A Dangerous Election Game.

Let’s start with today’s headline in The Sun newspaper. For those who don’t know, The Sun is one of Britain’s leading tabloids:

Jezza’s Jihadi

Comrades

‘Jezza’ refers to Jeremy Corbyn, leader of the Labour Party and the man with a very slim chance of becoming Prime Minister on Friday. The Sun doesn’t want him to become Prime Minister on Friday, so they put this headline out in reference to his views on terrorism, a highly emotive subject. OK, let’s go back a step.

Terrorism is a relatively easy way to strike at a perceived enemy. Bombs can be made in a domestic kitchen, knives are very easy to get, and even guns can be obtained if you know where to look and have some ready cash. It isn’t quite as difficult, therefore, as sinking an aircraft carrier. Which means that however clever and diligent the security services are, there will always be people able to slip through the net. It’s been tragically proved several times already this year and may well be proved again before the year is out. The war against terror obviously has to be fought – nobody is denying that – but relying solely on preventative measures applied by the security services will never win it.

So let’s state a fact which should be obvious to everybody with a functioning mind. Terrorists don’t do what they do for the fun of it. Terrorism isn’t a hobby. As unpalatable as the fact might be to the majority of us, they do it because they believe in the rightness of it, and many of them are prepared to give their own lives for a cause to which they have become dedicated. That’s radicalisation, and that’s what has to be eroded if terrorism is to be beaten. You need to stop people wanting to do it.

Corbyn is an intelligent man who understands this, and so that’s the sort of language he speaks. I think it likely that the editor of The Sun understands it, too, but he knows it isn’t what people want to hear. Most people want revenge; a good many people want Muslims vilified and tightly controlled; and there are people who want all the brown faces loaded onto a ship and sent somewhere else. They don’t want reason and a carefully considered approach, even when that approach is ultimately the only way to stop innocent people having their lives and limbs scattered to the winds.

And here’s the really bad bit: when tabloids use the kind of headlines quoted above, they’re tapping into and feeding the prejudice and bigotry of the hate merchants down at the lower levels of the intellectual spectrum. In so doing, they’re driving the wedge even further into the gap between Us and the Others and exacerbating the conditions which encourage radicalisation to flourish. As such, it wouldn’t be fanciful to suggest that tabloids are partly responsible for the spread of terrorism. And that’s what makes them dangerous.

Ah, but The Sun needs to sell copy in order to attract advertising, and The Sun doesn’t want Jeremy Corbyn (or Jezza, as he might be known to a user of colloquial street-speak and reader of tabloids) to become Prime Minister on Friday…

Donald's Delusion.

Trump Claims Credit for Qatar Isolation…

… shouts the headline. It appears Mr Trump believes that his Middle East trip is ‘already paying off’, and that it might end terrorism.

End terrorism? Does he really believe that, or should we take it as a sign that he:

a. Is a complete imbecile, or maybe twisting the facts (one or other of which was certainly true in the case of his tweet against Sadiq Khan, the Mayor of London.)

b. Believes that Americans are complete imbeciles and therefore likely to take him seriously.

c. Has an ego so dangerously over-cooked that the Oval Office might one day have a ceiling spattered with the projected remnants of whatever passes for a brain.

Well, given recent events and ongoing investigations, I suppose it’s understandable that he should clutch at straws. But I wonder whether he realises that in the eyes of the world he is looking like the consummate loser. (There have been calls in Britain this week to have his proposed state visit later in the year cancelled. Boris Johnson says he sees no reason to comply, but then Boris ever was out of step with the public mood and most aspects of reality.)

The HSP and the Recluse.

Here’s another take on the HSP problem, deduced from my own observations as a foremost member of the club:

Being cursed (or gifted if you want to be politically correct in the New Age) with acute awareness and a highly sensitive response faculty, you’re naturally inclined to eschew normal human environments because they’re so full of stuff (and people) which drives you mad. This becomes more manifest as you grow older, when the pressure to play the game in social, familial and work environments eases. That’s when the development of a reclusive mindset becomes more active and the need to live a more reclusive lifestyle more compelling. And that’s when the real problem starts.

