The Gospel According to The Black Eyed Preacher I: The Cult of Ignorance

That’s just the kind of faux-intelligent title that usually precedes pieces like this, and for the bulk of the dead-eyed meat puppets scrabbling for some kind of foothold – apologies, I’m assuming incorrectly that said meat puppets would even attempt to muster the effort required – all it would need is to be bound with a glossy, spangly picture collage and be written by Charlie Brooker et al to be given its ‘props’

Let’s start by getting the statisticians hard. I reckon this first instalment of the Gospel will be read by 5% of you. It will be ignored by the remainder and understood by less.
Numbers are, as Thomas pointed out to me, one very good way of making order out of chaos. Doesn’t make it an infallible method, as the very act of trying to impose order onto chaos is far from an exact science.

I am a creative person. I am driven to create. What is the measure of success? It’s different for different people. Completing this piece would be seen as success for some. Writing, recording and releasing an album could be seen as a success. Tying your shoelaces, maybe.
People don’t care for the process though; that’s something that is reserved for the artist and them alone. It’s funny because the process is as of a much importance (maybe more so) than the finished article.

Ze fact of the matter is this: you will get more kudos and respect from the dead eyed masses for being seen to be driving a £50,000 Range Rover – that’s how an under-developed mind works y’see? The brain is not engaged to think beyond the end product; some may attempt to argue, once their oversized tongues allow them the gift of elocution, but the measure of success for most has to be dumbed, dumbed, dumbed down into shiny big metal fings.

‘WHY IS SHE ON THE COVER OF THIS GLOSSY MAGAZINE? I HATE HER’ I hear them cry, as they hand over the money to the smirking vendor for the 745th week in a row. Do they not see that if they stopped buying the magazine anytime it featured said oxygen thief, duh magurzeen maykurs wud stopp putin hur pix onn itt? Can they not process this? I suppose just standing up and walking four steps is an achievement for some.

You are free; free from the rigours of thinking. Why bother? The idyll of idiocy and ignorance must be a wonderful thing. It’s not an option for me sadly. There are times I wish I could just let the waves of the world wash over me, grinning away in senseless bliss, but it’s not how I am wired.

‘What are you talking about you twat?’ is the question some may ask…’you’re just in a band, you ain’t special. What gives you the right to question?’ most probably won’t bother to ask.
Lord knows being in a band is as commonplace as a puddle on Oxford Road and in a lot of cases there is about as much depth.
I never claimed to be special, I have the same rights as everyone else – I just choose to exercise those rights.

No longer am I guilty of writing for others affirmation – It’s great when you touch a part of someone (settle down at the back you grubby-minded twat) but in the band sense, I write first and foremost for the song only. The rest is a bonus.

Man of the people I am not. It would be a complete corruption of art and myself to pretend otherwise. I’ve had my fill of fat cunts with acoustic guitars singing songs about pubs, kebabs, slags and bouncers.
‘Poet laureates for the gritty working class’ the smug , ill informed types will write.
Aw it’s nice that you can still fill a stereotype isn’t it? After this I’m off out wit whippet and t’flat cap.
Bless you. Bless you all.

Of course, the dead eyed meat puppets will proclaim them kings and queens, as they ‘get’ them and ‘speak’ to them, serving only to underline their futility. ‘He’s my mate he is’ NO HE FUCKING IS NOT.
He has moved 200 miles away from you, because you live in shit.
He has found an escape from you and your life-draining ways. But you do not see.
The idyll of idiocy convinces you that because he has ‘made’ it, you too have ‘made’ it by proxy.
You are a fucking leech.

Ignorance is easy. Life is hard enough, why complicate it with confrontation? If you lack the fortitude and common courtesy to deal directly and plainly with others, because it may be, diddums, hard for you to do, then fuck you. Sleep well under your blanket of ignorance; I’m out of the bed.

To those who have questioned my passion and integrity. Let’s me and you get in a room for a little chat eh? I’ll give you a forum for you to explain your reasoning. You may even convince me.

Ah Ignorance. The ability to stare into the middle distance like Richard Gere instead of directly addressing the issue.  We owe each other nothing. We are owed nothing.
Ignorance is the staple of 21st century living – it’s never been easier to ignore your fellow species kids!

Where is the courage and purpose? Desensitised to the nth degree there’s barely a flicker of eyelids. Protests! Protests seem to be in vogue again. Yet, they change nothing, and protesters are largely there to ensure they get their mugs on the nightly news or fleeting YouTube infamy – a fucking protest is supposed to be about the wider message. IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU OR YOUR FUCKING FACE.

What do you live for? What do you think? What do you feel? What is your message? What will be your legacy? Do you give a fuck?

I don’t know. Is a possible definition of insanity being the only sane person in the madhouse who knows they are not crazy, whilst the remainder acquiesce and babble remorselessly about the benefits of soap in a digital age?

Would it be ‘better’ perhaps to just let go and chime in that ‘Imperial Leather by Cussons is the connoisseurs’ choice when navigating the interwebz’ before smearing shit on the walls?

To the tribe who care – you have my unreserved love, thanks and respect.

For the rest:
There is no solution. No end.
It’s catharsis for me to write it down. Selfishness in words.
Its purpose is to be written, not necessarily to be read.

Don’t feel bad about ignoring it. You probably feel nothing anyway.

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~ by tbkband on February 24, 2011.

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