When Hans Christian Andersen wrote about the tale of The Emperor’s New Clothes, I don’t think he had the pretentiousness of the modern fashion industry in mind. But it does bear a striking similarity.
For those who don’t know, The Emperor’s New Clothes goes thus; a vain emperor who loves nothing more than fashion and changing clothes (You thanks to mass marketing, globalisation and fashion advertising) gets taken advantage of by two very clever scoundrels (the fashion industry) who claim to have invented a fabric that is invisible to all but the worthy. Those who are ignorant, or incompetent cannot see the fabric. His ministers and courtiers all pretend to see the fabric so as not to seem incompetent and, indeed even the emperor himself does not see the fabric, but pretends he does so as not to seem like the idiot he so clearly is. The emperor then decides to flaunt his clothes to a waiting public, who all pretend that these new clothes are magnificent. That is until a child, a paragon of innocence and speak-your-mind-ism says “Dude, I see your ding-a-ling. You’re wearing nothing but the air. You’re naked!” maybe not exactly like that, I don’t know any children that talk like that…But you see my point. Anyways, eventually these ignorant, and incompetent peasants all agree with the boy, that the emperor is wearing nothing but his birthday suit. The emperor and his minions meanwhile continue in their charade happy in the knowledge that the subjects they rule over are all ignorant.
The fact is, it doesn’t matter if you’re dressed in the finest, most expensive designer jeans and tee, or whether you’re wearing a mail-sack. You are beautiful. But there are many canny individuals all pretending they can weave you a garment in a fabric seen and worn by only those worthy. At what point in our insecure little lives do we forget the tale of the Emperor’s New Clothes and actually buy into this fashion nonsense. At what point did we actually begin thinking it mattered?
The fact is you worrying about your appearance is big business. There are a whole lot of people that you are happy to pay to make you feel like shit. There are a lot of people who know human psychology inside out who play on it to manufacture desires that are entirely false. We all know the expression ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ but how many of us truly believe it? How many of us say that whilst tarting ourselves up to look nice for somebody else? How many of us say that while putting on a fashionable outfit?
It’s a difficult thing to debate because, I don’t want to seem like I’m standing in your way of looking good. I do not think we should all be a scruffy mess. But we do need to reconsider what we consider beauty because our current perception of it is entirely mythical. Many will make note of how in civilisations and times past beauty was considered an amalgamation of different qualities. Handsome men and beautiful women, and what makes them so, evolve over time. But surely now have we not got to such a stage in our evolution of thought and culture that we can admit that, actually, it’s just not important what someone looks like. That the person is the important thing and not the outward projection of the person.
I know it’s a difficult thing to try and shut off that judgemental first impression of appearance. But it was also difficult to make tools with our resources and establish a new dominant force in the natural order; but we did it. It was once difficult to travel from London to Sydney, particularly via one means of transport. But we did it. This is what mankind does. It evolves ideas, it evolves concepts and it evolves itself to suit its own needs as a species. Unfortunately those needs have been hijacked by economics, which now stunts progress. The fashion industry doesn’t want you thinking everything can be beautiful because feeling ugly sells. Feeling inferior makes them money. Why would they want mankind to develop out of superficiality when superficiality is a multi-billion dollar industry? They will pretend like they’re looking out for your interests, that you NEED to look beautiful, or people will judge you unfairly. They have twisted minds to judge people unfairly for how they look and how they dress. They pretend this is healthy for you but, to know if it’s healthy or not just think. How do you benefit from it?
Yeah, you might say you benefit because you’ve got the latest fashions, the latest trends and the latest gadgets. But they’ll change in time and leave you behind. You’ll feel insecure. You’ll feel upset. You’ll be judged. You’ll be outcast. You’ll break down in tears and say that without your latest trends and make-up you feel ‘naked’.
Until a child, the paragon of innocence and speak-your-mind-ism says “Christ love, take that coat off, you’ll roast in here. Too many clothes that’s your problem. Why are you crying anyway? You’re too pretty to cry.” Maybe not exactly like that, I don’t know any children that talk like that…But you see my point. I hope.