As you become more reclusive, levels of awareness and sensitivity grow. In effect you become more and more of an HSP. You find yourself becoming increasingly attuned to more subtle influences like natural imperatives and climatic ‘moods.’ And when that happens, a cold, dreary, wet, windy twilight can crush you almost to despair.

It isn’t very nice. And nobody understands and nobody cares, except maybe another HSP who feels the same way, but who you’re unlikely to meet because you’re both recluses…

So if you know somebody who gets crushed by a cold, dreary, wet, windy twilight (or anything vaguely similar), please don’t tell them to ‘stop being silly.’ Be aware that they’re probably an HSP and feel things you don’t.

Being Odd.

I wonder how many people would continue to read this blog if they knew how absurdly fanciful I can be, and how laughably unrealistic in my desires.

For example, when I say that I suspect I’m not human but some other form of life living in a human body, I’m not entirely joking. When I say that a woman crept into my heart ten years ago and her ghost lingers there still, stubbornly resisting all attempts at exorcism, I really do accept the fact however ludicrous it seems even to me. (Sometimes I see her eyes looking at me; I see no other part of her, just her eyes.) And did you know that I detest the Id? Deep down I find sex disgusting, the desire to eat and drink a sign of weakness, and the need of supportive companionship offensive. So what do they offend exactly? The higher mind, of course. My relationship with my Ego is one of reluctant tolerance, but the only part of my psyche which I consider worthy of the effort to take seriously and develop is the Super Ego.

Could that be why I feel like an alien, I wonder? Or am I – as my highly esteemed friend Maddie from Upstate New York avers – just another deviant who doesn’t fit in with the culture I’ve been saddled with?

And are you going to stop reading this blog now?

*  *  *

Meanwhile, the leaden clouds of disturbance and change are gathering and growing by the day, and even the weather is riding over the hill like Blucher to swell their ranks. Today has been cold, windy, wet, and laden with gloom. My mood tonight is worse than sombre.

A Bit of a Cheat.

I’m going to be lazy now. I can’t be bothered to make a proper post so I thought I’d copy a comment I made on YouTube. Is that cheating? I suppose it is, but when you’re pining for a lost connection all is permissible.

Somebody said he got goosebumps when listening to Hans Zimmer’s end music to The Da Vinci Code. A woman said that she did, too. A third person asked: ‘Why goosebumps? I don’t get it.’

I don’t usually reply to YouTube comments because most of them irritate the hell out of me, but I decided that that one warranted a little thought. So that’s what I did, and wrote

I'd say that goosebumps happen when a piece of music touches something deep inside which we're not generally aware of. Often it has a heroic slant, especially if it concerns a quest for something profound which is beyond the physical and commonplace, in this case a truth which touches on the mystical.

Such a phenomenon would pass the pragmatist by, but to a person of Romantic sensibility (note the upper case R), it can well evoke not just goosebumps, but floods of tears. It's about climbing the mountain and finding the answer to life, which I suppose is why Zimmer took the music up through the keys.

That's my take on it anyway. Others might see it differently.

Will that do from a man who is pining for a lost connection?

Ominous.

There’s a day looming which is causing me a lot of disquiet, but this evening I thought: ‘It’s only a day. When it’s over it will be followed by a different day.’

And then I remembered an old Irish folk song called The Streets of Derry which has the opening lines:

After the morning there comes an evening

And after evening another day

‘Quite, quite, how apposite,’ I thought (me being a reluctant and most basic poet who can’t shake the habit of making things rhyme without conscious intent.) But then I remembered what the song is about. It’s about a man who is to be publicly executed the next day and is wondering whether his lady love will come along to watch, or whether she will be too ashamed. Yo?

You can listen to it if you like. Even those for whom folk music is the ultimate turn off will get to find out whether she turned up or not.

Today and a Note to Donald.

Want more whinges? OK, but I’ll keep them short:

1. The winds of change strengthened and altered direction again.

2. There was more external disturbance, so more internal disturbance.

3. It’s one week since the total eclipse happened and the effects continue to bite, only I’ve decided that the analogy of black clouds is not sufficiently apposite. It feels more like waves of black sludge that sweep over me several times a day and threaten to drown me. They won’t, I’m sure, but they don’t help in the business of coping with everything else.

Apart from that, nothing much happened to prompt deep thought, and there were none of those bits of subtle humour that are sometimes encountered in innocuous situations. Or maybe I’m just not in the mood to spot them.

