It is that magical week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day which allows me to excuse myself from blogging! So without further ado, here is a blog post about there not being a blog post:
(I will probably write one for New Year’s Resolutions, have no fear.)
Anyone who knows me – heck, anyone perceptive who reads these blog posts – will probably notice that I’m plagued with self doubt, paranoia in its most self-destructive element. It is something which, when editing myself, I become highly impatient with, as the self doubt of the moment is typically edited out later without much further thought. The reason you see it in some of my blog posts is that some are written on the day they are intended for release.
Last fortnight’s blog post, Devil’s Advocate, for example, originally began with this line: When reading this blog post, I’d like you to regularly refer back to the title, so as to remember that I do not necessarily agree with the viewpoints I am discussing. In editing, this was removed, as it was redundant and written as an in-the-moment reflection of a fear that my point would not be portrayed effectively, and lead people to believe that I preached what I regarded with disapproval. In retrospect, of course, I realised this was unnecessary, and through the magic of editing it was removed.
The other day I made a series of tweets, the first being a sarcastic comment about not needing a Facebook quiz to tell me my personality was superb, the second to clarify that the first was sarcasm, and the third to comedically reply to myself, chastising myself about my self doubt. In the end, it was a hideous mess which I just deleted, not out of shame, but because of my newfound decision to edit myself down a bit more in social media so as to put out things people actually enjoy reading, or which state an emotional response if necessary.
Day to day speech cannot be edited though, and I am constantly lacing my discussion with disclaimers and clarifications which I’m entirely sure that people around me become exasperated with, albeit not to the point of having a problem with me. So I suppose, if I’m going to have a New Year’s Resolution (which I’ll probably blog about and defend the notion of), it’ll be to be more confident in my speech and less paranoid about the misgivings of those around me.
There are many other examples I could pull up of my lack of self confidence, but I think you get the gist of it. One of more interesting ones, though, was a dream I had last week in which my talented friend Jak was dragged away by bandits in a post-apocalyptic landscape of my hometown, and I was powerless to stop them. That’s realistic to a point (I’m not exactly a tough guy), but it was a dream of my own making, meaning I was powerless because I dreamed myself to be so. A humorous situation, but an eye opening one. The kicker was another day when, out of the blue, my mind whispered to me that the only person who ever criticised me in the way I so frequently feared was myself; for instance, only I have ever raised the possibility of me being pretentious.
“For what?!” you may cry. “How am I to know what is to be spoiled?! Am I to avoid this dashingly handsome blog post? Please, tell me, o writer of these rambling paragraphs!” Well, fear not, I plan to spoil nothing at all here. Instead, I will be talking about spoilers themselves.
Spoilers are a problem, because what is heard cannot be unheard, and the human mind has a terrific way of stapling anything it doesn’t want to hear to the back of your eyelids. Sometimes, things are spoiled unknowingly, via referential humour, and the wrongdoing is only noticed among the groans of those inflicted, and no amount of apology, accepted or not, can right the wrong. The twist in the story is now burned into that person’s brain, and they will never be able to approach it from a fresh perspective ever again.
Some people spoil things with callous disregard, in the Youtube video titles and thumbnails of their WATCH ME REACT videos, in various social media comments, and lately, in the Facebook trends. I won’t spoil it here, but at the end of a season of a television show, the headline was literally <CHARACTER DIES IN TV SHOW>. There have since been multiples of the headline <FANS OF TV SHOW DISCUSSES CHARACTER’S FATE>. Why? WHY?
The worst kind of spoiler, however, is the one that is still socially acceptable and is by no means meant with any kind of ill intention. It’s the “I’m not going to spoil this for you, but the twist in the end is amazing!” Not as destructive as the detailed discussion of events, but you will now spend that entire movie / TV series / book / holotape waiting for the inevitable betrayal to come, and trying to guess from which character. The problem is, that kind of foreknowledge makes the betrayer easier to predict, as the story is written with the intention of the audience not knowing that there will be any betrayal at all, and therefore not looking for it.
It doesn’t have to be something so monumental as a specific event, either. “That series is great; I wouldn’t get too attached to any of the characters, though.” I wouldn’t scowl at anyone who said this, but even this is sowing the seeds of expectation within the minds of those you’re recommending the fiction to, dulling any unexpected deaths, if only by a little.