You’re all so damn sexy, handsome, pretty, beautiful and attractive people. I love you all.
Friday, 6 July 2012
~Old Posts~ Memories
How would you like to be remembered when you’re gone?
Yeah, O.K., now once you’re done spitting tea/coffee/food over your monitor in a fit of existential panic can you get around to the question at hand.
How would you like to be remembered when you’re gone?
If you’re made to think about that question I can guarantee you ego will kick in, at least in most people, and come up with lovely flowery, if a little generic, phrases to describe you. He was a good soul. She always worked hard. The life and soul of the party. So friendly. So helpful. Always there when needed.
I ask this question because only a couple of months ago, I nearly facilitated my own shuffling off this mortal coil. Realistically I had taken enough Co-Codamol tablets to take down a bull-elephant; and it was only in a vomit-laden fit that I told my mother, who was around at the time, that she had best call an ambulance. That’s not paraphrasing. She said “What’s brought that on?” as I was being sick and I said, cold as I could “You’d best call an ambulance.” At no point did the thought enter my head how I would be remembered after I was dead.
And, if you drop ego. If you knock that little part of yourself that wants to be important to the side for a moment and just focus for a minute on objective, cold truth. Most of the descriptions will be so generic they could apply to anybody. Our loved ones will still hold memories but, when asked about you they will churn out the same tired, sagging, worn-out phrases that have probably been used for centuries and then…
…Well after your immediate friends and family are gone no one will remember you much at all. Indeed, you won’t be judged for any reasons of family and friend bias, or wanting to be not speak ill of the dead. You will only be judged for your documented actions. People will only remember you from any words that you put down on record, for your job history that they can dig up, from the birth and marriage records they can put together, from any action of note that makes it into any kind of recorded history.
And, indeed, in time these records will be lost. Generations will pass. More data will trickle and flow into a vast ocean of words and numbers floating around with no form or function. No rhyme or reason. Every now and then the wind might rustle against a flowing ribbon of audio cassette at the crest of a wave of this data and the wind will whisper “Oh shit…I didn’t mean to delete that. How do I get it back?” But there’ll never be an answer. There will be very few men, women, boys, girls or other non-specific genders so as to be all-inclusive, who shall be remembered beyond a generation or two of their passing. Places in history will be reserved solely for men of stature in society and, unfortunately in this society those men are often exceptionally wealthy, and usually morally bankrupt. They will buy the bronze statues and commemorative plaques of the future just as they buy the present. And that’s a shame. Because there are often more nuggets of wisdom in the speech of an insignificant man or woman than there are pre-scripted nuggets of bullshit coming out of the mouths of these individuals. Because a poor man’s life of struggle is a more interesting life than a rich man’s having it easy.
Take this for example. Field Marshall Douglas Haig - Also known as “The Butcher of the Somme”. A man behind many failed British World War I strategies. A man who never went ‘Over the top’ with any of the men he commanded. Douglas Haig, a man who if there is ANY justice of the supernatural, if there is a God and a means of punishment after death is burning in unholy hell right now. Douglas Haig has a statue, a prominent statue, in Whitehall in London. Nearly 1 million estimated casualties of British, or British Colony troops, most have unmarked graves, and are remembered only by their names in records; or by the odd cenotaph commending them on their bravery. Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori; if I may, with much sarcasm, steal a line from a poet more deserving of this space than I; Wilfred Owen.
The bastards who started the war. A war that killed approximately 15 million individuals; and wounded approximately 20 million. Most of them probably have prominent statues. Or fantastic documented records of their lives and various pursuits for which they are applauded. 15 million. 15 million forgotten souls and we remember the individuals who would never even consider putting their neck on the line if there were scores of poorer men happy to do it for them.
They called that “The War to End All Wars.” And yet give it twenty years and we’d do it all over again. Only this time, the number of deaths was quadrupled; making the number of forgotten even larger in proportion to the number of remembered.