(I did find two dead birds and a dead squirrel on the road, though, and wondered whether I’m the only person who cares about dead birds and squirrels.)

*  *  *

But I think it’s about time somebody told Donald Trump that he’s way behind the times. All this talk of making America great, and all this stomping around telling China what the USA will and will not accept in the South China Sea recalls the bad old days of empire building.

Donald, those days are in the past. They were flagging at the end of the 19^th century, and they gave up the ghost during the 20^th when country after country became independent. We Europeans know that, the Russians know that, the Chinese know that, the Japanese know that. Now is not the time for trying to demonstrate superiority; now is the time for cooperating in the cause of trying to keep the planet reasonably habitable. And don’t think that just because the British Prime Minister trots at your heel like an obedient lapdog, you’re right. She’s just a sad woman who thinks she can emulate Thatcher and is failing miserably.

So do grow up, Donald. Or wise up. Or give the job to somebody who is more clued up. And if you do intend to stay in the White House, consider taking lessons in English, History, and Ethics.

Having the Wrong Label.

The problem with being thought wise is that you get set up to be shot at. There always comes a point when some little foible or sensibility or neurosis, or maybe some prejudice which you haven’t been able to shake off yet however much you’ve tried to rid yourself of all childhood conditioning (which is where most prejudices come from, I think), shows itself and you stand accused. And then you are condemned. And then the firing squad arrives and down you go.

I’m really not very wise, but for some reason there are people who think I am and I wish they wouldn’t. It puts pressure on you not to show your imperfections. How do you remain authentic if you hide your imperfections?

Wise or not, I am at least aware of the fact that I’ve been very introspective on this blog lately. I dislike that; I consider it one of my imperfections that I wear my heart, mind and personality on my sleeve, but I have to do it if I’m to be authentic. I like authentic.

And there’s a lot going on in my little world lately, both externally and internally. Among other things, the total eclipse of the sun which happened last weekend has left a legacy in its wake: bands of black cloud keep sweeping in from the west, darkening the day and leaving me groping for a light. And all without any reasonable justification whatsoever. That’s how wise I’m not.

Not Quite Being Heathcliff.

It struck me coming back from my walk today that there are some notable similarities between my situation and that of Heathcliff in the second half of Wuthering Heights. It further struck me how fortunate it is that I am neither as rich as him, as engaging as him, nor as brutal as him. And I was led to hope that my own version of Catherine Earnshaw does not predecease me, since I wouldn’t relish digging into a grave just so that I can lie next to the coffin.

And there’s a problem in me saying this because the vast majority of people have been – or so it seems to me – led astray in their perception of Cathy and Heathcliff’s relationship by countless misconceived adaptations of the novel. I would like to point people to my own thoughts on the matter here, since the parallels will then be more apposite. I do realise, however, that it’s a big ask and unreasonable of me to expect it.

Devastation Past and Future.

I hate these days when I can’t think of anything to write to the blog.

I could explain the nature of my winds of change problem, but I estimate it would take a 2,000 word essay and that’s way too long for a blog post. I could explain why events in the Shire at the weekend crushed the will to live out of me (temporarily – the will to live is now back; now is the time for sudden showers of dark rain and dull aches.) But I won’t because that would take an even longer essay, the implication being that it isn’t quite what regular visitors and interested parties might think.

*  *  *

So what should I talk about? Should I fall back on the old favourite, Trump? Should I state what is obvious to virtually everybody except Trump supporters? OK, I’ll state the obvious:

Trump is pulling America out of the Paris climate deal. He says that American economic interests are more important than trying to save the planet from increasing devastation. Maybe he thinks that America won’t suffer the effects of climate change, or maybe he hopes that the worst of them won’t happen in his lifetime so he doesn’t care. How should I know? You’d need an electron microscope to even find Trump’s mind, let alone fathom how it works.

What is fairly apparent at the moment, however, is that America’s position as leader of the free world is looking increasingly untenable. I said in an earlier post that putting America first doesn’t sit in easy accord with making America great. Well, here you have it. China’s star, on the other hand, was given a boost today when they said they would honour the agreement. But then, Chinese culture is underpinned by Taoist, Buddhist and Confuscianist philosophy, and it has a long history on its side.