Reality Propaganda

 

The Philosophy:

 

Things that I’ve learned. The reality of the situation is: -

·        There is only you.

·        The only thing going on is the thing in your body, in your head and in your heart. There is nothing else.

·        You can’t please all the people all the time.

·        You can’t fool all the people all the time.

·        Most people are too fucked-up with their own lives to worry about what’s going on in yours, so you might as well just get on and do your own thing.

·        Trust no one.

·        People are just the same.

·        There is no such thing as talent.

·        No one will ever understand you.

·        Honesty is just one person’s view of a lie.

·        Don’t have living people as your heroes, stick to the dead, cartoon characters or gods; the living will destroy your dreams.

·        The future is yours.

·        Fuck drugs. If you want to exist in a haze of worthlessness, where there are false emotions then fine; but if you want that edge, unblunted, undiluted then stay clean. Keep sharp.

·        If you take drugs (including alcohol) you deserve a medal for bravery. To do so knowing all the dangers and pitfalls then I take my hat off to you, I salute you. Me… I’m too much of a coward to do that sort of thing.

·        Know your own mind, be strong. Expand your knowledge. Like yourself. Love yourself. Keep on going.

·        No matter what you do always give it your best shot.

·        Never give in.

·        Look around, use your senses. Take it all in. Absorb. Save it for later; you never know when you might need it.

·        Find love.

 

 

 

v     A wider alliance that leads to new roads. Beyond the limits; holding hand, jumping off walls into dark seclusion. Cut off from mainstream of the most intimate yearnings. I left my heart somewhere on the other side. I left all desire for good.

 

Clinging to naked thought; impossible tactics worked out for improbable means. This is the final moment of respite. The final page in the book.

A bitter challenge, between old and new, with one last

warning…

As I drive to the house where I grew up I see my bedroom window; several panes of glass surrounded by red brick. This is from where I viewed the world.

Today out of that window I watched a leaf drop straight to the ground, not a swirl in the breeze, not do intricate pirouettes, but fall flat like lead from the sky. I went to investigate, looking for strings or mechanical devices that pulled it down so perfectly, that it both obeyed and disobeyed the forces of nature and physics at the same time.

My feet sunk into the November dew cast grass as I stepped out onto the hallow turf of my childhood Wembley. A once perfect pitch now littered with trees and shrubs and rosebushes. I remembered school football matches, played on similar days; played on similar grass, played with a pigs bladder encased in an absorbent material such that it allowed water to accumulate giving it the hardness of concrete, and a weight of approximately one hundred tonnes. If on those rare occasions the ball managed to leave the ground it was advisable to run for cover in case it crashed into a skinny thigh, causing numbness and redness that lasted for years to come. Heading the ball was classified as a dangerous sport, at best causing concussion at worst leading to permanent brain damage. Half time oranges and warm orange juice at full time; muddied boots welded into place by impenetrable knots.

I returned inside and looked some more. I could once see the hill and radio masts, but a holly bush obscures the view now. Not that it matters now; the masts were removed several years ago. My father used to work up there. He’d look down on the town when he worked nights and look after me from on high. He still does.

On leaving, the sun is such that I see nothing and I wave vaguely in the right direction, but can see nothing. I just imagine the shapes staring back and rub my leg where a ball once hit.

Are you that different? Do you want to be? Do you care?

All we want is enough money to pay the bills, for food, to live in warmth, somewhere decent to live. A job till we retire. Health care. It’s not much.

It’s not that we set our aspirations low; it’s just that we are realistic. We are not dreamers. We know our place.

It doesn’t matter which party is in power, our lives don’t change. While the politicians argue about what is important, while the papers discuss morality and the royal family and all the outrage and shame – we have to live our lives in these streets, on these roads, on these estates.

We are not defeatist, but neither are we optimists. We know where we stand.

And yes it would be nice if…. We won the tottery, but we know we never will.

Are we underachievers? Failing our potential or are we realists?

