Discover more from no_globo
Disaffection looms over me like days of endless cloud, the weight of the world buried deep on alternating shoulders shoving me to and fro. I walk into rooms of homogeneous homoerotic advertisement and like a hall of mirrors find no escape. I am programmed in 0’s and 1’s but forever bombarded with 2’s and 3’s and 4’s attempting to alter the reality of nature. I encounter a protest and I too feel like I should protest the protest for its chaotic stupidity and hijacking from angry peabrains, the elites mocking them like laughing clowns and despite however many balls they take in their mouth you never win. A penchant for revival of old, a search for the past begins, and as though it was the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, I am bombarded with radioactive waste of the future exploits rewriting the past (see: First Nations) and thus, disaffection looms.
A day turns to a week which turns to a month which turns to eternity. Pride, progress, pronouns; bears, beastiality, bondage; satantic sorcery imitations reading and performing for children. Government funded National History museums now flashing ‘Oppressive Trans History of Australia’, ‘First Nations Reconciliation for Past Wrongs’, pictures of these events with Indians and Muslims and Women in attendance, as well as the obligatory future man of the garage tagging along with his girlfriend.
Online forums once espousing how fantastic the country is, now taken over by instagram wannabes of the brownlands holding a starbucks cup in front of the Harbour with a quote of how much they love Australia whilst wearing a head covering or cultural dress, as if taking the piss of their offer of a home. Need I comment on the once secret local knowledge natural wonders and their ambience now destroyed by the turd worlders and their busload of extended family all trampling and chatting away in their $5 imitation sunglasses, be it for a photo for social media.
Supermarkets, sustainable suburbs, copy and paste dining precincts in your 15 minute vicinity, nothing but bland. Blandness of taste, blandness of quality, blandness of service, blandness of culture. Stay home, lock down, work from home, slow down, a ring of the doorbell, Mr Visa’s cold fry. Sit down, tired soul, with the press of a button, endless entertainment accompanies your ice cream. Within 20 minutes it seems to be finished, a blank screen, an empty tub, frustration with screen. Blandness of film, blandness of quality, blandness of plot, blandness of cast. A waste of time? No! Time to scroll, tik tok-tik thot, gives brain a clot. Dance slow, dance fast, dance naked, a farce.
The bird, it chimes, scroll Twitter, I read, I heed, do not read the thread, ‘you should be dead’. A residual cesspool of cultural war lost decades ago, anon against anon, bot warfare, if I’m right. The lure of hope, the victory of slanderous sarcasm, to crucify a Karen, one thing in common, all atomised, alone. A post of logic, a post of reasonable nature, 0 likes, 0 retweets, 1 comment ‘republican scum’, a reply ‘both sides are compromised’, ‘far right incel cooker conspiracy nutter’ replies.
A walk outside, a source of despair. Harrassment architecture all around, everywhere. Speed camera vans, fear addicted brown drivers, Tahghlia in her Mazda 2, unemployed Chad passenger, I pass them fast, a finger out their window, the white knight with no balls digs in the knife. The price of a house, the doom of being alone, with no one but tattooed emotional empowerment boss babes in lycra dotting the way. At the lights, the zoomer with the physiognomy of a ribbed balloon about to explode rocks up beside, degenerate rap playing, looks at me with his friends and laughs at my 80s aussie band playing, with adult pacifiers emitting smoke in their mouth, I drive off fast with a deep drone exhaust, a remnant of past car culture, they drop what’s left of their jaw, but it wasn’t for me, but for KFC.
I pass a Church, the fake one of England, rainbow flags, rainbow steps, sign beaming ‘GOD IS THEY/THEM’, correction, fake and gay, and to my horror a gaggle of young fertiles inside. Inverse and perverse, a cultural hearse, the past rewritten, far more than a smidgen. A Nation’s foundation of morals discarded, values replaced, principles defaced, what is this place? A mighty fall from Grace.
Solace is elusive in the predicament described, along with purpose, meaning and spirit. In times of such strife disaffection bleeds rife, gone is the wife and much of a life. Every trial seems wrong, or empty or trite. As we quest for our time in consciousness to be set right, may we find it not in the physical, but the spiritual.
“Now we know that the law is good, if one uses it lawfully, understanding this, that the law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the unholy and profane, for those who strike their fathers and mothers, for murderers, the sexually immoral, men who practice homosexuality, enslavers, liars, perjurers, and whatever else is contrary to sound doctrine”
1 Timothy 1:8-10
“For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error.”