Anti-War Sentiment

Spoilers for Doctor Who first of all, tying in with today being Remembrance Sunday and yesterday’s Doctor Who being all about pacifist messages, I want to talk to you about why THAT scene of last night’s episode was spot on and why the message rings true of pretty much every war in the history of mankind – from the World Wars to the ongoing Syrian Crisis. Without further ado, let’s explore the sentiment and how true it is, no doubt you’re well aware but I feel it merits discussion.

The scene I am referring to of course is the ‘scaled down model of war’ in which humanity and zygonity(?) stand in the same room, opposite ends of a table with boxes they have been promised will either slay all their enemies or slay all their own people and they have no idea which button to press to do which. The Doctor supervises and tells them that this is how war works, you can fire the first shot but you can never guarantee who will die from it, in a war anyone can die, friend or foe, guilty or innocent. Of course, the Doctor knows this all too well, it’s revealed previously he ALMOST destroyed his home planet to save the universe with a similar device but we know how that worked out (Which I have mixed feelings about but let’s discuss that some other time). Both sides think there is no hope of peace and forgiveness and the Doctor tells them to stop being petulant children and just try to forgive one another, which he manages to make happen by erasing the memories of the human representative and telling the Zygon one they now have a chance to make amends, which they do. The Doctor’s speech is very important to this turning point, in how war achieves nothing and those who wage it never see past the ‘kill the bad guys’ stage, so rarely is the peace at the end given much thought and that pain does not justify the infliction of pain, it should instead inspire someone to be better and channel that suffering into making a better world. Very true, lest we forget that this is the sentiment Robin Williams held close to his chest in life, he suffered in silence because rather than unleash his pain in angry outbursts and scorn, he made people laugh constantly so people could see him and feel better, not worse.

I think perhaps Remembrance Sunday is often seen as hero worship, in that we pay our respects to the fallen and the brave deeds they achieved  but we forget that war is not glamorous, it is a terrible folly that claims the lives of soldier and civilian alike. Beyond the war poetry and Hollywood films, this wasn’t all a tale of tragic heroism, this was a tale of a few politicians and greedy people convincing generations of good young men to go kill themselves in order to resolve arguments. Harry Patch, the last Fighting Tommy, said this on the matter:

“I feel then, as I feel now, that the politicians who took us to war should have been given the guns and told to settle their differences themselves, instead of organising legalised mass murder”

Now I think the Doctor would stand in agreement with Harry, except perhaps minus the guns but this is what war should come down to – actual discussion. If you, a politician or monarch or whatever, declare war, you aren’t bravely opposing a fascist, you are telling the world that you are prepared to sacrifice legions of innocent lives to prove a point and get your way. Ultimately, war costs us lives of guilty and innocent men and women and it is sad to think that war and aggression is what drives the advancement of technology, we are getting better and better at killing each other to the point now it can be done with a button. If you want true bravery, true bravery is being the one who lowers their weapon first and extends a hand to say enough is enough. As the Doctor says, cruelty only begets more cruelty, a vicious cycle that will go on and on until we kill everyone, it was true then and it is now – we haven’t plans for Syria once we bomb the everloving hell out of it or else the world would’ve been prepared for the refugees, the Syrian government hasn’t a clue how to restore their nation once the rebels stop, the rebels haven’t thought much further than revolution and ISIS’s train of thought boils down to “Fuck everyone”. We are achieving nothing but destruction and the people in power act like they are so brave for opposing ISIS, hardly realising ISIS was a demon of their own creation and their bravery extends as far as carpet bombing the innocent in hopes of killing the wicked amongst them. 200,000 people have died over the four years of war in Syria, 4,000,000 more have become refugees and I can assure you, those are not all terrorists that died and those are not scrounging thieves that fled.

War is the ultimate in human folly, it is the worst thing we do to ourselves and to one another, to call it brave is to romanticise the mass execution of our fellow men and women. Whilst we have moved beyond wars fought over family feuds and flags being put up where they aren’t welcome, we still wage war over political disputes and religious disagreements, things that we should really resolve through discussion, or perhaps even, leaving each other alone if needs be. I hold no power, I cannot gather the world leaders in a Doctor Who scenario and get them to settle it that way but oh how I wish I could. The greatest warrior of all is the one who chooses to end a war, rather than wage it until death.


