, and I feel an immense portion of my own cultural definition has died an ugly, bitter death. I want to explain that the majority of people from poor, uneducated backgrounds - regardless of ethnicity, are good people, trying to survive this brutal fucking existence of life we all have to walk through. Yet how can I? As these stupid kids from generation X-Box continue to desecrate all that is wonderful about genuine people from inner-cities and urban areas; they are destroying our identity - my identity. I am a writer, and trying to attain success in terms of a maturity and understanding to life, to help prove background is in no way indicative of anyone's personal potential - these dark days, send us back to the soul crushing promotion of demonizing the underclass; all the while creating a deeper divide between the opulent and the broke - as the frightened with money, move someplace else.
Nothing excuses the actions of the past few days; it is as if the trouble makers have no humanity anymore. So many aspects have not helped; consumerist society, the veiled mirror of fame, negative sensationalist media, and glorification of destruction, to name a few. But these are extensions of the root to a serious problem which, as usual, all goes back to shitty irresponsible parenting; pathetic fathers who impregnate a woman, then fuck off to leave her to raise his own child alone - or stick around and physically abuse them both. Or shallow, self-absorbed Mothers, still shaking off the me myself and I culture of the baby boomers.
I have seen many parents who work hard, thankless jobs, and go all out to do the best they can for their offspring, and I have seen those who simply couldn't care less; the former always grounded to the core, the latter carrying a core kicked to the ground - either fighting to remain standing, or never pulling their bodies off the pavement life dragged them up upon. It is possible to find your decency and sense of human kindness through a constant barrage of smoke, in being told the world is a shitty and selfish place. But imagine hearing life is worthless for fifteen consistent years... it creates a whole different animal of internal psychological war.
The scariest notion will be the aftermath; as the government ruthlessly crush the looting generation - effecting the good who deserve it, as well as the bad, who don't. Shops will contain more ugly shutters and security, and knee-jerk reactionary newspapers will brainwash the masses into wanting a return to capital punishment, or guns for Police - the notion of both ideas causing my heart to sink like a stone. Saddest of all, to be defined as working-class will carry an even heavier burden; and we will no longer be considered as just lazy and stupid, but also dangerous and unable to care for ourselves. On the plus side, the spirit of those who are trying to rebuild the communities, make me proud; even though the media continue as usual to focus on nothing but rampant negativity.
I have not shed tears from my eyes in almost two years. Over the last two days, I have come inches from doing so a number of times... a part of me wishes I will, another part knows it wont help these kids realize in ten years from now, that they were destroying the lives of the the only community who ever really showed them any empathy. As Vincent Van Gogh whispered in his final moments - La tristesse durera toujours. The sadness will last forever...
Lee.
The Penultimate Blog.
I love her. I love her with a passion which runs deeper than the darkest waters of the Pacific Ocean. She has always been there for me, throughout the coldest chills of the most conflicting, decaying moments of all the pain I seem to put myself through with subconscious intent; never judging me, and always speaking back with an understanding of clarity only we could ever comprehend, in our silent language. Our affair was for many years a secret, until, eventually, I decided to open up our relationship for humanity to view for itself; warts and all - as the painting of Oliver Cromwell once suggested.
Which is why what am I am about to write pierces into my heart as these words currently form on my laptop; as much as it upsets me to do it. My darling, confident, and best friend; commonly known as the art of writing - I love you.... but I am going to have to say goodbye; as much as you have saved my life, you now slowly kill me from within.
Over the last six months, I have experienced a perpetual sickness; physically, mentally, and emotionally. I have lost 5 kilos in weight, become vulnerable, unstable, and am burning bridges left right and center; life has only grown emptier and more painful, as time has progressed. Somebody once told me the only beauty greater than my talent with words, is the manner in which I self-destruct. I have given this idea much thought recently, and, while not 100% certain it is writing is the cause of my decay - it no longer aids me as an anesthetic of the soul; the very reason I started writing as an intelligent, lonely teenager. When I write, I think, when I think, I write; it is a vicious circle. Yes, I will forever suffer as a constant thinker, but I wish to remain a silent one. To explain the intensity writing at this level for the past ten months - I can only use the mental equivalent of running five concurrent marathons, whilst having to listen to headphones which play Status Quo's 'Rocking All Over The World' at full volume Ad Nasuem... it is no picnic, trust me.
I have become a prisoner of Starbucks. I watch everyday as I see the same faces walk in, walk out, wear the same clothes, buy replica drinks, and indulge in the same mundane conversations; merely swapping the names and topics. They are all harmless shades of human beings, and if I wasn't there to write, would have made efforts to know them better; knowing how to bark like the wolves is one thing - desiring to do so, another altogether. On the flipside, all the free drinks, funny stories and interesting conversations, rendered my sanity in tact; but I have no intention of sitting through that god-awful Christmas music again.