Where do we draw the line though? If my previous paragraph is to be believed, we dare not open our mouths to mention even the smallest of details. Many people think that there should be a 2 week or so spoiler free period, after which it’s open season. Others think that spoilers should never be openly discussed with those who haven’t seen it and it’s up to the would-be-spoiler…er… to moderate their side of the discussion. Others think it’s down to the person who doesn’t want to be spoiled to avoid these conversations, and whilst I agree with that to a point (i.e don’t go visiting internet messaging boards about a series you’ve not finished watching), it’s a little selfish to expect the nearest newbie to a fiction to dive headfirst out of the nearest window at the mere mention of their potential spoiler.
My personal guideline is this: Do not discuss spoilers with those who mention not wanting them, and ask first. (“Ah, there was a great moment in… wait, have you ever seen Jessica Jones?” “No.” “Ah alright, you should watch it.”) However, do not tear out the throat of anyone who unintentionally spoils something for you, for it is just fiction in the end, and if they meant no harm, then I’m sure they can be forgiven. Do not post spoilers publicly online, i.e Facebook or Twitter, where there are no spoiler tags available. And for the love of all that is fluffy and adorable, do not publicly spoil something just because somebody spoiled it for you.
Now, speaking of spoilers, I have an issue. I would love to use this blog to discuss things like Jessica Jones, Doctor Who, the books I’m reading, so on and so forth. These would only ever be additional to the weekly posts, as the majority of any readership for a non-specified topic blog won’t be interested. My problem is spoilers; as far as I can tell, WordPress offers no means of hiding spoilers from those just scrolling by, not wanting any trouble. The only way I can see to get around this would be to link to an external place (say, Google Documents) within a small blog post, but websites like that could die or lose their data at any moment, causing future readers looking back (hello!) to lose access to these posts. So, please let me know if you have a solution! Maybe there is a way to hide spoilers on WordPress and I’m just blind.
Update: Sorry this was posted a day late! I told WordPress to schedule this post for yesterday, but for some reason it never went out. It’s my fault for not checking, I suppose, but better late than never!
I feel like people approach the term “open minded” nowadays in much the same way they as they publicly identify with quotes of grand selflessness. More specifically, they take the idea as willing to hear, instead of willing to listen, to interact with the idea, to form logical counter-arguments or most importantly, have the heart to accept that your mind can be changed.
Here’s some quick background: I’m what many people would consider “left wing”. I’m a pacifist. I believe that David Cameron is ruling with ignorance; I believe that certain papers are selling by capitalising on prejudices and megalomania. I believe that we should be accepting refugees and putting more money into things that will make life better for the majority (NHS) than safeguarding with paranoia (Trident). And I believe, in my heart, that I am right, and that this is the recipe to being a decent human being.
But of course, I could be so grossly wrong. I’ve never been in a position of wealth and power; I’ve never been a leader, and I’m not the one who has to make difficult decisions and hide the uncertainty to assure my image remains strong willed, whatever the outcome.
Every time I discuss political and humanitarian matters with my friends and we get annoyed at the opposing views, there’s always a tiny part of my mind that says, “What if?” 99% of me is as vehemently against the latest controversial policy as my friends, but 1% of me says, “What if?” And I think it’s important that we take that 1% (for I’m sure that plenty of other people who have it too), and we extrapolate it, using it to view every possible angle and bias.
Sometimes it’s a matter of understanding why the opposing “wing” believes what they do. Are they ignorant and prejudiced, or are we stubborn and self-righteous? I certainly don’t think we are, but it surely can’t be unhealthy to consider this. Today, I saw an article on a group of students who stood up and walked out of the lecture when a controversial figure who hungers for attention (and shall therefore not be named) finished talking. And I was right there with these students, until I saw the comment, “Should have debated with her, typical students, think only their opinion maters…” And of course whilst my initial reaction was that she could not be reasoned with, I then had to stop and realise that the very core of my beliefs is that more people need to put their pride aside and talk. Walking out was a brilliant display of protest, but ultimately you’ve not taught that person anything new. In fact, you’ve probably incited them, more than anything. Closed minds twist events into something they can digest and turn against others instead of themselves.
I feel very strongly about allowing refugees into the country. They’re fleeing warzones, and it is our duty as fellow humans – of no nation but one world – to shelter those in need as best we can. I think that keeping them all out due to the potential danger of terrorists hiding among them would be to fall prey to the very nature of terrorism: spreading fear, disrupting all that is good in the world. But. BUT. The 1% remains. At least some of those who want to close the borders do so not out of irrational prejudice, but legitimate caution. I’m sure that if I were put in direct danger due to the refugee situation, I’d regret my stance. It’s not something to be taken lightly.