All Together And All Alone

Trigger Warnings – Death.

At the very core of our fleeting existence upon this world, we are lonely creatures. We may well be born into a family, make friends and fall in love as is the way life often proceeds but in the face of death, one meets their maker alone, you can’t hold hands with your parents and ask them for moral support whilst you die, it simply is the way things are. With the threat of the end looming over us, it is in our best interests to lead rich full lives and enjoy laughter and love whilst it lasts and thus relationships are formed when you meet people like yourself that you want to spend that precious time with, be it playing video games, discussing literature or wrestling under the bed sheets laughing.

I am lonely, we all are, we are a race of social animals seeking our place in the grand chaos of the universe. We face this human struggle in different ways, we might be anxious, we might be arrogant and we may even be angry but there is not a human being that has not considered or will not consider their own end. The pursuit of purpose makes us yearn for wealth or the afterlife, the justification of this lonely struggle against the coming darkness, but as a man with no real desire for great wealth or a belief in the afterlife, I embrace the struggle all whilst accepting the fact that light and dark shall forever feud between themselves.

Do not take this as an attack upon religion but for me, I find the reward of a good deed is the deed, not the concept of heaven. Heaven or not, our lives as we know them now are nothing but the blink of an eye, we must cherish that moment and why use your time on this Earth being cruel or unkind, what does it ultimately achieve? We are all in this together on one planet, perhaps in the interest of being civil, we should look to a society of empathy, not envy.

Pick up litter, ask someone about their day even if you don’t really care, hold a door open, all these things are so trivial and insignificant yet they bring me an endless sense of wellbeing. If there is a higher power, they will notice and they will reward you but if not at least you lived a life of positivity and you can rest in peace knowing you did what you could, in your own little way, to make that struggle of life better for someone else. If we all did that, that would be beautiful wouldn’t it? An endless cycle of little joys selflessly given away from one human being to another so that we can feel a little bit better about the reality of our situation as temporary beings. I’ve made these points before in many ways in many articles and there is more to be said but perhaps with time I will come to see someone take this to heart

Call this tripe or rubbish, maybe even beatnik lunacy, but for me, it gets me by, what makes life better for me is making life better for someone else just because I can and I care. I won’t pretend to know the hearts of everyone around me but I cannot be the only one carrying doubts, fears and unspoken wishes with me, if my kindness can lighten that burden for someone, why not? Perhaps someone will do the same for me, perhaps not, I will find the road to happiness either way.

Thank you.

Yo-Yo In An Elevator

Trigger Warnings – Mentions of death, self-harm, suicide, cannibalism

British people, calm down, I know to us it is “Yo-Yo In A Lift” but that didn’t have the same ring to it. In case the title leaves something to be desired, this is a personal post, insert the standard apology for doing more personal blogging than political or topical stuff, lord knows my view stats are taking the bullet for that one, the past week has seen a steady decline in my reader base but when I have an agenda, I don’t want to make a hack job of it by blogging about it when I don’t feel up to it so tonight is some more personal stuff.

My mood has been fluctuating again. Remember recently I did a post about being really content with my life and having this sense of well-being? And remember how I enjoyed my birthday celebrations and stuff and was happy then? Yeah well I feel flat now, perhaps there’s more to my mood issues than I thought, it had previously just been a constant crushing sadness but now it temporarily vanishes and clears away to blue skies before coming back as one hell of a storm. I’ve decided as of next week I shall keep a mood diary listing my mood each hour, on the hour, and what I was doing at the time, see if I notice any patterns and I’ll take this journal to a doctor, who will probably dismiss it as needing more sleep or a job I enjoy more than the one I have but hey, worth a shot, maybe one day one doctor will actually admit there is something wrong and help.

I’ve been having some weird dreams lately, some are pleasant and normal enough but some are very disturbing. Last night, I dreamt I asked someone out, won’t say who, but I was so overjoyed they said yes that I wasn’t looking where I was going and stepped out in front of a bus. Yes, Doctor Who-ey I know, your dreams are influenced by that kind of thing but anyway, I didn’t wake up. Well I did, I woke up in the dream and found myself in a rundown abandoned military building with some friends and strangers, who told me the place was safe except for the West Wing, which is full of cannibals and the only reason the cannibals are kept at bay is the sacrifice of one of the group once a week. We couldn’t escape, we had no weapons, we had limited supplies and we were all scared. I dreamt I was being told to go give the cannibals their sacrifice, they’d chosen someone, but when we turned up there the sacrifice attacked me and locked me in the wing with them so I was eaten alive. Then I woke up for real, confused, horrified and nervously lying still in bed for half an hour.

