Come.

Come in darkness and reflect in light.
Bathe in beauty; die in blight.
Genuflect; extend your arms.
Life is made of charmless charms.

Every hour whittled down
Into the fumblings of a clown.
Come today and you will see;
Come as you are and you shall be.

Come down to the river and drink the tears
The sky has cried for a thousand years.
The Earth's beauty is not for you;
The stars are simply but a view.

Come in throngs and come in droves.
The pathways diverge from the roads.
Walk along in rushes and grass.
Come to see the minutes pass.

Come to view the insects dart
And warblers sing; come to hark.
With each morning see the sights,
And rest your eyes each solemn night.

Come to till the very earth
Which fed your kin and gave you birth.
Again, will you crawl from the sea?
Come out to reach for what could be.

Come to me and take my hand,
And I'll take yours; we'll roam this land
For ever and another day.
Come and tell what you've to say.

Come to see the sky and stars.
The heavens drip a tinge of Mars.
This corner of the universe
Will grow as space swells and spurts.

One day when we have walked
The very roads which dreams have stalked,
The times may swing in view of change.
Our place we'll know - and not in vain.

I Died and Went to Heaven.

Well, I died and went to heaven;
Saw Peter at the gates.
Jesus cheered his followers on
As the rest burned in the fire lake.

The teenagers and wives
Were standing on their own
As the yielders to God
Pelted them with stones.

I thought to myself:
'Was this Earth
Created by the devil
When God was not at work?'

I always thought
That when I died
I'd be in a heaven
Where no gods did reside.

All there is
Is this universe.
God doesn't care for you
Unless you do his dirty work.

Well, I died and went to heaven;
Saw Peter at the gates.
Jesus cheered his sheep on
As the rest burned in the fire lake.

I thought: 'This isn't heaven;
It's just somewhere far from Earth -
A labour camp for fools
Somewhere in this universe.'

I wish I could be
Deep down in the earth.
I find it far more beautiful
That there's only nature at work.

The Gluttony Killer.

I'll stab for kebabs and kill for wings.
I'll murder and maim for tasty foodie things.
I'll take my discontention out onto the streets
And pound, 'til ground, other people's meat.

I'll stuff my guts 'til full to burst
And fill my need 'til needing hurts.
As long as contracts come my way,
I'll kill for food; food is my pay.

The tacos drip a blood-like sauce.
My rippled body's dappled with sores.
I'll feed until my final hour.
If time were food, time I'd devour.

Please, allow me to consume.
I'll eat the Earth and I'll eat the Moon.
Life is just a feeding spoon.
Death is just life consumed.

Identity (a really crap poem for manic-depressive teenagers).

Oh, I wish, I wish I wasn't here,
Then I wouldn't have identity to fear.
Feeling good inside my shell,
Decorated with clothes and sure-tells.

My core is vibrant but my skin is black;
My spirit was slacking so it got the sack.
Hunched inside a towering block,
Feeling like a pitted rock.

Someone take me and add some spice;
Trade my mixing bowl and insert a surprise.
The inventory inside me is untagged
And finding an item is tiring and staggered.

Your disappointment only feeds my beast,
And informs me you find my courage fleeced.

An Amourous Flood.

An amourous flood shall traverse this towering mount;
And, with perpetual brawn, through sense's doors shall crash.
You'll be swept up, caressed and not held to account
For the fact you don't resist or appear abashed.

An amourous flood shall swell before your eyes,
And only your eyes shall see its true meaning.
For this flood of crimson passion is in the disguise
Of my love rushing, yet gently swashing and careening.

An amourous flood shall lift you from the depths
Of a loveless swell, sullen and vast.
You'll be carried to the gates of Eden in a bubble,
So hold your breath, and savour it for life's treasures past.

I'll take you where the flowers tell of Babylon's ancient scents.
For you're the only one deserving; all love's pleasures for you are meant.

Auntie.

She sat beside her, almost juxtaposed against the frail, dying figure, looking radiant under the soft light within the deathly pallor of the room. Light like pastels was splayed over the younger woman's face, revealing her gentle eyes.

On the bed a woman of eighty-three was lying. A grey mop of hair was flicked back over her face and her eyes were the blue of a fjord lake in summer. Her lips were cracked and peeling and her hands were soft and cold, like the texture of night satin.

The old lady struggled for air and her eyelids were weighted with a thousand centuries of fatigue. She'd fallen two weeks previous and damaged her hip. Now, all she keeps muttering is: 'I want to go home'. Home - to where she'd be safe; the place she knows well. Home - to where she'd be completely lost; her dark haven in the light - her fortress made of straw.

She has ten children, only four of which my mother knows. Her partner died two years ago. They lived together for eighteen years. She's utterly lost now. I think she's scared of being found.

