Thursday, 17 September 2009

Sweet knives could ruin lives

      When i was 17 i left college. I quit. At that point in my life i still hadnt addressed my parents break up 3 years earlier and my mothers deteriating health. I wasnt interested in my topics that i had chosen. I was beginning to slip into a state of anomie. So i got a job. It wasnt my first by a long shot. It was at a warehouse and my role was a continuous stock taker. I was a counter and id count every single day from 7 in the morning till 4 in the afternoon. The warehouse was gargantuan. The people who worked there where all strangers. No one spoke. There where no friends here. No one wanted to be here and it was written all over our faces. Rather we where forced to be here. Due to causes each individually different....but it wasnt our choice. Fork lift trucks would beep, screech and hum. Articulated lorries would sputter, wine and grumble. The machines would play perfectly like some mechanical percussion orchestra. If conversation ever arose it would be about football, sex or grog. We where the bottom of the barrel. Working class workhorses. Working out of sight, behind the seens of the general public. I arrived in the dark of winter and i left in the night aswell. Mornings were cold and nights the same.

      I hated that place. Every morning id wake up and my feet would feel like stone. It took the strength of a 100 wild horses to get out of that bed every morning and it felt it too. The house would be cold. My clothes would be cold. The drive to work as cold. The walk to the warehouse across the carpark was cold. My bed was warm....and soft....and...and...not here.

      Before you could begin work you had to get prosessed. Security would perform random spot checks. Sometimes patting you down. Check your id and such. There was big single lines and you'd shuffle slowly, like penguins, to the point where youd pass security and youd finally be able to swipe that little plastic white card.

      There was this one morning when i looked up as i was stood in the single line...shuffling. I watched the machines turning. The forklifts wooshing past. The nameless strangers plodding aimlessly. At that moment i felt hate and resentment. I hated that i was there. I hated that i was cold. I hated that i hadnt seen daylight in months. I hated that i cryed that morning because i didnt want to go to work and i hated that i felt guilty and weak for it. I hated the constant noise. I hated the floresent lights that made your eyes sore. I hated the dust mites that would leave your ankles and wrists bleeding as youd scratch away all day. I hated that no one give a fuck. short....hated. The only thing that would get me through them days was, quite simply, quite beautifully. A girl.

      Knowing that a girl waited for me and would be there as soon as id finished made it tolerable. I think alot of people live for others. There must be thousands of people still working jobs like i worked everyday. Everyday the world must seem that little bit more grey. But they do it. Because at the end of it they get to come back to thier love and thier children. Thats the reason they leave in the morning.

      Ive never been able to narrow down love. Ive never been able to describe it in all its layers. Its like water. The moment you think youve got a grasp of what it is, it effortlessly slips through your fingers and eludes you. My conclusion is that everyones love is different. As distinguishable to each others preconceptions as their dna that they carry.

The Script

      So ive been thinking and ive come up with something ive named "The script". It comes from analyzing my own behavior and my ex and my teachers and my workmates and my family and my friends. Infact, anyone i have had contact with.

      Ive come to the understanding that people have thier animal side and then they have thier human side. Thier animalistic side is thier nature. The part of them that feels like they want to fight or fuck. Impulse. Instinct. Basic but powerfull. Then theres the human part that can detach themselves from a situation, weigh it up, consider the consequences, ponder the morality and them act in a controlled way.

      Now nothing in life is black or white but a scale. So people go through life trying to be the best person they can but on occasion they do something or say something thats morally wrong but they were propelled to do because of thier nature getting the better of them. Later upon reflection they understand what they have done is wrong and out of character. Its not them. What pursues is guilt. Guilt is like napalm, its clings. So what people have managed to do is create something to take away the guilt.. They cant go back in time and change things so the only thing they can do is contextualise. They create "The script".

      The script is based on causality. You follow back your actions far enough to show that what you did was infact caused by your reaction to a series of events. You diffuse your responcibility to the point where you convince yourself that you never had any choice. Your not a bad person, you just did a bad thing and because your guitly, that shows your sorry. All makes sense. So your guilt fades because you contextualize it.

      After a while you do it with everything. The script provides an excuse to procrastinate for example. Its a get out of jail free card. It hides your cowardness. Well i didnt do that because of this and that.

      Not only do you start to believe your own script but you sell it to other people. Your friends are the first ones to buy your script. Then your surrounded with people that tell you your scritp back to you. Your family usually take your script without question. Before you know it you forgotten what the reality was. Because lets face it. Reality is harsh and its raw. Its unforgiving and to the point. It doesnt care about your feelings. It doesnt care about anybody elses feelings.

      The script is the lubracant for social fluidity. So as i walk around and watch people i see them too, rolling out thier scripts. As see myself rolling out mine depending who i engage with.....and i shudder. Whats real?