A Pessimist's Viewpoint

The night feels calm. No wind or noise to spoil the serenity of my milieu. The air is static, a calm before the storm (perhaps even the eye of the storm?). And there is a sense of foreboding, subjugating any thoughts of optimism (as if there were any to be had). Shadows move in the peripherals of my vision, unimportant and therefore ignored. A human mind can conjure up the strangest images, and mine are among the more avid of them, to say the least. So, smiling in the face of my darkest designs, I wrap up tight against the cold, and continue my little walk under the streetlights¦

And I think to myself, this would be the perfect opener of some fantasy epic, with the lone heroine walking down the silent road of her destiny (I prefer using the old clichéd adjectives to lure in the less intellectually informed, those obsessed with image but ignore substance or originality).
Sword in hand, she would discover her purpose in the story, venture off into a richly textured world, full of vivid descriptions, characters and grand battles. Maybe fall in love with a young boy in a farming village much like her own. If only everything were so simple, written down in a book, page after page ad infinitum (the Book Of Life perhaps). But life is never so simple, or so linear. Our experiences could never be described with mere words, human language thousands of years in the making, up against the infinity of God, and His Creation. But that's another story entirely, and I fear I may ramble a little when I get carried away.
Maybe that's what's wrong with the world, I think, a lack of meaning, focus or rhythm. But then there are a lot of things wrong with the world, so I move onto another, similar train of thought¦

I could fix it all, I say, laughing at the idea. I have many propositions I would like the world to hear of course (don't we all?), written down in my little Tesco notepad at home (because every little helps?). No. 1: Don't fight each other, No.2: Give to the poor, No.3: Care for your neighbour. Ideas from the innocent thoughts of a child, but still infinitely more important than UN resolutions on tariffs on Chinese goods, or Article 32 of the European Convention on Human Rights, but I keep sidestepping the really important question: would anyone really give a fuck? So I sigh, I sigh at the pointlessness of it all, I sigh at our leaders who try so hard to change the world, with their manifestos and political ideologies, those who want to do the "right thing, the "proper thing, and seem surprised when they fall face first into there own political nightmare. But all it really boils down to is a cycle of complex euphemisms and political manoeuvring. All for the good old common goal: power.
For isn't that not what it's always about in the end? Lenin spoke of freeing the people of Russia from the oppression of the Tsar. He who then ruled with terror and an iron fist. All in the name of the Revolution? Who would dare to think otherwise? Not I, for I fear that the sorry mess that is human history has led me to drop my hopes for our little species. Optimism is an exercise in ludicrous conjecture. And what about God, you may ask? Surely He would not abandon us? Why, I would reply, for what reason would God get involved with such a petty race? A race that murders its own kind for ambition or pleasure? No, be under no illusions my friends, I believe in God, in a higher intelligence vaster and greater than our own, but He owes us nothing.
We are all sinners, some more than others. I liken myself to Abel, cast out by Eve, who herself was cast out of Eden. Temptation is dangerous thing, something that should be resisted (or so I am told). But the Apple always wins.

Number 3, number 4. Number 5. My house sits silhouetted against the backdrop of a small town, now all but devoid of life, for it's late. I check my wristwatch, and in digital font it read 23.06. My journey took longer than expected. So I walk up to the entrance to the driveway, and gaze upon my dwelling, a little brooding figurine lying silently in its alcove. I can hear laughter from inside, visitors perhaps? Music is being played, the usual pop tarts churned out by money grabbing producers for a quick fix. I abhor it, so I hum my own little tune in my head, as I make for the door¦

-Jack, come here a moment will you? A familiar voice. So I make for its source, into the living room. My grandparents are sitting down opposite the TV, all smiles and high spirits.
-Well done! They say. I'm sure you're pleased! They say, and hand me a card.
I give my thanks, in my usual pleasant monotone. I can't be bothered with this I think, so I smile as my mum and dad exchange witticisms with the rest of the family. I laugh at them (with them?), at their plastic faces, their automatic handshakes, and their monotonous congratulations. Lost children looking for a bit of meaning to life, metaphysics in its most basic form.
So I say my goodbyes quickly and make my way upstairs to my room. The card is left on my bed, along with the rest of the day's garbage (mainly pages of revision notes and things I haven't managed to clean up yet). I turn on the TV. BBC News 24 glares across the room at me, drawing me into the murky depths of global media and world news. The anchorwoman sits impeccably in her seat of power, outwardly enthusiastic to tell me of the day's goings on around the world.
-And now a summary of today's news stories. (Catchy drum role and epic music. It always makes me laugh). Ehud Olmert has called Israeli troops back to the border with Lebanon after the UN resolution drawn up only a month ago has failed to satisfy the anti-Israeli partisan group Hezbollah, who earlier resumed their bombardment of Israeli towns and cities. Mr. Olmert said that there would be no second chances, prompting international speculation that a full-scale invasion of Lebanon was imminent.
I watch the all too familiar pictures of rockets and mutilated children on hospital beds; people crying for dead loved ones, people screaming in vain at the TV cameras. Why is this happening? Where is the justice?
It died along with purpose, lost among international treaties and "peace-keeping forces. It's the Apocalypse, I think, get over it.
I smile. I laugh. I cry. People die. The world is a dirty cesspit of problems, death and humanity. A kind of galactic rubbish tip. So I turn the TV off, throw the remote on the bed and sit down at my desk, on my groovy little revolving chair. I spin until I get sick, try and spin in the opposite direction to counter the nausea, but realise that it only makes it worse. Common sense was never my strong point¦

The pc sits silently to my right. A wonderful exhibit of the Information Revolution. So I turn it on, log in and decide to surf the World Wide Web. To receive my daily fix of Info, the new must-have drug. A new opium for the masses, so to speak (wouldn't Karl Marx be spinning in his grave?). I admit that even I fall into this trap, this desire for knowledge. Well, with the ability to know anything and everything, at the touch of a button, wouldn't you? Who needs to live in the big wide world when we can see and hear everything from our own rooms? We could sit in bed, wired up to Info, to the Internet, with only the power of thought navigating our movements? We would all have a purpose then, spectators to our own demise. But of course I'm talking nonsense. Change is not always for the best, but can be good for us, help us evolve as a species into something greater than what we are. But I digress (from what?)¦

Maybe I just need to lighten up, (wake up and smell the ashes?). People tell me love is the key, that as the strongest human emotion, it can dispel everything else. I agree. Love can be a powerful tool, the sole reason why we shouldn't burn in the fires of nuclear war, hurt, disease or ignorance. I sound like a neo-hippy, "make love, not war, and maybe I am. I'm a very simple minded person, and proud of it¦

So, my ramblings about the state of everything have come to its conclusion. And as I sit here in my chair, eyes closed in thought, I think that I may one day write a book on all of this, to show the world just how truly detached and ignorant I really am. But I don't think about it for that long. I would prefer to do fantasy; give the people what they want, you know? War, death and heroes. A parallel to modern day life? Well, almost.
But I won't tell you my story, my reason for writing this (boredom?). I'll leave that up to you. I take out some file paper from my desk tray, get out a pen and think, should I try and make it original?
Well, I don't think about it for that long.

Let me tell you a story about the End Of the World¦