She was my auntie. Her life was tragedy, comedy, love, hope, death, decay, renewal, violence, peace, squalor and odd spots of being preyed upon by spineless thieves. She died on April 30th. She rests nowhere - only in the turbulence of our memories. She was cremated on the 22nd of May. May our memories treat her gently. May we inter her into the depths of peace but never forget. I'll see you on the other side of the other side. I see you still.

Literary drivel (an idiot's guide to bad writing in the form of a poem).

Dan Brown's a sad clown wielding a god-awful pen.
Jeremy Clarkson should choke to death on the Small Book of Zen.
Chris Moyles deserves no spoils aside from the fat he craves.
What would happen if, by aberration, Blake should rise from his grave?

Shakespeare would quiver like a drunkard's liver
If he should rise and spy
Literature in its death throes.
I bet he'd just wish it to die.

Lumpen prose as thick as porridge
Provokes me to bother no longer with cadence;
I rather bask in the stultification of 'popular' literature,
Waiting for a time in which I'll thrive.

A run-down of Charlie Brooker's News Wipe.

Charlie Brooker has done it again! After three brilliant series of Screen Wipe Charlie has set his satirical eye on the news of today and how it has developed into what it is. After five episodes, I've found myself entertained, tickled and often scared witless by each programme and eager to watch the sixth and final episode which will air on BBC 4 next Wednesday.

Charlie has focused on how news anchors have changed, how the objective slant of news has changed to fit with today's more emotive and subjective ways of reporting news, how citizen journalism has grown, how the G20 Summit was reported, how news isn't so cut-and-dry these days, how science is abused in the news, news in America (and how it's presented), how negative stories seem to dominate and how news graphics have developed over the years.

With regard to anchors, he looked at how the former male-dominated, dull approach has given way to unisex co-hosting with a much more informal, chummy, friendly approach. Most regional news anchors - or, as we would say, presenters - these days guffaw around in front of the cameras like idiotic twerps, whereas national news anchors seem to present the news with such an air of seriousness it looks as though they may explode with the leaden weight of presented matters at any second.

In 1984, a series of famines in the Afar region of Ethiopia killed many, many people (between 40,00 and 80,000). We were treated with images of pot-bellied, malnourished children and, generally, people in immensely depraved squalor. This prompted the single 'Do They Know it's Christmas?' and the subsequent Live Aid appeal. This enabled British people to show their charity and donate cash. In '89 the Berlin wall was brought down, and everyone was happy - up until that point news was biased in as much as it knew to focus mainly on affected parties. But then a few certain events changed the face of news for ever. The Rwandan massacre showed how neither the Hutus or Tutsis were victims, but how both parties' inhumanity had led to the deaths of millions of their own people. Then on September 11th 2001 we were treated to Die Hard-esque scenes in which two jets were plunged into the World Trade Towers in New York by Islamic extremists. Now, the news just seems to purvey the despicable nature of man, with accounts of school shootings, war coverage, murders and other deviant goings-on dominating headlines.

With the death of Diana, a public outcry encouraged the Queen to address her death. Some would say that her death marked a turning point in news coverage when a minority group of demanding, emotional and demonstrative people encouraged reporting to become much more subjective. Now, whereas bystanders used to be questioned only if they witnessed important news events, bystanders seem to be quizzed hither and thither until we now feel that news isn't an objective thing at all, but subjective accounts of objective events presented in a seemingly objective manner. Also, citizens seem to have an active part in news with today's mobile phone culture. Images of 7/11, the explosion of the Buncefield oil depot, the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami and other such events have given scope to people to submit their own footage. But this sort of stuff hasn't always got news value.

In early February 2009 two days' worth of heavy snow brought England to a stand-still. This enabled thousands of people to send in their happy, zany, irrelevant snaps to the BBC which were subsequently published online - all 35,000 of them. This then turned into a small, human interest story due to the huge number of submitted photos. But why? It's not news. But should it be separate? Do people even care these days? Are they aware? This is just one point Charlie goes after.

I would suggest watching every episode of the show if possible as it contains many gems. But, apart from that, it's also hugely enlightening and entertaining - with spots on American news and such right-wing nut jobs as Bill O'Reilly, Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity.

To watch the compilation episode which aired last night, use the following link: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00jhp50

A very brief guide to punctuation.

Part 1

The basics: commas, semi-colons, colons and full-stops.