I do not self-harm, I kicked that habit when I was fourteen (Roughly, can’t remember exactly) and I don’t contemplate suicide. I looked into it, it can mean either a crushing realisation the pursuit of happiness through wealth is impossible or it can be a metaphor for feeling overwhelmed by sexual desires. I don’t sit well with those ideas, the wealth thing sounds silly and my sex drive hasn’t been this low in a long time, the desires I have in my heart aren’t lustful and depraved, I desire someone to be with, to laugh with, to hold close, to enjoy a relationship with, not a fuckfest. I’m still jaded about all that though, I see a pretty face now and then but otherwise I’m resigned to being single for some time now, I accept that fact

Anyway, my other dreams have mostly been along two themes – my own death or a new romantic relationship. The romantic dreams are fairly standard, they’re clearly subconscious, well… conscious fantasies playing themselves out but the death dreams? I’ve been eaten, shot, hit by traffic, stabbed, pushed off a cliff, drowned, it’s disturbing that I’m dreaming about such things and it’s one main reason I don’t sleep very well lately, I’m not sure what awaits me, a dream so perfect I don’t want to wake up or a nightmare so horrific I’m scared straight for half an hour when I wake up

I realise this is deeply personal and very disturbing, I’ll have to look into professional help I can afford but I need to talk about this stuff but actually forming words on how I feel and think is incredibly hard, I’ve never been very good at it. I struggle to express emotions through my own personal behaviour, I can barely cry unless it is something overwhelming and even when I lose people I care about, my face doesn’t budge an inch, I haven’t wept for a loss in so long. I’ve heard it’s a common male issue of being pressured to be tough, so tough you struggle to allow yourself to be vulnerable and being a boy who lost a lot as a child whilst being the elder brother of two young boys and having male role models who were never shown to be weak, I guess I’ve internalised the constant rule of never admitting to weakness or need so the written word is how I do just that. Heck, even romantically, I struggle to say the words out loud and some feelings have remained unspoken forever because I just can’t face the rejection and humiliation

Urgh, that was a huge emotional dump and after all that, I feel no better really. I’ll keep this diary as of Monday and track my mood up until the New Year then see a doctor about it, see what they say. Here’s hoping they’ll take action this time

Glory Be To The Fallen – Remembrance Day Special

Trigger Warnings – Talk of war/death

I wanted to do a post to honour this day of Remembrance Sunday in which we commemorate the First and Second World Wars and all the lives that were lost in the name of freedom and the end of tyranny, the brave men and women that sacrificed themselves to make the world a better place and how we wear the poppy as it was the flower that grew upon the battlefields after the First World War, a poetic contribution from nature in how beauty can return to a world ravaged by war if we only look for it. I have conflicting views on the idea of wearing a poppy, some say it is a symbol that has come to encompass the wars in the Middle East that aren’t so cut and dry as “These guys are evil, we have to stop them being evil” and as such, politicians justify their wars by making pretty speeches about honour and patriotism, whilst others say the poppy doesn’t stand for the innocent lives, only the soldiers and generals, as if romanticising and idolising a history of bloodlust into heroics when it was more a feud between individuals that cost the masses their lives. I don’t know what to feel for whilst I’m left-winged and very anti-war, I’m very much in support of the efforts of armed forces, past and present, and I am a patriot deep down.

War is often seen as romantic and poetic and as an artist myself, I can see, heck I grew up with war stories colouring my impressions of humanity and in these tales of ancient heroes and warriors I saw the noblest of traits – sacrifice, duty, honour, principle – traits we may not say in our day to day lives. The soldiers tell the tragic tale of the pointlessness of their fight, how they must kill men with whom they bear no quarrel for the sake of fat old men they’ve never met and that no matter how bloody the war, it is the poor men who had no desire for this conflict that must die, never the generals or the leaders, only ever the men out in the field. Religion, land, freedom, war has come to mean many things for many people and is as true of humanity as breathing and eating, it is what separates us from beasts is our brilliance at killing each other.