I have one more article to write; on the day I finish the final line of my book. This was always an intended piece, to display my feelings of completion. After this, I intend to walk away from the world of the written word for a very long time. The blogs will be personally stored, and should my book be successful, I shall release this site as a book to itself; an odd diary of my dissent into the role of tortured artist; there are at least 60,000 words in total to my articles, it all adds up. Truth is, there are few people who seem to either understand or took any interest in my writing, which is okay. Only a dozen or so ever acknowledged their existence, and I can count on one finger those who ever discussed them with me; which is a shame, as contemplating and scrutinizing these words, were the initial point of writing them.
But I need to step back, I am burned out. I need to retain sanity. I have tried so hard to reach the deeper core of life's human condition, it has made me forget a large portion of the human condition is to be alive - as well as remembering how beautiful the gift is. The truth is, a blog about human psychology will be read by very few, whereas articles about celebrity culture are easily mass infiltrated. But this is not me, I cannot write about Lady Gaga or Peter Andre, for I am interested in ideas the majority of the human race couldn't care less about; I don't judge anyone for this, it just reminds me I will always feel alienated around others - while pretending to enjoy it. I wanted to expand intellect, but only managed to dissipate personal content. As far as the next path of life I will take myself? Well as always, nature will let me know the way to go; I should never have stopped listening.
And for anyone I ever laid the seed of a unique viewpoint or idea to, I am happy you could see where I was coming from, and that I could guide your life in a positive way - but I would rather silently feel misunderstood, than open up to the world, and make it a guarantee.
Thank you words. I will always love you, I shall forever understand you.
Lee.
Which is why what am I am about to write pierces into my heart as these words currently form on my laptop; as much as it upsets me to do it. My darling, confident, and best friend; commonly known as the art of writing - I love you.... but I am going to have to say goodbye; as much as you have saved my life, you now slowly kill me from within.
Over the last six months, I have experienced a perpetual sickness; physically, mentally, and emotionally. I have lost 5 kilos in weight, become vulnerable, unstable, and am burning bridges left right and center; life has only grown emptier and more painful, as time has progressed. Somebody once told me the only beauty greater than my talent with words, is the manner in which I self-destruct. I have given this idea much thought recently, and, while not 100% certain it is writing is the cause of my decay - it no longer aids me as an anesthetic of the soul; the very reason I started writing as an intelligent, lonely teenager. When I write, I think, when I think, I write; it is a vicious circle. Yes, I will forever suffer as a constant thinker, but I wish to remain a silent one. To explain the intensity writing at this level for the past ten months - I can only use the mental equivalent of running five concurrent marathons, whilst having to listen to headphones which play Status Quo's 'Rocking All Over The World' at full volume Ad Nasuem... it is no picnic, trust me.
I have become a prisoner of Starbucks. I watch everyday as I see the same faces walk in, walk out, wear the same clothes, buy replica drinks, and indulge in the same mundane conversations; merely swapping the names and topics. They are all harmless shades of human beings, and if I wasn't there to write, would have made efforts to know them better; knowing how to bark like the wolves is one thing - desiring to do so, another altogether. On the flipside, all the free drinks, funny stories and interesting conversations, rendered my sanity in tact; but I have no intention of sitting through that god-awful Christmas music again.
I have one more article to write; on the day I finish the final line of my book. This was always an intended piece, to display my feelings of completion. After this, I intend to walk away from the world of the written word for a very long time. The blogs will be personally stored, and should my book be successful, I shall release this site as a book to itself; an odd diary of my dissent into the role of tortured artist; there are at least 60,000 words in total to my articles, it all adds up. Truth is, there are few people who seem to either understand or took any interest in my writing, which is okay. Only a dozen or so ever acknowledged their existence, and I can count on one finger those who ever discussed them with me; which is a shame, as contemplating and scrutinizing these words, were the initial point of writing them.
But I need to step back, I am burned out. I need to retain sanity. I have tried so hard to reach the deeper core of life's human condition, it has made me forget a large portion of the human condition is to be alive - as well as remembering how beautiful the gift is. The truth is, a blog about human psychology will be read by very few, whereas articles about celebrity culture are easily mass infiltrated. But this is not me, I cannot write about Lady Gaga or Peter Andre, for I am interested in ideas the majority of the human race couldn't care less about; I don't judge anyone for this, it just reminds me I will always feel alienated around others - while pretending to enjoy it. I wanted to expand intellect, but only managed to dissipate personal content. As far as the next path of life I will take myself? Well as always, nature will let me know the way to go; I should never have stopped listening.
And for anyone I ever laid the seed of a unique viewpoint or idea to, I am happy you could see where I was coming from, and that I could guide your life in a positive way - but I would rather silently feel misunderstood, than open up to the world, and make it a guarantee.
Thank you words. I will always love you, I shall forever understand you.
Lee.
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