Firstly, then, we have the comma (a symbol which sits on the line and is shaped like a tear drop). The comma is a very ubiquitous piece of punctuation these days and is often littered throughout text without care. The comma is the most paucitive piece of punctuation and is typically defined as lasting around half a second - whereas the full-stop can last for a couple of seconds and a semi-colon is typically between the two. Often, people punctuate with a comma by allocating it some sort of breathing pause. That approach can often work when style is equal to grammar, but, usually, grammar will always prevail in dictating usage. Often, a comma is used to separate similar items in a list (depending on the size of the list), e.g.:

1. You'll need the following things: a bill, a passport or a driver's license.

But, as I've said, it can also indicate a slight pause (usually given for effect), e.g.:

2. He was 17, but it felt as though life had yet to begin.

Let me explain. Sentences are made of clauses, and clauses are made of phrases. There are two types of clauses: subordinate and co-ordinate. Subordinate clauses cannot stand on their own as complete thoughts because they don't contain verbs, whereas co-ordinate clauses are complete thoughts and are often linked by co-ordinating conjunctions (such as and, or and but). The following examples should indicate what I mean:

1. You will see, given time and experience, that I'm right, dear boy.

2. I love you and I would rather not fight.

In number 1, the commas occurring before 'given' and after 'experience' indicate that the thought is parenthetical. Remove that phrase and the sentence reads: 'You will see that I'm right, dear boy.' You could argue that it would still read the same without the commas, but I'm a purist so you'll have to excuse me. If, however, the rest were removed, the sentence would read: '... given time and experience'. "'Given time and experience' what?" you may ask, quite correctly. In number 2, both clauses offer complete thoughts so the conjunction could be replaced by a full stop. However, the two clauses are so close in sense that it makes more sense not to separate them but rather have them linked with a co-ordinating conjunction. Just so you know, only and, or and but are such conjunctions; the rest, such as while or however, for instance, are known as subordinating conjunctions.

Secondly, we have the semi-colon. As I've said, when given as a marker for a pause it's a half-way house between the comma and the full-stop. As such, if one is writing a list with many items one can indulge in the use of semi-colons so as not to make the passage confusing. The following example illustrates my point:

1. There are several types of organism living in the area: various insects, including dragonflies, hornets and beetles; arachnids; rodents, including rats, door mice and field mice....

You can see that in that example I've separated the types of animals so as not to pepper the piece with too many commas. The semi-colon can also be used to separate bullet points. One final and important use of the semi-colon is to link two pieces of relevant information. In this respect, it's almost a substitute for a conjunction. E.g.:

1. You go one way; I'll go the other.

In this sense, the semi-colon is used rather than and - which seems more effective and to-the-point.

Thirdly, then, we have the colon. The colon is usually described as: that little bit of punctuation which is responsible for delivering the goods. Why do I say this? Well, it usually introduces one of three things: a point, a list, or direct speech, as in:

1. One thing was for sure: the winter would take a toll from Shakespeare's Richard the Third.

2. You'll need the following things: ....

3. Apparently, Darren said: "..." ....

Finally, in this section, we have the full-stop. The full-stop is used to mark the end of a sentence (which is usually defined as having a subject and predicate (verb and object/complement/adverbial) and is typically of around 20 words). Whether to end a sentence here or there is of course dictated by personal choice but a full-stop can, and should, always come at the end of a sentence. However, saying this, a sentence may continue indefinitely, depending on its structure and whether you want to annoy your reader or not. A full stop should be included only when the meaning of a verb has ceased (and a comma would thus protract and convolute the meaning of further clauses) or a point is being laboured. It's up to you whether you write short, snappy sentences or long, descriptive, drawn-out prose, but a mixture is obviously recommended.

The full-stop also signifies abbreviation. Some abbreviations, like Mr, do not need full-stops because they end with the last letters of their corresponding words. However, some - like 'department' (dept.) - don't end with their last letters. Other examples include: sev. (several), gen. (general), maj. (major), MajGen. (major general), lt. (lieutenant), U.S. (United States), prof. (professor), rev. or revd (reverend), sen. (senator) etc. (et cetera), and i.e. (id est). This is why when some abbreviations - like etc. - occur at the end of sentences two full-stops are used. If abbreviations occur mid-sentence, they also are sometimes followed by commas. Look at the following examples:

1. I've received an e-mail from the rev.. (Or: I've received an e-mail from the revd.)

2. Did you receive the message from Prof. Daniels?

3. I refer you to the comments made by James Hart, John Zimmerman, Paul Blart, and Gary Philips, etc..

Part 2: parenthetical punctuation.

Now, I've done the comma but what I neglected to mention is that there do exist other forms of punctuation which act in a similar way to the humble comma. The following items can be used interchangeably but, like in most cases, there are miniscule differences between each.