It is something to be discussed like civilised people.
Democracy does not work when people are not heard. And it’s not just the common person who isn’t heard, it’s the government. We’re not listening to them. I abhor saying that, but look at any comments section in social media when official news sources post parliamentary matters. We behave like beasts, and whilst it’s only representative of a vocal minority in the direct sense, it’s not all that less extreme with the majority. Whilst I disagree heavily with most of what the government says and does nowadays, it’s no surprise they’re not listening when our best retorts are to call them names and form arguments on false facts and hearsay. If we truly oppose the very nature of what they are doing, we must listen closely to their side of the argument, understand why they believe how they do, and use facts and measured, in-depth discussion of universal topics such as the nature of being human to debate against them, and implore them to view events from perspectives outside their own pockets and legacies.
The lovely folks, our lords and leaders over at the British Government have just passed a vote through all fair democracy to bomb Syria, and many of them left with a smirk and a smile on their face, satisfied that what they’ve done is right and that we’re winning the war on terrorism.
Thousands will die, and with a swish and a flick of the pen, some rich white people over on some island a world away have decided that it is right to let this happen, for the greater good. Homes will burn and children will bleed and it will all be for a greater cause, and we are right.
My voice was heard tonight. Your voice was heard. Tonight, we stood up in the House of Commons and told these privileged few who get to make the decisions why they are wrong, who they will be hurting, and how this has all happened before, hundreds and thousands of times.
We have elected to sling fireballs at crowds so we can hit the cowards hiding among them, whilst we busy ourselves with civilised lives in groups, avoiding the strangers in dark coats among us, horrified at the notion of fireballs landing at our feet.
Tonight, we sat down like civilised animals and signed away the lives of thousands to right the wrong of the hundreds that were killed on our side.
Next week’s blog post is already written. I will not be changing it but I can’t guarantee I’d be writing “Devil’s Advocate” after the decisions made tonight.
The other night I was curled up in bed with a book from the past, and a cat snuggled beside me, on the cusp of sleep. It was at this moment that my mind flashed forwards to consider this image from ten years down the line, when I’d be sleeping in a different bed in a different room under a different roof, with no cat. I didn’t see but instead felt the longing to return to a past which was currently the present, and it upset me.
This premonition of sorts was most likely brought on by my considering of the difference in setting from when I’d first read this book, and was unsettling. Nobody likes to be reminded that somebody lived in their house before them, and that somebody will surely live in their house afterwards. What ghosts walk your rooms, bound to their own realms by only the constraints of time? Who will be sat where you are now, decades down the line? And where will you be then?
We all have chapters in our lives, some contrasting most potently than others. It’d be presumptuous of me to assume the same template of memories for everyone, but I’m sure I speak for many when I say that while some ghosts are strangers of time, others surface in the mind, not from speculative afterthought but personal experience; some with regret, some with anger, and some with no new perspective but the unbiased film grain of the past. Some people we choose never to talk to again, and fall out of their lives as quietly as we fall out of theirs. But they’ve left an impression upon us, and the world cannot be viewed from the same perspective as before that meeting, be they a bittersweet presence in the mind, or a blemish gazing distastefully back.
These are the blog posts I do not write; they are the statuses and tweets I do not post. Once, perhaps, but no longer. I find them self-pitying, self-obsessed, needlessly morose; there is enough misery in the world without me contributing to it. And whilst all the optimism I preach is of genuine conviction, I feel in equal parts this doom. Doom from the ignorance of politicians; doom from the forecast of society; doom, most of all, from the rigors of the mind and the personal wars I wage within myself. But look, I’m already adopting the starved poet’s mirror with that line.
One of my greatest fears is becoming, or being perceived as pretentious. But to be pretentious is to be without conviction, and a person without conviction is a painted picture of themselves that they maraud around the place as a photograph. My aim of changing the world to have even one less shadow in it is defunct, should I neglect to acknowledge the darkness myself. So this blog post is an experiment, written in one of my bleaker hours; it is an attempt to be truly oneself. And you can be certain that this was not some hastened scrawling of bad temper, for these words were written a full four days before they were published, leaving plenty of room to write something else.
But know this: Just because the world inside of you is engulfed in darkness, it doesn’t mean that the world outside deserves to be the same. This, I think, is where the wagers of war are fundamentally flawed, and it remains to be seen as to whether the human race is capable of getting the better of its temper.
Perpetually Perturbed 