People worship Churchill. Claim he was one of the greatest Britons who ever lived. I never saw Churchill with a rifle in his hand on the battlefield. All he did was talk. That’s not great, that’s punditry. He’s remembered, millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions (yeah, that’s what 60 millions looks like. I’d break them up into individual 1s, one for every life, but I’d be at it for hours!) OF MEN AND WOMEN. All of whom had lives, all of whom had families, all of whom had stories and many of whom had words more inspirational, more profound and more worthy of historical documentation than ‘Sir’ Winston fucking Churchill DEAD AND FORGOTTEN.
So, I’ll ask again. How would you like to be remembered when you’re gone?
If you’re answer is not “I won’t be.” You’re either deluded or a member of the global elite who ruin this planet in the name of their own interests.
Don’t get me wrong. I am a depressing person but I’m not trying to get you down here. What I’m trying to do is…I don’t know…Give you a leg up to realising the insignificance of you. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you realise that every life is as insignificant as the next and, actually, all we have. All we have is this. This right now. This moment. This is it. This is all we’ve got. And do we really want to spend it fussing and fighting over every penny? Do we really want to exist in servitude to an economic system that sees us, as living human individuals with the greatest powers of cosmic creation within us, as nothing but money yet to be made. The things we consider dear. Possessions and wealth and money and fame and fortune. These are all false. These are not reality. These are ideas. They were not dished out by the cosmos like the tiny particles in your body and the body of your dog or cat or even the stoic defiance of a rock. These are ideas. People have killed and died for these ideas. People struggle over these ideas on a daily basis. But they’re just ideas. You are so insignificant that this moment is the most significant thing to you right now and I don’t think you want to spend the most significant moments of your life (WHICH IS ALL OF THEM!) washing dishes, or brewing coffees in some soulless coffeehouse chains, or stuck gazing at computer screens in an office all day, or on the tills hearing that endless “boop, boop, boop” as you scan barcodes. Those are moments you’re never getting back. Gone. Erased. Forgotten already, except by you in moments of mental torture. Don’t let this system steal another one of your precious moments. You’re a human being, you are, for all current knowledge dictates, the creature on this planet with the most powerful brain and yet you’re forced to repetitive, remedial tasks to get what? Money? As I’ve said. Money is just an idea. You’re working your fingers to the bone for an idea. You’re a human being, you have ideas all the time. Is money that special an idea that it justifies working your whole life for?
Hey, I just had an idea. Fuck money. Let’s just use the resources we currently have, and the knowledge we currently have to make this world as perfect and ideal place for everybody.
Where does money come into it?
It doesn’t.
Why?
Because someday I will die. Someday you will die. Someday we all will die. Someday the species may die and with it the idea of money. And if you could look down with hindsight on that poor, sorry, wiped out species. What would you rather think?
“Yeah, sure, they’re all dead now. But God damn they made a lotta money!”
or
“Rest in peace brothers and sisters. You used what you had and did the best you could to make everybody happy.”
It’s easy when you think about it.
Yeah, O.K., now once you’re done spitting tea/coffee/food over your monitor in a fit of existential panic can you get around to the question at hand.
How would you like to be remembered when you’re gone?
If you’re made to think about that question I can guarantee you ego will kick in, at least in most people, and come up with lovely flowery, if a little generic, phrases to describe you. He was a good soul. She always worked hard. The life and soul of the party. So friendly. So helpful. Always there when needed.
I ask this question because only a couple of months ago, I nearly facilitated my own shuffling off this mortal coil. Realistically I had taken enough Co-Codamol tablets to take down a bull-elephant; and it was only in a vomit-laden fit that I told my mother, who was around at the time, that she had best call an ambulance. That’s not paraphrasing. She said “What’s brought that on?” as I was being sick and I said, cold as I could “You’d best call an ambulance.” At no point did the thought enter my head how I would be remembered after I was dead.