First, we have the hyphen (or dash). The hyphen is often used to mark off a piece of information as an aside. It also acts to show information which has an additional meaning which is related to the main point but is somehow not entirely relevant. Therefore, this piece of punctuation is similar to both the comma and parenthesis, as in the following examples:

1. It was 7 - in the p.m. - and already the sordid creatures had risen from their winks.

2. He was 32 stone with hardly any facial hair - a kind of John Candy-esque fellow, if I do say so myself.

In prose, of course, a dash is often incorporated into speech to show an interjection (one sees this sort of thing a lot in plays). A comma can come after a following dash in some examples - regardless of how awkward this appears to look. Most people, however, tend not to do this. That doesn't mean that you don't have to, though.

Second, we have parentheses. Unlike dashes, these should be used only when the information you're imparting is something techincal or which can't be inferred. We English call them brackets, of course, but I'll go with the American standard. When occurring at the end of a sentence, a full stop should be placed outside the final bracket; when occurring as a separate sentence (as an afterthought) a full-stop should be placed inside the brackets, as in the following examples:

1. For a house looter, a crow bar should be sufficient (or any kind of prying tool for that matter).

2. Jeffrey Johnson had committed a grossly horrendous crime. (In fact, it was the fourth time inside a two-year period.)

Firstly, we have the ellipsis which is comprised of three ellipsis dots (...). When occurring at the end of a sentence an ellipsis should be qualified by a fourth and final dot; in all other examples three dots is what you'll need. The ellipsis signifies either omitted words (the ellipsis is employed in this case usually because certain words either can't be identified in the original source or the words aren't relevant) or a kind of pause introduced for effect - i.e. when a scene ends in a particular way, which may, for example, leave two lusty, love-struck teens sitting in a parked car in an abandoned car park.... Of course, it can also be used to signify a person's request to be left alone. The following examples show my point:

1. The orignal papyrus document had the following passage, with words unavailable due to wear and tear: "blah, blah, blah ... blah, blah, blah".

2. He kissed her on the neck and she began to lead him upstairs to bed. As she reached to turn the light switch off, moonlight penetrated through the window slats....

3. I'm not feeling hungry.... Just leave me alone, please.

Part 3: the odds and sods

Firstly, then, we have the apostrophe (a symbol which hangs above the line and looks similar to a comma). The aprostrophe is employed to show or give possession. When singular items - subjects - are given possession over other items - objects - an apostrophe and an s ('s) is employed, as in 'John's bicycle'. When plural items are employed which end in 's', an apostrophe, but no 's', should be employed. As in 'The girls' toybox'. In all other instances of the plural - i.e. not ending in 's' - the same guidance as singular possessiveness should be followed, as in 'the children's park'.

Before I go on, I shall briefly include three more uses of the apostrophe. Firstly, the apostrophe is contractile, which means that it signifies omitted letters in a word. E.g. the word 'Tracy's' can mean Tracy is or has - not just Tracy's so and so. Secondly, by omitting letters, the new word contains two words in one. E.g. 'let's' and the like - a contraction of 'let' and 'us'. Thirdly, plurals of abbreviated phrases and acronyms do not have to end with an apostrophe - a lower case 's' is sufficient. As in DVDs, CDs, VCRs, SSSIs or ABCs - the latter two being 'Sites of Special Scientific Interest' and 'American broadcasting companies' respectively (the latter of which may, or may not, be a ficticious acronym!) Quotation marks (called 'speech marks' in America) should be used only when either quoting a person or quoting direct speech said by a person. In novels, speech is shown with a single mark - as in John retorted: '...'. When a character quotes another, quotation marks are used (as in ''...''). In newswriting, however, both quotes and reported speech are always shown with quotation marks. The following examples illustrate my points:

1) Mark: 'I think you're over-reacting slightly, John.'

John: '"Over-reacting?" What do you mean "over-reacting?"'

2) The following quote was issued by the mayor: "...".

3) He dubbed the decision to go ahead with the plan "despicable".

Secondly, we have the exclamation mark. The exclamation mark should only be used in instances of surprise or a belting/loud demand, or the like, as in: 'really!' or 'Peters, get in my office!' More than one exclamation mark is unnecessary and often highlights juvenile stupidity. An exclamation mark also acts as a full stop, in the sense that if it's used at the end of a sentence or some other phrase a full stop is un-needed. Also, when a surprised response in the form of a question is used it's recommended that exclamation marks and question marks aren't used together - a question mark alone will suffice.

Thirdly, and finally, we have the question mark. The question mark is only ever employed at the end of... well... a question. Go figure! The question can be interrogative, rhetoric or of any form, but whenever anything is requested of somebody a question mark should be employed. In today's popular culture, question marks are often used as a medial form of surprise - slightly less exclamative than their cousin the exclamation mark. Always ask yourself whether you're asking something of someone, or reinforcing something, as in: 'Yes, you do owe me. Really.'

Spring

A restless breeze makes the birds flutter,
Whilst coffee brews and toast melts butter.
The clammy air hugs my skin
And chokes my pores with essence of Spring.