So what does this poppy mean? Is it really a touching memoriam to the fallen heroes or is it glorifying death and sacrifice when really we should think of the war as a great shame brought upon us by corruption and greed? Are the soldiers brave or stupid for dying for such men? What of the innocent, do they not deserve remembrance? I will never approve of war, though I read the stories and admire the men, it saddens me to my very core that such great men had to die for the world to progress and even now, many good people die and the world still insists on this cycle of hatred and ignorance. I think of the British people saying how their grandfather didn’t die to make Britain a home for Polish people, no, your grandfather died to fight against people who didn’t believe in freedom and equality for all, your grandfather died shooting racism in the face because it had no place in the world and his sacrifice was to keep Britain free of tyranny, not immigrants. I have no right to say this but I honestly think if my grandfather were here today, it would not be the growing racial diversity that troubled him, it would be the unbelievable class divide and the fact that we haven’t seemed to have learned much since then when it comes to the whole let’s-not-kill-each-other-en-masse deal.

The poppy, therefore, to me, means what the wearer interprets it as meaning and this is where I must stand against my left-wing allies and actually exercise some national pride. Patriotism is no bad thing, it’s nice to support your country but what led so many to oppose Hitler was when he started thinking his country deserved more than others did, when a man was willing to kill in the name of racial prejudice and hatred to create a white super race. I wear a poppy, and I’ve decided on that, as it is not a glorification of war and sacrifice, it is a way to say you remember the lessons that history tried to teach us and that in our heart, you wish for a world in which we no longer bear arms against one another. I wear the poppy as a way of saying a silent thank you to the men and women who died for us and no those soldiers didn’t die for glory, for the war, for medals, they died because they believed in something so strongly they would rather give up their life than give up what that belief meant to them and in anyone, British, German or whatever, that is admirable, so many of us talk big but when confronted with death, we would buckle, we would cry and beg and sell our souls but these people – they flipped the bird to the reaper because they did their part and that was what mattered

Soldiers are heroes but not because they fought in the war and fought the good fight that the posters told them was glorious or because they killed their enemies in bloody conquest and became decorated veterans, soldiers are heroes to me because for the most part they are good people. Sure, there are exceptions, there are bad examples of any kind of person and some people, when given a gun, are not as responsible as they should be, but these people saw something that mattered more than their own well-being and were ready to do anything to make it a reality. Fathers, brothers, sons – they didn’t fight because they wanted to kill people, they fought because they wanted to ensure a safe future for their mothers, sisters and daughters, for their grandchildren and their grandchildren’s grandchildren, they fought for peace and freedom. However, all sacrifices made are worthy of note and so not only are the soldiers heroes, the innocent must be remembered and mourned, the fathers who outlived their sons, the children who never played in the streets, the people who died simply for their religion or sexuality, all must be remembered and mourned

The reason we remember them is not just out of grief and mourning, or out of duty and honour to those who died that we might live, we remember them because we must be inspired by them to create a world in which we need never again cry for those who died for us, we must constantly strive to make a better world, a without war, the very world warriors die in an effort to create. Remember them, mourn them, be inspired by them and let no more names be added to their ranks

Rest in Peace (RIP)

I’m pretty pleased with myself for finding my voice again; I owe it to my seemingly endless free time what with the total lack of a social life and a job, not something to be proud of but if ever you need to discover your inner bitterness, no job and no parties to go to seems to really help bring it out in you. I hope I don’t fall flat on my face again after this surge but I’ve got a few ideas floating around in the works so who knows, maybe this is the second ascent of Old Man Wolfe to a state of niche internet fame. Well today ladies and gentleman, I’m here to give my regards to a particular acronym that grinds my gears to an even greater extent than the accursed “lol”, the brain-dead reply of someone who clearly isn’t paying attention any more.

