The Best Kinds of Group
The best kinds of group are ones where people who don’t get on have, out of necessity, to find a way of getting on. If they do, when they do, the results can be extraordinary.
Fragmentation worries me. Political parties splintering. Factions forming. Where’s the force to come together, and why would anyone bother to? For some people it is very easy to speak out differently. Others are easily and cruelly exposed as different. And with this going on, many people are left unable to have their voices heard at all.
Freedom is not a right. I wish it were. Freedom will always be contested.
I was really much more interested in antisocial, underground things, and I didn’t want anyone choosing material for me. Debbie Harry
I like Blondie. I could write a book about them; but I found this quote and it seems to say more than I’d ever manage to. It’s from an interview where Debbie Harry’s talking about liking X-Factor. But, would she have taken part? No, she wouldn’t.
Doing what other people tell you to do, when you could be doing something else, is fucking life up. There will always be things I can’t but do, but all the time I see people getting on with not doing their own thing because: they don’t seem to know their own thing very common; or they don’t see they’re being told to do something; or they want to get something and they’re happy to eat shit until they do.
Not she (who looks amazing).
Every time you try to describe me, you simplify me. You limit me. Immediately I am no longer me (not, perhaps that I would do any better). The only kind of truth that will ever reveal as much of me, of you, as would a lifetime of getting to know each other, is in poetry; and then, perhaps it could even be more.
Fortunately the first thing I read in the Observer this morning was Jarvis Cocker remembering an episode of the old Batman TV series where The Penguin runs for mayor of Gotham City. He points out how horribly similar the fat bird’s schtick is to the Presumptive Nominee’s. It was only when I glanced at The Observer’s sports section, and having tossed it onto the floor picked up the magazine, which I then also tossed onto the floor, that I wished I’d never bought the newspaper in the first place.
How can a campaign like Trump’s fail when as far away as this side of the Atlantic an allegedly thoughtful newspaper prints a sports section without a woman on its front page, and a magazine with just one woman on the cover: a Victoria’s Secret model?
Something’s happening all over again, and it’s happening all over. All of those column inches of ink spilled out in the liberal press over the last fifty years and was it ever a form of denial, a kind of word-wrap trying to contain a feast of unthinkable wishes? Boys still wanted to be Boys, and wanting girls.
Things have changed but in ways that seem to channel a past that couldn’t happen. Society was too structured, too policed. There was even a Wall, the Berlin Wall, like the one Trump says he’ll build now; and thank God it was smashed down – but now what?
Whatever now is has emerged … what are we going to do with it? Can we be honest and try to notice how little has changed? If I sit in a cinema watching ads before a film I feel as if I’m in a dream of the 1970s (I grew up in the 1970s; I didn’t imagine them, did I?). This morning I open a newspaper and see men playing with themselves in the sports section and a magazine selling itself on the strength of an attractive woman whose job is to sell lingerie. This is the past in a weaselly, half-hidden way. The Observer and Trump, they appeal in different ways to a lowest common denominator. We need a different kind of debate and I wonder where I’m going to look.