The day is long and the night is short,
And the clouds have given pause for thought
To a cloudless sky of azure blue,
As the sun evaporates morning dew.

The cats play beside the barn,
And the cattle chomp their feed.
The Earth swings gently 'round the sun,
And a storm grows, bruises and bleeds.

The Brighton Pier and me.

When first confronted by it, the Brighton Pier – known formerly, and fondly, as the Palace Pier – stands quite colossal, jutting out from the seafront like a limitless platform.

A child may see it as a gateway to a world heralding infinite fun – of bumper carts and thrill rides; but to an adult it’s a gateway to a world with fewer jingling pockets… or is that more?...

It’s a landmark of immense prestige, recognised and treasured by Britons and foreigners alike. And it’s old: opened in 1899, it still continues to attract tourists.

Sadly, in the eyes of many Brighton folk, it has become a veritable chav hive, with many samey and ‘dispiriting’ shops and a god-awful karaoke bar. That being so, it’s still a token of our past seaside glory - and our future, too, with what looks to be a promising summer ahead.

What does it mean to me? Well, nothing really. It's a nice place to go for a stroll on a lazy afternoon to look out to the Brighton Marina or out to Worthing or Lancing, and some of the food isn't too bad, either - by some I mean just the fish 'n' chips, Chinese cuisine and donoughts (the crepes are rather... how do you say? Crap!)

Despite feelings of ambivalence, it still inspires many cherished memories in those who know of the old bugger and, hopefully, will continue to.

If you’ve visited the Brighton Pier (or any other part of Brighton) I’d be happy to hear your thoughts as a condensed, interesting musing in the form of a comment.

Is it me or is Lady Gaga the devil incarnate? (A miser's ramble.)

It certainly seems her stage-name is somewhat metonymic, for the fucker certainly is nuts. I started to become suspicious of her after hearing her dross single 'Just Dance' a few months ago. Then, a couple of weeks after that, she released her second single 'Poker Face' which seems to say something about her Texas Hold-'em abilities.

What I really can't stand about her - apart from the fact that her lyrics are non-existent and her songs are lame as a paraplegic's legs - is the ridiculous amount of posing she does (in both her videos and on stage). Last night she appeared on Friday Night with Jonathon Ross to perform Poker Face. Immediately, of course, I noted that her poker face must just be her normal countenance as she mostly seems to enjoy pulling Madonna-esque vogues.

In her performance, she switched intermittently from her regular, lame style of singing to growls and barks reminiscent of the howls of a hoarse, 50-year-old jazz singer with bronchitis. All the while, several background dancers - all black - jumped around trying to jazz up the poor charade, thus trying to remove from the fact that she has zilch talent.

It really says something about 21st century music when this pathetic piece of work can claim the number 1 spot twice (and shortly afterwards be pipped to the post by post-glory, ageing Irish rockers U2). It also says something about the standard when any record producer would take note of her 'music' at all. Is there any original talent out there at the moment? Well, yes. My money's on Madeleine Peyroux and Doves to bring up the standard over the next couple of weeks - at least.

There is one good thing about her, though: she certainly seems to give scope to young people with speaker-equipped mobile phones to ceaselessly annoy commuting adults. It seems they all must relate to her and the fact that no one can possibly ever read their secret, teenage poker faces. Well, my young dears, poker faces come with time, and maybe one day all of you will be able to see through Miss Gaga's poker face into the interminable void lying just beyond the expressionless surface.

When I've failed to understand the meaning of this song, I wonder how young people must feel. Do they know what it means? Or is it just another piece of senseless, self-regarding shit spun to make confused, young people - we all were at one point - feel it's really special and thus go out in their droves to buy it? Apparently - according to an interview on Jonathon Ross - the inspiration for Poker Face came to Gaga after she was having sex with a man whilst secretly imagining the man to be a woman.

All I know is she's no different to the 50 Cents and Eminems of today, who, without end or remorse, advocate glamorous and undignified lifestyles unattainable by any right-thinking or sensible person with both a conscience and a decent taste in music. Although I can tolerate her, evangelical Christians must see her as some sort of portent highlighting the impending apocalypse, right? Meh! Maybe they don't and maybe I'll just dance along as my brain begins to turn to mush. Or maybe she's some futuristic-looking Jesus who's come to judge us by spinning god-awful music to a hungry-for-shit society. Whatever you do, don't take it! You'll be doomed!

Well, after all I've said I think I'll just reflect by leaving you with that age-old sentiment: one person's shit is another person's diarrhoea is another person's constipation. All that I can say for sure is that if Bill Hicks were alive today I'm sure he'd immediately shoot himself in the back of the skull upon seeing this Chimera-like freak, composed of the dead limbs of a thousand talentless musician hacks. Goodnight!