The acronym RIP (Rest in Peace) is, for me, the most insincere and careless remark you could ever make about anyone’s death and to clarify, I mean the acronym and not the individual words which are slightly more excusable. You are probably more than well aware that rather recently the world lost both Nelson Mandela and Paul Walker and I didn’t want to throw this rant out there whilst those wounds were still fresh because I do try to have some taste to my blog, though you might not always think so with the profanity and what not. I will say this now, I did not find myself in tears at these deaths, though the loss of Mandela struck me more than that of Walker and I am not afraid to admit that. I know there are people grieving his loss, I’m just not one of them – never been a fan of the Fast and Furious franchise and I honestly didn’t know who he was and I don’t say this to cheapen his passing, every death is a tragic loss because even mass murderers were loved ones once upon a time. I had to look up Walker to see who he was and I agree, a nasty way to go and he will be missed but did I immediately scurry to offer some cheap tribute to his passing? No, I accepted that this had happened and continued my life as normal. I am not a sycophant, I will not cry tears I do not feel sincerely.

Of course, the death that made the world news was that of Mandela and of all the people to choose to snuff out, we are to believe God chose him and not the likes of David Cameron? If there is anything that for me says God isn’t watching over us, it’s when you see the truly good people fail and perish whilst the wicked prevail. Nelson Mandela was a paradigm of honest and true leadership and the fight for equality in a nation ravaged by greed and prejudice. I’d like to add here though, that Nelson Mandela is neither Morgan Freeman (as so many people seemed to think for a long period of time, the number of idiots muddling them up astounded me) nor should he be someone to make a song and dance about to prove you’re a good person. The passing of Margaret Thatcher a while back and now Mandela was little more than an opportunity for smarmy snotrags in big offices to pull sad faces at the camera and give sickly sweet speeches about the tragedy of this loss. I despise insincerity at moments like these, watching as those who once stood for opposite ideals to Thatcher and Mandela suddenly sang their praises. Balls to that, if they were alive, you’d hate their guts. If you’re not seriously upset at these losses to the world, don’t comment on them, don’t give me this ‘being polite’ nonsense out of some sense of obligation. I would say something here about how Mandela is a huge loss to our world and tell you of some of the things he did and how I admire him for that but honestly, I feel like I’d be joining the ranks of the two-faced fools that cover the planet giving these pretty little passages. You should already know who he is and if you don’t, I blame either ignorance or you just weren’t taught it in school.

Most recently, the world lost actor James Avery, Uncle Phil to most of us and Shredder to a few. I won’t liken his passing to that of Mandela, they are two different people and will be missed for very different reasons (Unless of course I’m unaware of Mandela having made a guest appearance on the Fresh Prince or as Mandelaman in a TMNT episode) but I will say that like Mandela, this is a death that actually made me feel rather sad. I remember the silly old TMNT cartoon (Well, TMHT to us in Britain, the word ‘ninja’ was censored to remove suggestions of violence. I know, bloody ridiculous) and I’ve enjoyed the odd episode of Fresh Prince. Avery was a good actor in his time and I found his character in Fresh Prince to be the highlight, except perhaps for the witty English butler, but you have to admit that Avery is easily one of the most recognisable actors of that cast alongside Will Smith. Of course, all of the aforementioned famous faces that have departed from us will be missed by someone, even the accursed Iron Lady. Death is a very tragic thing and really, it should be for the family and friends to come to terms with and if you want to be supportive, be sincere first of all. Platitudes are of no comfort to anyone and at first all they need is the time to cry out the tears inside but for the record, your best ways of supporting those in mourning is to just be there to give them what they need – even if that’s just space.

We all know death is inevitable and as much a part of life as the rest of it and in terms of celebrities, I’m worried by the fact I will outlive Stephen Fry and Morgan Freeman, a thought that saddens me because they’re brilliant at what they do but when you think like that, assuming I live into old age I’ll live to see numerous people I am a fan of pass away – Peter Cullen, John Cleese, Charlie Brooker, Derren Brown, Jamieson Price. For me, the most recent famous deaths that saddened me were James Avery, Nelson Mandela and Tsuyoshi Takishiita. Takishiita, by the way, was a Japanese Voice actor who worked on a series of games that defined my childhood, Dynasty Warriors, and had the best laugh ever and inspired my love of the word “imbecile”. However, let us celebrate life whilst it lasts and the legacies of these legends that have passed away or that will pass away in time and enjoy whatever work they produce for our enjoyment whilst they are here with us. RIP is not a fitting farewell to anyone, famous or not, it’s a lazy thing we say out of habit, not consideration. I mean, rest in peace? That’s half a phrase, it should have “May your soul” at the start. If a death genuinely upsets you, speak from your heart, not just a stock phrase. Please, let’s let “Rest in Peace”, rest in peace.

