Rhetorical questions round a rectangular dining table
Vol.7 “The Births, Deaths and Marriages” Edition. And why don’t I remember anniversaries any more?
Vol.7 “The Births, Deaths and Marriages” Edition. And why don’t I remember anniversaries any more?
I was spit balling and verbally jousting with my Cultural Affairs Editor this morning and boy was he in a pugnacious mood. Our long association together easily lends itself to the obvious of warning signs: a twirling of his ridiculous moustache, strident and full throated proclamations, even down to that look, the look that requires no further explanation as he slams the door to his office in a final and somewhat triumphant full stop. I often picture him then punching the air with sheer delight before sloping into his gently reclining office chair whilst slipping off his shoes and in one sweeping motion, depositing his legs upon his desk and releasing a guttural growl of self satisfaction. I can only picture this as we sound proofed his office and installed time delayed locks on his door long ago.
But please do not worry or concern yourself, it’s for his own protection. He doesn’t get out much these days, what with the time delayed locks and the security guards, but when he does he seems intent on burning down every bridge he can and today it was my turn. In what I can only describe as a vicious diatribe and tirade he set about censorship, politics, the arts and one word, one continual word that will haunt me until I can lure a couple of hungry wolves surreptitiously into his office tomorrow, and after I’ve removed the soundproofing and installed more CCTV cameras: relevancy. That moustachioed bastard said I wasn’t relevant anymore. How dare he?
“Relevancy” he kept uttering, over and over again, rising louder and louder akin to a magical incantation, eyes bulging, chest puffed and a solid index finger pointing, rather vigorously it has to be said too, in my direction. “You’re not relevant any more” he screamed, a face now an angry purple as he scoffed at my ideas of Prime Minister’s and World Leaders distracting us all with a war that no-one wants and their parroted speeches that show them, and not me, to be irrelevant. “They always take us to war!” he retorted, twirling his moustache before hitting me with the absolute kicker and the absolute reason why I’m going to set those wolves loose in his office tomorrow, “JFK is your favourite film you dumb shit, and Donald Sutherland tells you in the middle of the movie!”. This gave rise to that odious look, that horrible knowing look of having me over the proverbial barrel and when I raised my anger filled eyes from the floor he’d slammed his office door and was now presumably celebrating yet another editorial triumph and laughing uproariously at his own self importance. When tomorrow I deliberately allow him to triumph and belittle me once again in this way, there may be a couple of my wild friends awaiting his return.
Then we’ll see how funny he finds life then, won’t we?
Why am I telling you all this? Well frankly, and at this stage in our proceedings, I have absolutely no idea. Could this be construed as a confession of sorts? I guess that depends on how hungry the wolves are tomorrow but I definitely need a new guiding light in the cultural affairs of my life. Every story and every tangent was dismissed today with that repeating and haunting word: “relevancy” and I don’t think I can hear that throaty scoff of his anymore. He had no ideas of his own, just dismissals, that word, that cocking of his nose and twirling of his ridiculous moustache. The bulging eyes of his religious incantations replaced with the black and soulless eyes of disinterest and disdain as I animatedly pointed out the ridiculousness of liberals and free speech advocates screaming for the deletion of people’s speech whilst then bemoaning the fact that one of their gang had been suspended after using their free speech. A chortle? A guffaw? A titter even? After receiving only a dead eyed stare ahead I laughed at the absurdity of how we’ve all been hoodwinked into believing that politics is now a sport and how discussions and debate now centre on how someone is “rebounding” or “refocussing” and “leading the country” and roundly celebrated where just days before they were being hounded onto the substitutes bench. This is where I became particularly animated, my voice rising in octaves that I didn’t know I owned, screeching loudly how an article of mine on the ridiculousness of following a political personality in the zeitgeist of the cult of personality and how that can only lead to cults and cultish behaviour. I’d include a rapier wit takedown on how we all fall into the trap of identity politics and how this has fused into politics in general, before questioning how liberals of today are screaming for the censorship that their forebears in the movement deemed so sacred. I’d posit the question of how has all this happened? I’d have my readers rolling in the virtual aisles, kicking their heels in the air as I regale them on the absurdity of a system that is slowly eating itself to a bloated morass of nothingness. This is relevancy I probably screamed, the bitter tears of rejection now tumbling down my cheeks like a Presidential approval rating needing an injection of war. “I am relevant” isn’t exactly “I am Spartacus”, but we’re all relevant, aren’t we?
