BLABBERMÖUTH

Doubt is thought and thought is life through thoughtfulness
(Unified field theory)
Apparently
So now we must distrust and dislike ourselves as well as others
So much easier when it was just the latter
Everybody getting Power Everywhere
The solitary ache in the wake of a desire and need to have achieved
Marginalization
Marginalia
People never more dangerous than when they have nothing left to believe in save themselves
When narcissistic activism is of primary importance and politics is just another utility like gas and electricity

Believe you me
Let’s stuff baby’s mouth and see if it finds contentment?
Neurosis and alienation the new norm
Self-segregation the tribal conform
Confirmation adulation
Linguistic gender-bender affirmation and the boredom of consumerisation
Turnstiles into the beckoning of an air-conditioned gulag dwelling
Better in than out
Safer in than out
Stay indoors and don’t go out
Build your walls
Your gated communities
Your ec(h)o-chalets and disparate maladies
Blame the neighbours
Cast your stones
Upgrade your package and improve your phones

I am the course breath of static homes
I am the course breath of your self-righteous behinds
I am the course breath of an annihilated mind

The future is an escalator of metropolitan first world chatter
The west and the Rest
Us and Them
Alcoholism drug addiction masturbation and identity crisis are the equivalent of today’s military service
Freedom to repress yourself
The joys of reimagining yourself
The joys of reassigning yourself
The power of self-identity and the impossibility of self-criticism
Criticism
Per se
Humility
Timesgone when all might have been dusted down and begun again
Long gone

Cabin doors to manual here we go again:
What’s to come hasn’t come yet
Despite all of their efforts they only have one topic of conversation and it is THEMselves
And this raises the question of nostalgia
Is not hauntology just one and the same?
Shame it aspires to theoretical discourse and of course much more besides than just pun as concept.
(The pun was on the philosophical concept of ontology)
The philosophical study of what can be said to exist
Nowadays what can be said?
Given that some things should never be said and therefore can never exi(s)t….

Sometimes we read books
Mostly we wait until other people have read them for us and then tell us what to think
Which is why I’m no longer talking to other people about whatever it is that they’re not talking about anymore
Let the fingers do the talking

Plunge into it
Hope or swim
Wetsuits for the wild-water swimmers
Summers spent walking the waters
Well away from it
Not deep
More a dabble
Meanwhile
External hard drive with external analogue-living preferable to the cacophony and certainty of digital being
OR
Are they just tired of themselves?
The futility of perseverance weighs light against the loopy cunt that awoke.
There are many things that I detest in this world and just as many things that I love. But I think it is clear the thing I detest the most is that Bottomless Hole of blame. Whereas one of the things I love the most is hope.

So he says to me saving your pardon Neoliberalism is the hope of freedom.
Neoliberalism is NOT Marxism or Stalinism or Communism or Fascism or Narcissism.
So I say to him; I’m not Santa Claus.
And then we get confused and agree to disagree save for the elephantine room that is busy looking at the both of us, smiling, knowing that we won’t say it, can’t say it, don’t say it.

Meanwhile I plead: for some the rules that used to apply in the 7th Century are redundant….
And he replies: And I am the tooth fairy…. which gets us both confused (a)gain
But he doesn’t blow up  

Everything takes such time, work, effort.
Money.

If only we could just live in each other’s minds.
If only black was white and white was black
But there again I’d completely forgotten that I wasn’t talking to some people about those things any more
And so we all agree to not see the lumbering room
Thus freeing up the space to spin in bright moronic contentment

The world needs clerks and lawyers and traffic lights in the same way that it needs leprosy, plagues and naysayers.
Excelspreadsheet truth instead of the Ecstatic truth
Why not allow the roundabouts to free us up
To get on with our lives
This however
Antithetical to the moaners and grumblers

Better the STOP sign to prevent us from falling over each other
Better the STOP sign thus allowing the villagers to place their trust in kobolds and wood spirits and NOT insight.
Better the BIG BOOKS that have been handed down from before the age of enlightenment.
Better the safety of Plato’s cave than the confidence of wisdom

Then she pipes up: A house that is bare and cold like the home of a lizard is ignorant to the flicker of other.
Better to act in darkness than to come out into the bright light of day to say:
Some need a reformation NOW

Furthermore
Dogged by the doggerel of do-gooders who don’t always do good
A snake
And viper’s den of imagining
Foregrounding rather than backgrounding anything and everything that isn’t to THEIR liking
Whilst snatches of plaintive vocal outbursts skitter across the zeitgeist like fragments of half finished hate letters blowing through streets blighted by an unnamed atmosphere of navel gazing and woe-is-me whilst at the same time managing to patronize the woe-is-them.
A psychogenic fugue in which all that was is now not.
And BEYOND the Restoftheworld struggles with its ongoing real oppression with real hatreds and real deaths of all things freedomofspeach

But

Today it is apparently so dark that all things are conflated into one
Confused and fumbled, indistinct and blurred
(Concatenation)
A con-catenation of events, which eventually leads to murder, truths, half-truths, lies and the madness of the masses.
Fears, speculations and desires all sleeping together in the same damp recesses of mindspace
Sitting with gritted teeth and painted-on-smile trying to push out some it’ll-be-alright-on-the-night laughter as the storm clouds gather outside the gates of the village school in which forecasters and innocence has been terrorised and debunked.
Where is the Angel Gabriel when you need him?
He’s had hundreds of years to alter the script.
Get behind me the ITCH
I promise to never scratch it again….
Too late I’ve said it

To clarify this is what he told me; we struggle against a tide of Idiots, who signal their virtuousness but in truth are drowning in arrogance, greed, folly and lassitude whilst wading out into the shallows of betterment for the common good.

It may not yet be the Earthly paradise but at least at one point we were headed in the right direction

Thus to the identity of fragility and signaling of vulnerability
The glorification of meism and the need for narcissism
The west and The Rest.

The abandonment of humility

Therefore so much of our striving is vanity
To have left a mark
To have been seen
To have been heard
The sign that I was here doing my best
The trace of my having pissed on this passing world

How can something that used to be in front of you end up behind you without you even noticing?
Answer: preoccupation

However I have heard these voices before, drunken voices raised in taverns, bedraggled wild-eyed men shouting from the trestle-tables of market squares calling down Calamity on the world, prophesying with their hands behind their backs that One Day The People will rise up; the peasants, the deliveroo drivers, the armchair activists and the ice cream sellers and they will kick the feet from beneath the celebrities and Bigbookists and the miserableness will spill out everywhere….

Let me succumb to my own Delirium
Let me succumb to gratitude instead of attitude and blame….

 

Words Andrew Kötting
Images Eden Kötting
Summer 2021