For those who wish to join the good fight, join the following Facebook group: Lady Gaga Must Die. Thanks, all.

A diatribe against self-service checkouts

The supermarkets of today are horrid things. They're impersonal and serve only one purpose: to make consumers aware they need to consume (a word that seems to de-humanise human need, reducing it to terms understandable only by way of monetary value). If anything highlights this truism more it's those deeply dispiriting things we call self-service checkouts.

Whenever I enter a supermarket these days I sweat. I never buy more than a handful of items so I rarely use checkouts. How I miss the odd chinwag. Despite the blandness, indifference and, often, bitterness of some checkout assistants, I'd take them any day over a self-service checkout. Firstly, one approaches and waits for the thing to reset after the last mug has bagged their stuff and gone on their merry way. 'I'm ready for your custom now,' it says quite glaringly. The bigger items are a breeze, but try swiping a cream egg or searching frantically through the options for a chocolate choux bun.

After the swiping of each item, one is forced to bend down and bag each one. But that word, of course, just means plonk the item on that little, white plastic square and wait for the damn thing to shut up. At the end of the chore, it's time to pay up and get out.

With sweaty palms, I reach into my pocket and pull out some spare change, all the while some desperate-looking person behind me is looking for some bastard or another to hurry up and finish so he or she can get in there quick-smart and then get the hell out. I pull out some coins and begin to insert them, feeling quite insecure as I notice that there are mostly pennies in my hand. I look to see if any coins have been rejected by the machine and then re-insert the damn things if they have been.

Horrah! It's tendering the receipt! 'Receipt?' I think to myself. A receipt for four items totalling just over two pounds? Well, if you must, you daft machine, you! Inevitably, I scrunch the thing up but refrain from throwing it anywhere; instead allowing it to take its rest in the infinite receipt graveyard that is my jacket pocket.

I walk out to the escalator and wait behind a line of innumerous old biddies, all moving down the thing at 2 miles an hour with their trollies. 'Prepare to disembark from the escalator,' the thing announces. I inveterately laugh at this point but secretly cry; thus decrying the pathetic country in which I live.

I think about the future, when all local markets and grocers will have inevitably been crushed under the corporate foot of Britain's many supermarkets. I ponder a time when the supermarkets will possess all the lard in Britain and prepare to administer that lard around the gaping arsehole of the government before inserting their lengthy, blood-throbbing, corporate cocks into the orifice (not that that probably isn't done already). I think of a time in a few years when signs above checkouts will no longer read: 'Five items or less' - or 'fewer', depending on the literacy of supermarket executives at such a point - but rather: 'Five items or get the hell out of the shop and fuck off somewhere else.'

I can't wait for such a time, can you? But until then, I think I may just start using the regular checkouts again.

The self-indulgences of a fed-up atheist

I'm an atheist. So fuckin' what? Big fuckin' deal? As an atheist, I'm pretty pissed off with the world of today. I try to remain quite liberal but I end up finding that the term 'liberal conservative' does have some application. I'm a deep believer in secularism and, luckily, I find myself living in quite a secular country. I'm a believer in science, but I'm not a humanist. I'm not a Buddhist. Nor am I a Muslim, a Sikh or a Christian. I don't believe in the Jains or Hinduism - though I do believe in their advocacy of non-violence (not that Christ wasn't a great model - it's just that Christians as a people tend to be quite war-ready; even war-hungry).

The only philospher I can relate to is Confucius, as he seems like a much more wizened version of Jesus. And, although I've never read it, I expect I'd be a rather impassioned advocate of western philosophy! Heck, I guess we all are as we're all probably writing from computers located in democratic countries, right!?

In the Britain of today we have a problem with religion. On one hand, many people are deeply humbled by, and respectful of, other people's religions, but, on the other hand, many people are also deeply wary of how politicians deal with religious issues wearing cotton mittens. Can we really afford to bend to the whims of every person's ignorance? I think not.

There are certain values that we all hold dear, but which I don't think are practised in 'religious countries'. In the Arab Emirates, women are treated like ornaments. They're made to wear their hijabs and burkas and are, in most aspects, inferior and subordinate to men. In Catholic nations, contraception is frowned upon, resulting in unwanted pregnancies, the transmittance of STDs and many disenchanted youngsters being brought up into poverty. It also seems that, in the past, at least, Catholic popes have been against gay rights - as well as women's rights - and for slavery, stating that the ultimate ends are justified in that many heathen will be converted to Christianity and saved from both their sins and hell - even if those people were unaware of that religion in the first place. It was also a practise of Spanish Conquistadores to bless Amerindian children before dashing their brains out so that upon dying they wouldn't be sent to hell. Can you see how religious ends allow for a great degree of evil that any moral person would find despicable?

