Pointless

I set myself, back in what was kind of shit but is compared to the post-June 23rd shitheap a glorious golden era, a target of writing three posts a week, minimum. That by now has fallen almost comically by the wayside. It says in the sidebar that new posts appear here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays – in my defence, I never said anything about those Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays being consecutive.

I started this blog because, well, I’m interested in politics, and wanted to write about that in the hope that other people might actually find the shit I burble interesting or amusing on some level. I might not have a doctorate in political science, and the chances of me breaking any incredible stories any time soon are slim, but Christ can I swear. It’s more or less my only marketable talent. So there’s my opening – Owen Jones with the word “cunt”. The problem is that I have slowly but surely found myself not so much disillusioned with British politics but far too jaded and apathetic to actually do anything relating to it. It’s one of those things that I don’t especially want to pay all that much attention to because I find the whole thing just so incredibly depressing.

Honestly, I can scarcely find myself able to give any mind to the shit the government or anyone else does because as far as I can tell there isn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, there is only more tunnel, and at the end of THAT tunnel there may be a light, but it’s going to be the headlights of an oncoming train. The UK is completely and irredeemably fucked at this point; the government has, based on a slim margin in a referendum that it ultimately cannot ignore, decided that we must become a banana republic and that the political beliefs of the most dimwitted cretins in the population overrule all of the others. It has taken this as a mandate for regressive, backward, downright idiotic policies which make the incoherent babble that made for policy in the Cameron years look like the fucking New Deal. It can quite credibly take this as a mandate because the UK is a proud nation of morons, morons who are quite willing to ignore evidence and dismiss as scaremongering expert warnings, while simultaneously scaremongering themselves and encouraging fellow morons to go with their guts.   Any opposition to this, any suggestion that we perhaps not completely kneecap our own economy and rewrite our constitution wholesale because of a marginal result in a referendum, or even that the slapdash pisstake of a constitution we currently have should apply to such things, is treated as if it was some kind of fascist usurping of democracy.

I simply cannot bring myself to actively think about this very much at all. It’s as if we’re in a bus heading for a cliff, and we know we are, and we know the cliff is very high and that the bottom of high cliffs and buses don’t end well, and all of our friends are standing outside the bus shouting NO STOP DON’T GO OVER THE CLIFF YOU FUCKING MANIACS IT’LL EXPLODE and yet the driver still has his foot resolutely on the accelerator because he’s made the calculation that 52% of the bus’ passengers will be his friend if he goes over the cliff. We’re not quite over the cliff yet; there’s a chance we could not go over, but enough people would consider not going over the cliff to be like the Enabling Act for us not to. This is our future. This is my future. I am genuinely fearful of what will happen here over the next few years, because I very much doubt anything good is going to transpire. I’ve felt depressed about the state of politics before, but I’ve never been worried that the entire concept of liberal democracy is dying before like I am now.

So that’s why I’m not writing very much. I’ve thought about writing more personal things but frankly very little of any interest happens in my life; I reread an older blog I wrote about personal things about 8 years ago and I woke myself up several posts in with my own snoring. Perhaps if after trying out being a pound shop Charlie Brooker and sucking dick at that, and then finding out I don’t have the mental stamina to be a pound shop Owen Jones, I’ll try my hand at music reviews to be a pound shop Mark Prindle then realise I’m shit at that too halfway through my first incoherent, meandering review of It’s Great When You’re Straight… Yeah which will be read by exactly zero people who I don’t share some amount of genetic material with, and exactly one person who I do. I apologise if you are one of the 26 followers I have on Facebook; not because of the lack of posts, just in general.

2016 really is the shittest year I could imagine.

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