We know our future. Monday go to work, come home, have tea, watch a bit of telly, and it’s the same through to Friday; perhaps get a takeaway, get a video, go to the pub, go to the pictures. And the weekend? Play with the kids, do the garden, some DIY, wash the car, go to a club, watch the football, a lie in, visit friends. And then it’s back to Monday.

It’s not that we’re complaining; we can tinker at he edges, but most of it will stay the same.

It’s not a matter of class or wealth. Technology may change, tastes maybe more exotic and advertisers may want to try and persuade us otherwise, but this is what we want, and if we are lucky, this is what we get.

I’m not into selling dreams or a manifesto with a hidden agenda. We know where we are; we are used to routine; we accept what we are given. We are safe. It is only when things are thrust upon us that we run into problems, be it fame or fortune, or something that upsets the applecart.

We are anonymous people, everyday people; we have our own morals; love sex, faith, loyalty, compassion and something to believe in. we don’t want drugs, violence, rapists and child molesters.

Is this an armed rebellion of helping the poor? Who are the urban terrorists? Are they Marxist revolutionaries or thugs from the estate?

When the hangover starts and the climb down begins, are you in control?

I’ll give you an example; I was in the chip shop the other night and there was this young girl, no older than sixteen with her baby. It was cold and late; she had to take the babe out, there was no one to look after it. She dropped her chips on the floor. Everyone laughed. She didn’t have enough money to buy anymore. She scooped up some from the floor. Embarrassed she struggled with the door, the pram got wedged. I helped. She was too embarrassed to say thank you.

And while the rich and famous write the memoirs, or talk on chat shows about how it “all went wrong”. We are doing a runner at midnight, in case the bailiffs come. For us there are no journalists waiting with open chequebooks, just a hired van.

They catch fire, we catch cold.

It’s not a matter of us against them, but us against ourselves. We lest them pigeon hole us into groups or categories, to re-enforce prejudice and stereotypes; Jew, nigger, punk, weirdo, druggie, queer. We beat ourselves up, we rob ourselves blind. And who is laughing, who is pissing themselves behind the mask of authority? I think you know.

There are no rules, this is not an exclusive club; we all belong. We’re already here.

Be aware of ourselves. Start looking at yourself. It’s our lives.

 

I know more than you. A statement of fact. Ask me any question and I’ll have an answer, because I’ve seen life. I have seen the world. The streets we walk, show our ambition; show our success, reflects how far we have come and how far there is still to go.

The whole scene; photographs and words, looking at the whole picture. A yearning for power. Black and white we know where we stand. Everyone wants their own piece of land, their own space.

Power corrupts it desensitises. Money makes us slaves and makes us greedy.

Machine guns and barbed wire. Keep the animals back. Keep them in their place.

Read into it what you like. The picture is as black as you want it, but if you know the darkest times, and the bleakest depths, then there is also room for light. That is the bottom line.

Understand where you are.

They know the truth, it’s time you learned it.

 

 

Reality Propaganda is aimed at everyone. It has no specific principles; all I want is to get these words through to as many people as possible. If only one person reads and questions their life then it will all have been worth it.

 

I have always dreamt of greatness, I suppose like all children do, but those dreams have stayed with me.

As we end our teens our dreams get forgotten or pushed to one side. Life is too fast.  We are on one big conveyer belt; school, job, marriage, kids, middle age, old age, death. Before we know it our lives are gone, with only distant memories to keep us warm. You will end up in a place you don’t recognise or know how you got here. Keep dreaming kid. Keep your ambitions and goals.

Our lives become numbed by the drudgery of routine. We become desensitised. We switch off in front of the television. We become bloated on soaps, chat shows and thrillers and killers. We buy into the advertisers dream.

Snap out of it.

Step back, take a look at the stars, feel the wind and rain. That is real.

Be alive.

You can achieve.

 

Let us live while we live; let us enjoy life.

 

How good are you?

This is England. This is my life.