Aside from gay and women's rights, many Christians are against abortion - even in cases of rape or incest. Ultimately, I believe, the decision should rest with the person bearing the child. Are you a single mother? Do you live under the poverty line? Do you work two or three jobs? No? Then shut the fuck up! I find it despicable how some religious people think they can presume on other people's lives just because they feel they have the moral high ground. If you believe in such crazy notions then that's fine; just keep your damn beliefs to yourself. Ultimately, abortion isn't a great thing. It all depends on whether you believe that the spirit enters the zygote at the moment of conception. First of all, I don't believe in the word 'spirit'. Whatever 'energy' (and other psychobabble nonsense words applying to 'soul') we have is reduced to nothing upon death. Consciousness is bound up in the structure of the brain - when it's destroyed upon death so is this so-called 'spirit'. Second of all, a blastocyst is just a collection of cells with no awareness at all - it hasn't a frickin' nervous system for frick sake! Even a child has no awareness of the world upon birth - it's a completely blank and impressionable slate which learns over time and adapts to the culture in which it's born. Not that I'm advocating infanticide or anything; I believe that a child should be given the best possible start - which is why I'm an advocate of family planning, which, in itself, is paradoxically the best way to combat abortion.

A lot of fundamental Christians will say that liberals are baby killers (I think that all Christians - even moderate ones - deplore abortion). Now that's just nonsense. If you want to know the real killer, look no further than the god in whom you believe. Tens of millions of miscarriages occur every year, many babies die shortly after being born and many fertilised eggs often don't gestate at all. If you believe that all of this was created by some malevolent, disturbed deity then that deity is responsible for all the suffering and pain in the world - and that includes abortions. You can vest your hopes and fears in such a deranged being if you believe he/she/it exists, but I say he/she/it can take his/her/its bad attitude and fuck off! (I am of course making an analogy so don't construe that comment to, in any way, suggest I have some vague belief in the god hypothesis.)

One further variant on that theme is what religion does to children. I'm not trying to indulge in some anti-Christianity polemic (or am I?), but, once again, I'll take a look at what Christianity does to young children. First, then, we have the burning issue of sex. Young, Christian children are indoctrinated from a young age to have a morbid fear of sex. Today, at least, we have sex education - but I don't remember learning about sex until I was ten or eleven years old. From an early age, only cavalier parents tell their young children about sex, thinking that it's only natural. This, of course, is the right attitude to take but many devout Christians think that young children can't handle the information or think it's improper and immoral to tell them of such information (or, sadly, both of these). This inspires in young children a great deal of curiousity which, over time - if untreated - can become a pathological fixation. By witholding such important information in children, it only serves to heighten their interests in the subject of sex, whilst at the same time inculcating in them immense feelings of shame and sin. Second, in the Catholic church children are discouraged from engaging in premarital sex but then they're encouraged to 'be fruitful and multiply' upon consummation. That just seems a bit of a jump from one extreme to the other. Surely, a healthy, normal sexual life should consist of knowing about the subject and being able to make one's own decisions - all the while regarding the law, of course.

It seems dangerous when such ideals threaten world stability. Religious people hold their deities dear, hoping that their gods - their Allah or Yahveh or Jehova or Shiva - will act as a protector and big brother, thus guaranteeing them safety in their passages to the next life. It seems fairly selfish and ignorant to live a good life based on the maxim that one will be rewarded for living it in such and such a way.

It seems fairly obvious that uncontrolled population growth will result in instability, seeing the development of food scarcity, conflict and the spread of disease, but faith seems to give these fools hope that their interventionist gods will step in and save their all-precious bottoms. "Be fruitful and multiply," it says in Genesis. Multiply until every last fruit is vanquished, more like. Well, I don't believe that for a second. The universe doesn't work like that. We are not separate from nature but are, indubitably, a part of it. We're lucky apes who've had the good fortune to have our ancestors not die and also have our ancestors find the means to develop tools.

Yes, the origin of life is a mysterious one but I'm not a deist - nor am I even a pantheist. Just because we'd like to believe certain things doesn't make them true. And there's no reason to speculate on certain religious interpretations of creation when there's no evidence for them. To all advocates of Creationism, I say - apart from you being completely ignorant morons who know nothing of either the scientific revolution of the 1600s or scientific progress - look into a thing called Microwave Background Radiation - that should settle your confusion. Also, look into Uranium- and radioCarbon-dating; it's due to Uranium-dating that we know our planet is at least 4.5 billion years old, and it's due to radioCarbon-dating (amongst other methods) that we know the first life arose around 3.9 billion years ago and the first land-dwelling life crawled from the oceans around 3.5 billion years ago.

Although I have a great appreciation for the world in which I live, I know this all came about by accident and that, ultimately, there is no universal purpose for our existences; we can only find our own reasons for living given time and life experience. We develop likings for certain hobbies - some of which may be detrimental to the self or to society, but all of which are rewarding to pursue!