The slamming of his office door clearly signified that our conversation was at an end and to spite him I’m going to pen that article, under a nom de plume, and hawk it around the market as eagerly as a sales representative for an arms manufacturer whenever they begin that haunting beat of their own war drums. I may even give myself the ridiculous moniker of “Winston Wolf” and a final in joke that’s clearly dependent upon him falling into my wild animal trap in the morning. Who knows? What is clear and abundantly apparent is that I need reassert my authority in this department and show these damn kids that I’m down with them, I’m on their level and I can clearly hear the word on the street. And what better way to do this than to show these digitised children in our electrical Matrix of pure wonder that local newspapers used to have a rather popular section towards the back, and what a wonderous joy it all was?
Do local, or even national newspapers still have that thing of beauty and a “Births, Deaths and Marriages” section? It may also be known as the “Announcements” section but no matter, when you’d ploughed your way through your newspaper, from yesterday’s news on the front pages of today’s newspaper, past the older news that still dominates today’s news, the feature articles, the TV listings perhaps and then a number of pages routinely denigrated as “filler”, you reached nirvana. And what a cave of wonders it was! From the announcement of a local city councillor who your uncle swears he went to school with to the sale of an old bicycle or a stamp collection via the delights of impending marriages and the sad passing of time for loved ones and the notices for their day of earthly departing appreciation. This was heightened still further if you’d inserted a notice into the newspaper yourself, a sale perhaps or a posting on the “Wanted” sub section and boy did that make the heart sing! And why not? Your words, plain as day, reproduced in a newspaper for all the world to see! Naturally your heart was thumping out of your chest at this point but still you had a “Lost and Found” section, a horoscope perhaps and maybe even a “Lonely Hearts” column before you absently minded read the sports section, but with empty headed daydreams of buying the bike you always wanted and a nagging question of why is the councillor always a middle aged man wearing a cheap suit and an even cheaper smile?
It was an exciting time wasn’t it? Yes you can do all this and so much more in a fraction of the time it’s taken me to write this article, but write and be damned seems to be the mantra of The Matrix and it’s one of the only rules I’m willing to obediently follow. Why go to the hassle of thumbing your way through a newspaper to get to the juicy bits when it’s immediately available in the palm of your hand? Lots of things are available in the palm of your hands my friends, but some of these cause blindness, so stop it! But why indeed? Now you and I can announce, sell, buy, read our horoscopes and snag a dating partner with a few quick flashes of an even fewer number of fingers and voila! Who has time for such indulgences as to relax with a newspaper and gently roll on a reverie river until you terminate at halcyon central? Who indeed?
So I was rather perplexed today when I was ready, as anyone with a muddled mind such as mine can be, to commemorate the first anniversary of a dearly missed part of the very fabric of my being, when I realised I was a week too early! Better than being late I suppose but it gave rise to the obvious question as to why I forgot (can you pre forget something?) such a significant anniversary and why do I barely remember any others? I have a small circle of lifelong friends and I can only recall two exact birthdays and one wedding date, and all for personally narcissistic reasons. I’m an open and curious person to say the least but birthdays and anniversaries have quickly slipped from my dwindling fabric of time. I have two major anniversaries and one has been pre forgotten now, and that doesn’t bode well. But I was a good little Matrix soldier and I posted my Twitter lament with a defiant “None Shall Sleep”. Not 365 days ago but seemingly 358 days ago and I can easily trawl back through my timeline to confirm this but who has time for such tomfoolery and shenanigans? Not me Jack and not on my watch. I’ve got my eye on a brand new bicycle and I might send “Fit Filly 47 and looking for love” a letter. She sounds delightful.
All concerns such as these are for the future. And why not? The lights are gradually dimming in various parts of the office now and I’m alone with just my thoughts and a couple of cleaners singing songs and one of them appears to be that old crooner tune “King of the Road”. It’s a favourite song my Cultural Editor often sings and I’m going to whistle this in his spiteful face in the morning before he returns to his office. Which reminds me, I have to close now as I need to collect a couple of wolves for tomorrow morning’s surprise.
And I wouldn’t want to pre-forget that, would I?
Rhetorical questions round a rectangular dining table
Vol 4. Please could you stop the noise? Why don’t I “do” anything any more? And why are we going to war with Russia?medium.com
Twitter Watch: Vol 2
A drunken Politician’s Wikipedia page and why a Robin Williams quote stands the test of time.medium.com
Thanks for reading. A couple examples reside above as to the “brain droppings” © George Carlin and other varying questions that tumble from my mind from time to time. Please do consider giving these a read if you’ve enjoyed this edition, and which I sincerely hope you have.