And, if you drop ego. If you knock that little part of yourself that wants to be important to the side for a moment and just focus for a minute on objective, cold truth. Most of the descriptions will be so generic they could apply to anybody. Our loved ones will still hold memories but, when asked about you they will churn out the same tired, sagging, worn-out phrases that have probably been used for centuries and then…
…Well after your immediate friends and family are gone no one will remember you much at all. Indeed, you won’t be judged for any reasons of family and friend bias, or wanting to be not speak ill of the dead. You will only be judged for your documented actions. People will only remember you from any words that you put down on record, for your job history that they can dig up, from the birth and marriage records they can put together, from any action of note that makes it into any kind of recorded history.
And, indeed, in time these records will be lost. Generations will pass. More data will trickle and flow into a vast ocean of words and numbers floating around with no form or function. No rhyme or reason. Every now and then the wind might rustle against a flowing ribbon of audio cassette at the crest of a wave of this data and the wind will whisper “Oh shit…I didn’t mean to delete that. How do I get it back?” But there’ll never be an answer. There will be very few men, women, boys, girls or other non-specific genders so as to be all-inclusive, who shall be remembered beyond a generation or two of their passing. Places in history will be reserved solely for men of stature in society and, unfortunately in this society those men are often exceptionally wealthy, and usually morally bankrupt. They will buy the bronze statues and commemorative plaques of the future just as they buy the present. And that’s a shame. Because there are often more nuggets of wisdom in the speech of an insignificant man or woman than there are pre-scripted nuggets of bullshit coming out of the mouths of these individuals. Because a poor man’s life of struggle is a more interesting life than a rich man’s having it easy.
Take this for example. Field Marshall Douglas Haig - Also known as “The Butcher of the Somme”. A man behind many failed British World War I strategies. A man who never went ‘Over the top’ with any of the men he commanded. Douglas Haig, a man who if there is ANY justice of the supernatural, if there is a God and a means of punishment after death is burning in unholy hell right now. Douglas Haig has a statue, a prominent statue, in Whitehall in London. Nearly 1 million estimated casualties of British, or British Colony troops, most have unmarked graves, and are remembered only by their names in records; or by the odd cenotaph commending them on their bravery. Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori; if I may, with much sarcasm, steal a line from a poet more deserving of this space than I; Wilfred Owen.
The bastards who started the war. A war that killed approximately 15 million individuals; and wounded approximately 20 million. Most of them probably have prominent statues. Or fantastic documented records of their lives and various pursuits for which they are applauded. 15 million. 15 million forgotten souls and we remember the individuals who would never even consider putting their neck on the line if there were scores of poorer men happy to do it for them.
They called that “The War to End All Wars.” And yet give it twenty years and we’d do it all over again. Only this time, the number of deaths was quadrupled; making the number of forgotten even larger in proportion to the number of remembered.
People worship Churchill. Claim he was one of the greatest Britons who ever lived. I never saw Churchill with a rifle in his hand on the battlefield. All he did was talk. That’s not great, that’s punditry. He’s remembered, millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions upon millions (yeah, that’s what 60 millions looks like. I’d break them up into individual 1s, one for every life, but I’d be at it for hours!) OF MEN AND WOMEN. All of whom had lives, all of whom had families, all of whom had stories and many of whom had words more inspirational, more profound and more worthy of historical documentation than ‘Sir’ Winston fucking Churchill DEAD AND FORGOTTEN.
So, I’ll ask again. How would you like to be remembered when you’re gone?
If you’re answer is not “I won’t be.” You’re either deluded or a member of the global elite who ruin this planet in the name of their own interests.
