Article in Society / Philosophy / Political & Social
The extremities of the apparent post-post modern world and the bi-polar approach so many appear to be taking. Or so the new media purports?
 
 
 

The middle ground. Not Blair's fabled Third Way, nor sitting on the metaphoric fence. The middle ground. Like Zelig, floating, somnambulist in the fog of past, present and future tense. Hard to find a context as one drifts through WH Smith's mega newsagent shelves searching for the elusive zeitgeist. Rudderless, the waking sleeper, in a Tramadol-induced hypnagogia. Titles swim up through the grey fug. New Humanist. Jewish Chronicle. Writers Forum. Zero Tolerance. Belief, atheism, satanism in one fell visual swoop. Still more bemusement. The confusion of competing titles revealing little.

God's dandruff. Higgs Bosun particles. Scientists looking for meaning in the infinitesimal. The titles reveal little.

Back to the egg. WH Smith's echoes my small discomfiture. Zero Tolerance unveils arcane satanism for the geeks who cling to the darkness. Suicide clauses in dark make-up and Finnish miserablism and fashionably bleak nihilism straight from the HP Lovecraft text. Hyper real nonsense, jockeying for position with glossy atheism and its cousin New Humanism. Comedians and scientist united in approval of a boringly rendered future. Nothing really new since Greek antiquity. Obvious stances of the Witchfinder General sort. Spiteful Oxbridge graduates in ivory towered, non-engagement with the great mass of seething, starving humanity. Easy for the Big Pharma-sponsored entertaining elite to talk down to us proles.

What do I know? Just a marginal, gutter cyclist avoiding the twin temptations of the easy cynicism and stoop-to-conquer Dawkins religiosity alongside the mugging, cycloptic light of the New Age idiot brigade. I am empty as a zen koan and as full as a Taoist sunset. Glib theories. Last gasp optimism in a tide of polarities worthy of mental illness indicators. DSM VI for 2011 and beyond. Old certainties and new science still showing a poor imagination at work.

More margins. But then, 'twas ever thus in this new Middle Age. Better to have some outsider view than join a club that admits such as I. Marxism of the right sort. Trying not to be co-opted by the extremities is worth pursuing. Neither a satanist crank nor a righteously hidebound New Humanist. No harm to either as I peddle through the slurry of print in WH Smith's back into the teeming hordes of consumers on Northumberland Street. Christmas in Newcastle. Hope beyond the grand spectacle of bread and circuses for the insomniac, amnesiac shoppers and imbibers of government taxed chemicals and prescribed behaviour. There is hope beyond the cogs driving the invisible mechanics of commerce and faceless enterprise. Gods and monsters? Black looking glasses reveal only more murk. Nietzsche was right in this aspect. Are we as a society blundering into one crises created to keep us spinning the roulette wheels of Sci-Finance? This is Phil Dick reimagined by tedious admen in suitable garb.

I drift back home and try to process all these rallying points. No answers.

Sleep reveals more congruent dreamscapes.

Where does one go from here?

 
Sean Urquhart Identity Verified

About the Author 

Sean Urquhart
I am an experienced writer who has worked across a variety of mediums including: screenplay, script editing, prose, poetry,and novelization.

Recent Content by Sean Urquhart

Midday glaur

Thoughts of home, That mythical place that never existed, that place that never nurtured, though soured me. And now, here, three hundred and fifty miles, And the right amount of distance between me And those crushing memories, Those daemons haunting from afar, Are now free-flying elsewhere....

The drinking classes

It's a secular temple; The pub. I've spent many an hour worshipping there, In the company of familiar strangers, Men and women of similar stripes, Righting wrongs over several drinks. I never tire of those places, Especially in days like these, Where one needs a drink, Just to stay human.

No one wins

No one wins in war, Whether domestic or international, No one wins. The lone figure, insane, atomised, Striking at the capital, Never wins as he cuts down innocents And is himself cut down. Today was a reminder, That security is a myth, That the war on terror is a myth, And we are caught...

 
 
Latest Ebooks