Past Iron

I would like to think the people who read my rants also do their best to follow current issues in the news, if only from Facebook statuses, but my British audience at the very least should know that the “Iron Lady”, Margaret Thatcher, has passed away from a stroke and this has left the nation divided once again, between people grieving as they munch on Rivita with weepy eyes and the underclass gathering together their tuppence to throw little parties. Now, I have said I would respect the dead but frankly my dears, I didn’t respect her when she was alive. However, I’m a man of controversy, not plain and simple bullish vulgarity, so I’ll be as nice as possible about this… or try to.

Death is always tragic, that can’t be argued and I don’t think the world has ever waited with baited for anyone to die since Hitler, though you’d be forgiven for thinking Thatcher received the same reception. In Thatcher’s case, her death was received with cheer by anyone who works for a living but otherwise politicians across the world shed a tear. John Major, Barack Obama, Nick Clegg and even her former opponents, the Labour party, all paid their respects to the late Baroness but I just couldn’t get myself to feel a sense of loss here. What has Britain truly lost here? A gay-bashing dinosaur that made everyone who wasn’t middle or upper class into starving tramps? Excuse me for not paying my respects with a glass of wine at a dinner party, I was too busy living in a hovel.

Ok, so some of you probably just choked on some caviare at my tasteless remarks but why don’t you get off the high horse and listen to my tale? Cue tragic back story. I was born your typical son of a man who made his living with his hands, not due to a lack of intellect but because he left school in the same year Thatcher came to power and changed the system so drastically the floor vanished. My father, Mark Leese, was in the top 2% for IQ in the country, as tested by MENSA themselves, and has such in-depth knowledge of motoring that he could probably build you a functioning motorcycle from spare parts with his hands tied together and an angry squirrel in his boxers. However, being the son of a bus driver, my Dad’s starting place in life was the equivalent to starting a 70 metre sprint against Britain’s finest runners whilst paralysed. As a result of Thatcher’s changes to the system, my starting place in life was less than that and my Dad went from door to door to get them all slammed in his face so hard he got splinters in his nostrils. Tell me, oh wise Thatcher, if you need experience to get a job and a job to get experience, how  in the name of Christ do you break into the cycle? I wasn’t born with a job waiting for me by birthright and seeing as I live in Shrewsbury, one of the worst towns in the world to be underclass and starting out in life, I’ve struggled to get anywhere fast and am currently a drain on my family’s minimal resources because there just isn’t work anywhere.

Jacob, I hear you say with disgust, you can’t blame Thatcher for all your problems. You may well be an unskilled monkey child and the only reason you can’t get anywhere in life is because you aren’t trying hard enough, you just want to live off the state don’t you? Well to that I say why don’t you try living without your privileges and start from scratch as a man without anything to fall back on. If I fuck up, that’s it, I’ll be searching the slums for the cosiest gutter but if you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you might not even learn what a gutter is, let alone sleep in one. A generation lost out to Thatcher’s regime but that’s not all I’ve got against her, not by a long shot. Oh ho, in case you didn’t know, she wasn’t the nicest of folks about gay rights either: ‘Here, as with most of her achievements, it’s a mixed bag. As a member of Parliament (MP) in the 1960s, she was one of only a handful of Conservatives to vote for the decriminalization of homosexuality, a truly forward-thinking and brave gesture that she deserves a great deal of credit for’  Sounds lovely right? She supports gays? Wrong, in 1988, Thatcher’s government legislated Britain’s first new anti-gay law in 100 years: Section 28. At the 1987 Conservative party conference she mocked people who defended the right to be gay, insinuating that there was no such right. The stigma surrounding the homosexual community as ‘the reason STDs exist’ was not something she aimed to disprove, but rather confirm. As a friend and relative to a number of gay people, I instantly feel the urge to stab someone viciously if they’re so ignorant about sexuality. I don’t mind ignorant people that are just ignorant, but a powerless idiot pales in comparison to one that runs a country. I find it ironic that she did so much to support equality abroad in Africa, but in her own country she sees fit to be a prejudiced dragon.