Don’t get me wrong. I am a depressing person but I’m not trying to get you down here. What I’m trying to do is…I don’t know…Give you a leg up to realising the insignificance of you. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you realise that every life is as insignificant as the next and, actually, all we have. All we have is this. This right now. This moment. This is it. This is all we’ve got. And do we really want to spend it fussing and fighting over every penny? Do we really want to exist in servitude to an economic system that sees us, as living human individuals with the greatest powers of cosmic creation within us, as nothing but money yet to be made. The things we consider dear. Possessions and wealth and money and fame and fortune. These are all false. These are not reality. These are ideas. They were not dished out by the cosmos like the tiny particles in your body and the body of your dog or cat or even the stoic defiance of a rock. These are ideas. People have killed and died for these ideas. People struggle over these ideas on a daily basis. But they’re just ideas. You are so insignificant that this moment is the most significant thing to you right now and I don’t think you want to spend the most significant moments of your life (WHICH IS ALL OF THEM!) washing dishes, or brewing coffees in some soulless coffeehouse chains, or stuck gazing at computer screens in an office all day, or on the tills hearing that endless “boop, boop, boop” as you scan barcodes. Those are moments you’re never getting back. Gone. Erased. Forgotten already, except by you in moments of mental torture. Don’t let this system steal another one of your precious moments. You’re a human being, you are, for all current knowledge dictates, the creature on this planet with the most powerful brain and yet you’re forced to repetitive, remedial tasks to get what? Money? As I’ve said. Money is just an idea. You’re working your fingers to the bone for an idea. You’re a human being, you have ideas all the time. Is money that special an idea that it justifies working your whole life for?
Hey, I just had an idea. Fuck money. Let’s just use the resources we currently have, and the knowledge we currently have to make this world as perfect and ideal place for everybody.
Where does money come into it?
It doesn’t.
Why?
Because someday I will die. Someday you will die. Someday we all will die. Someday the species may die and with it the idea of money. And if you could look down with hindsight on that poor, sorry, wiped out species. What would you rather think?
“Yeah, sure, they’re all dead now. But God damn they made a lotta money!”
or
“Rest in peace brothers and sisters. You used what you had and did the best you could to make everybody happy.”
It’s easy when you think about it.
~Old Posts~ First Post
FIRST POST!
To start my tumblr with such a ridiculous asinine internet phenomenon as ‘first post!’ is I think one of the crowning glories of my last two years on this Earth. That should thus give you some idea as to how well the last two years on this Earth have treated me and, possibly quite why the same words I can twist into beauteous forms can also be turned caustic and ugly by me at times.
So let’s lay down the facts. I am here to post my musings in text form. As such, so long as the text is clear and readable, that should be fine. I AM NOT going to fanny about tarting up this page with some fancy theme just to pander to the superficiality of people. If you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t read something on a page because the page doesn’t look pretty enough then, quite frankly, you can fuck off. This is the internet you’re on, I’m sure you could google ‘Kittens’ and sit and drool and giggle for a few hours.
I’m not trying to censor anyone. If you turn up at this page, think it looks crappy and feel like saying so, I welcome it. I wish to uphold free speech. So in that spirit, you can expect me to speak freely back to you should you feel the need to slate anything superficial about this page.
Right. That caveat out of the way, let me get down to business. I am Mercer and I write things. I don’t write things for money because, unfortunately, the world is unfair that way. Boo hoo, get over it. I write because I like to. As such, I like for my writing to be seen and, if possible, appreciated and if not, politely told it’s good, by others. I have never studied, formally, any writing to any real level. Sure I’ve got an English Literature AS Level but that’s about as far as I ever got (for various reasons, if people are curious I may divulge in future.) So I am by no means an expert and I by no means ever claim to be. I write as a passion not as a study. I do it because my heart is in it; because, for whatever reason I was cursed with a mouth that, whenever I have a strong feeling feels the need to slam itself permanently shut, whereas my fingers are always free to stroke a pen about at will, or to tap away at a keyboard.
A lot of my work is quite dark and depressing. I shall make no apologies for this, a lot of my time has been spent in dark moods, feeling depressed. If this upsets you happy-happy-joy-joy Disney cartoon existence then I would simply ask that you open your mind and consider that some people think differently, act differently and have very different lives to you; and that just as your experiences shaped who you are, my experiences shaped who I am. If you still can’t be open-minded, then, as with the advice to superficial people, please feel free to tell me, and I will duly respond with something that may offend you.
