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30 and Counting:
“Have you seen some cunt that looks like Catwoman on Ketamine? No? Me neither, but it's on my Bucket List!”
This is a thesis, a Doctorate of dossing from one who's hand has been forced by matters beyond him. A life where the sole ambition was to walk forward in no particular direction and make the best of it. However, where it's been a solid choice for 15 years, every path, any path has been shawn off into a sheer cliff. When faced with nothing but oblivion beneath, do you stay on your crag of rock forever, hoping to remain satisfied with the paltry lot that oligarchs have thrown you? Or do you leap, hoping in vain that you land somewhere at least a shred more satisfactory than the edge you are stuck on now?
An eternal gamble of the proletariat. Faced with the hardships the posh like to laugh about behind their glasses of fizz, people they expunge endless energy and pleasure in crushing like the pips in strawberries floating and pickling in said glass. The fruit has been permitted to wallow in some semblance of opulence and success for a time, the osmosis of the heady, effervescent liquid seeps in and threatens the integrity and structure, weakening it. The insidious grape juice implies to the strawberry that it has gained access to the same level of privilege it sees all around it, “congratulations! You too, are Bourgeois!”
Of course, the once delicate and beautiful strawberry's integrity has been compromised. It's heady trip in the midst of decadence is now savagely sundered, tipped on it's head, rushed as a beleaguered boat slips dangerously away over the event horizon of a waterfall. Only, these jagged rocks are teeth that dismantle the once delightful fruit, the deeps of the lake/river are the human gullet, where only a pool of acid resides.
Sounds like a ramble? It's not, it's the ideal symbolic comparison to the once promising sweet young flesh of the British working class. We are crushed now, like the strawberry, only our saccharine, artificial fragrance remains permeating the air, used to perfume our desecrated souls with the illusion of social mobility. 2013 has certainly become an unlucky number! Although we have the power to change what we see fit in a world we all share, watch this space!
© Brad James, 2014.