It's a much more rewarding notion that we aren't in the hands of some malevolent, cruel, big brother, but only the indifferent ( both caring and uncaring) hands of nature. Although it seems that existence is pointless, we should be thankful we're here. We don't live in a perfect world as no creature is perfect; a perfect world can only develop from imperfectness, for if we were to be born into a perfect world we'd have no idea of its degree of perfectness - we'd have only the idea that life were easy, agreeable and reasonable in such a model.

Maybe one day, when we've conquered our ignorance and fears, we'll have that longed-for 'dominion' over the world. For dominion isn't the owning of temporary things, but the acknowledgement that we can never own such things but only be participating stewards in a grand scheme in which we have our place and in which we thrive.

The universe is what it is. The best we can do is try to understand it and not project onto it meaningless attempts at rationalising it; attempting to rationalise what we see with deeply irrational theism will ultimately prove to be a red herring of the highest, most destructive order. All we'll accomplish is the continued taking up of immovable, dangerous and irrational positions which will indefinitely de-stablise world order. Walk into the unknown frontiers of human evolution untapped and progress past religious dogma. Liberate your minds and liberate your tongues. Prepare a decent world for our children; a world in which they'll be taught to question everything they see; a world in which there's no fear or hatred; no ridicule or shame or sin - a world in which they're free to proceed as they please and not be either distrusting of adults or trusting to the point that they believe every half-arsed and unprovable mistruth they're taught from early childhood.

This world is all we have, and it cannot thrive when there exist various religious factions all claiming that their certain maxims and tenets are universally true and should be obeyed. Only in a world which encourages truthfulness, lack of fear and prejudice, free-thinking, scientific progress, candidness and a respectful attutide to the educating of our children can we thrive.

I long to see it and I'll work towards it. We all can, but only by being responsible for our views and not submitting unthinkingly to systems put in place by ignorant, superstitious, stupid men thousands of years ago.

Next week I'll be writing about how I hate missionaries. Good night!

A review of the film 'Knowing'

Knowing. If only the producers had known how it might be received. I'll spare the pastiche and get down to brass tacs. It's just my opinion, but this film is a big pile of shit. If this film were food, it would be luke-warm, unsweetened porridge. The plot is thus:

A man loses his wife. That man is a teacher at MIT. He has a son and teaches astrophysics. He has scientific beliefs incompatible with his family's religious beliefs and struggles to identify with them, becoming a depressed alcoholic, lingering in his basement like some pathetic boogey man. His scientific beliefs are seemingly nihilistic. Meanwhile, 50 years after the burying of a group of students' time capsule, his only son receives a former student's 'imagining' of the future which turns out to be a piece of paper with numbers scribbled all over it. Mayhem ensues as he starts to see patterns in the numbers. Duh, duh, duh!

The plot is very, very fast-paced. So much so that it starts to lack coherence, straying into the realms of the impossible and the stupid. It's punctuated with two small-scale events - small-scale in relation to the massive arse piece which comes last - involving much mayhem and panicked people who are often depicted on fire and mostly don't make a huge deal of sense.

The final event, which is, I'm sorry to say, a coronal mass ejection (otherwise known as a solar flare) is pointless in relation to the other two events - they seem to have been included only to keep a few morons from straying out due to hysterical boredom.

I was hoping for some terribly revealing finalé involving the son decrying his father as a superstitious old git but all I was greeted with was one scene in which Cage reconciles his beliefs and gives in to his father's ignorant whims - thus being eviscerated by the oncoming ball of flames and intense radiation - and another scene in which albino aliens whisk the two children off to some far-flung planet in a ship made of nothing but spires of light, only to leave them on the planet in some other-worldly scene reminiscent of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden; except in this garden nothing but bullshit grows.

After scouting around for reviews and looking at what the amateurs had to say, I was apalled to find not one coherent review - rather reviews written by young morons professing the greatness of this steaming shit-pile of a movie (and also alluding to the predictions of Nostradamus and other such nonsense). It didn't really leave much of an impression on me - excepting the horrible shit-induced wretching - and I wouldn't advise you go see it. Don't listen to me, though; go and waste seven quid on it if you must. In places it's promising, but that promise gives way to silly novelty (such as the stones given by the albino aliens known as the whispering people) and religious hogwash, culminating in an easily predictable, but altogether underwhelming, ending.

Out of 10 stars, I'd probably give it a single nugget of decaying dog shit - it's just that bad.

Adendum (18/4/2009): Okay, there were a few rational reviews I encountered after re-scouting but I'm still reluctant to think there could be people out there who've actually enjoyed seeing this film. If you've seen it, tell me what you think.