I guess what I’m trying to do here is justify myself to you. I think it’s a dire state of affairs where an individual has to justify himself. Should we not all accept each other’s lives, views and opinions for what they are? As much as I have stated I will insult anyone who criticises me, that does not mean I don’t respect your right to hold the opinions you do. No individual on this planet should have to justify themselves. We should simply be who we are and never be made to feel so insecure about it that we post inane blogs justifying ourselves before sharing something personal. Such is the sad state of humanity that I have to defend myself against onslaughts of superficiality and closed-mindedness before they have even begun. These can only be the actions of a man who so doubts himself, who so worries what others think that oftentimes he wonders if he even exists at all.
So let’s lay down the facts. I am here to post my musings in text form. As such, so long as the text is clear and readable, that should be fine. I AM NOT going to fanny about tarting up this page with some fancy theme just to pander to the superficiality of people. If you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t read something on a page because the page doesn’t look pretty enough then, quite frankly, you can fuck off. This is the internet you’re on, I’m sure you could google ‘Kittens’ and sit and drool and giggle for a few hours.
I’m not trying to censor anyone. If you turn up at this page, think it looks crappy and feel like saying so, I welcome it. I wish to uphold free speech. So in that spirit, you can expect me to speak freely back to you should you feel the need to slate anything superficial about this page.
Right. That caveat out of the way, let me get down to business. I am Mercer and I write things. I don’t write things for money because, unfortunately, the world is unfair that way. Boo hoo, get over it. I write because I like to. As such, I like for my writing to be seen and, if possible, appreciated and if not, politely told it’s good, by others. I have never studied, formally, any writing to any real level. Sure I’ve got an English Literature AS Level but that’s about as far as I ever got (for various reasons, if people are curious I may divulge in future.) So I am by no means an expert and I by no means ever claim to be. I write as a passion not as a study. I do it because my heart is in it; because, for whatever reason I was cursed with a mouth that, whenever I have a strong feeling feels the need to slam itself permanently shut, whereas my fingers are always free to stroke a pen about at will, or to tap away at a keyboard.
A lot of my work is quite dark and depressing. I shall make no apologies for this, a lot of my time has been spent in dark moods, feeling depressed. If this upsets you happy-happy-joy-joy Disney cartoon existence then I would simply ask that you open your mind and consider that some people think differently, act differently and have very different lives to you; and that just as your experiences shaped who you are, my experiences shaped who I am. If you still can’t be open-minded, then, as with the advice to superficial people, please feel free to tell me, and I will duly respond with something that may offend you.
I guess what I’m trying to do here is justify myself to you. I think it’s a dire state of affairs where an individual has to justify himself. Should we not all accept each other’s lives, views and opinions for what they are? As much as I have stated I will insult anyone who criticises me, that does not mean I don’t respect your right to hold the opinions you do. No individual on this planet should have to justify themselves. We should simply be who we are and never be made to feel so insecure about it that we post inane blogs justifying ourselves before sharing something personal. Such is the sad state of humanity that I have to defend myself against onslaughts of superficiality and closed-mindedness before they have even begun. These can only be the actions of a man who so doubts himself, who so worries what others think that oftentimes he wonders if he even exists at all.
This world needs to get a grip and wise up to the wider issues quick-sharp; before something serious happens.
Thursday, 5 July 2012
New Spot
As part of my shift to blogger, I can better manage the categorisation of my works by having different blogs for different types of thing!
So, instead of using the Mercer's Poems platform to stick all my self-righteous, controversial and inflammatory opinion pieces - I now have Mercer's Opinions! This is where I shall be judgmental, self-righteous and critical, but first, I will be moving old posts from Tumblr to here.
So, Mercer's Poems is going to be my literary pursuits. Poems, short stories, adverts of my books and things - Here is just going to be everything people can troll me for because they think I am wrong.
So, instead of using the Mercer's Poems platform to stick all my self-righteous, controversial and inflammatory opinion pieces - I now have Mercer's Opinions! This is where I shall be judgmental, self-righteous and critical, but first, I will be moving old posts from Tumblr to here.
So, Mercer's Poems is going to be my literary pursuits. Poems, short stories, adverts of my books and things - Here is just going to be everything people can troll me for because they think I am wrong.
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