Erhem, I was being nice wasn’t I? Sorry, I’ll calm down. A dragon as she is, she had her uses and did a lot for this country, unless you’re a mechanic, shelf stacker, student, cleaner, builder, plumber, electrician, honest human being… Pardon? You cry all you want, you latte-sipping, horse-racing, house-owning, people-firing biggots, but if you’re like me, born with nothing that you can’t take by force, you probably find a slight smidgen of comfort in the idea this woman, who fucked you so hard you weren’t even born a virgin, has passed away. However, she’s not the first or the worst so I’ll leave it be like this and I won’t get up in arms about a death again hopefully but this woman was the bane of my life when I was a fetus, allow me to feel relief she’s gone from this Earth. If you disagree, buy my silence.

Again with the Apathy

You may, or may not, be aware that I, Jacob Wolfe, occasionally suffer with mood disorders, the most prominent of which at the moment being apathy. Apathy, simply put, is a severe case of who gives a fuck and includes symptoms such as unusually slow conversational speed, sighing more often than Severus Snape post break-up and the overwhelming urge to do impressions of a boulder at any given moment someone attempts to make you do something. Can I empty the bins? No I can’t, I’m a fucking rock and I’m gonna sit here and do rock things like not emptying bins. Apathy in itself wouldn’t be too much of a problem if it weren’t so spontaneous and didn’t come with the option to switch over to being an unbearably explosive nutcase when the whole catatonic gargoyle thing wore thin and my brain didn’t decide to play my emotions on shuffle like I’m a bloody i-Pod.

This is a personal rant, in case you hadn’t guessed, so don’t feel obliged to read on unless you want to see into the heart and mind of the man behind the rant, and if so please leave your coats, knives and unnecessary comments at the door where my non-existent fuck-giving attendant will hold onto them for you until such a time I decide to give a damn. Arrogance is possibly what I’m best known for, but I mostly use said arrogance to give me a means of self-defence against criticism, a lack of popularity and the disapproval of others with the idea being ‘So what if he thinks I’m a prat, I think I’m awesome’ and this is a great idea in theory until even you are calling yourself a prat then you fall at every hurdle like a donkey with four broken kneecaps. However, there is more to me than this arrogance and macho character I like to think I am and that is this overwhelming desire to be remembered as a lover and a man of honour, which can often lead to difficult decisions where one forsakes the other and so on. I want to die knowing that when I’m gone, someone will cry at the funeral and someone will say the words

“We mourn the loss of Jacob George Wolfe, a man who lived and died by his beliefs and would sooner die with honour intact, than live on a thief and a coward”

Dramatic, maybe, but the world is a stage after all so call me a full on variety show with masked dancers, monologues and the like. I’ve put apathy aside for now and tried to enter a sincere frame of mind to tell you all that what worries most is that as I am right now, a temperamental and exceedingly impatient old man, that I may just burn down every bridge around me and leave myself on lonely island with just my conscience for company.

“Cocked that up eh? Man of honour eh? You’re full of shit and then you wonder why people complain about the smell when you insist on unloading said shit onto everyone else’s heads?”

I’ve got a good circle of friends and my girlfriend, Alice, is the most supportive woman I’ve ever met and could possibly ever ask for and bless her heart, she’s seen me change from the happy-go-lucky cowboy who never says die to a greyhound with a limp and no nose. I talk about this like it happened over years, but I was the kind of guy who reckoned he could punch through brick no less than two years ago. I hear my former self sneer at me at times and demand of me that I get up on my feet and stop being such a pussy but having no ground to stand on makes getting up a damn site harder. Literally feels like a lifetime ago I was the king but it was only just yesterday in the grand scale of things so I know I can undo the damage I’ve done to myself as swiftly as I’ve done it.

You hear that world? I’m down but not out, and I might be weak at this moment in time but I want you to think that so you get cocky and put your foot down on my back, because then it’ll make getting up and kicking your arse all the more satisfying. Rest assured, I was kicking the shit out of you once upon a time, with a smirk on my face as I did so, and I will do so once again if it means I die straight afterwards. I’m not the only one coming back up from the depths of hell though; you know you can do the same if it means that much to you. You, the anxious, the unloved, the sick, the poor, should all rise up and fight your battles once again because there is no defeat as long as there is blood in your veins to lose.

Give me my victory or give me my death.