I see a ship in the harbour and it was full of immigrants coming over here to steal our women. This is of course a falsehood, it was merely a week attempt to link the fantastic record from the popular music combo, New Order – Blue Monday. To the Corpo-fabricated annual event of #BlueMonday, which is an algorithmic declaration of the most miserable day of the year and this blog post.
Whilst it could be argued that this data model needs retraining, as for 100,000 folk and their families there have been far more miserable days as they gasped their last breath. After almost a year of Covid, we can see humanities innate desire for tribalism taking place. The Covidiots are now ‘Covid Sceptics’, whereas those who recognise the very real danger of Covid are ‘whiny lefty snowflakes, trying to instigate the Great Reset of glorious socialism.’
Mrsoutatownstrange was telling me of a conversation she had with a customer at her workplace, in the autumn one of his friends was hospitalised from Covid and sadly died. There was a small gathering for his funeral, whereby four more of his friends contracted Covid and also died.
It seems that after almost a year of Covid deaths and lockdowns, even the most considerate of folk are almost numb to this grim reality.
“Another 1200 dead Cheryl…”
“Yes, I saw that…dreadful isn’t it…Do you want another biscuit?”
As maybe apparent from the tone of this piece, I am not particularly chipper at the moment, in fact it could be said that I am feeling a bit sad. I have no reason to feel this way, all things considered, my life is pretty good. Yet over the past week or so I have felt this deep sadness clinging to my heart, like a one night stand who refuses to take the hint and fuck off home.
Sadness for me is something I do not deal with very well and more often than not, it will slowly transform into a burning nut of anger and rage.
My thoughts are that perhaps anger is a more comfortable emotion for me, whilst it provokes a less savoury side of my personality, it is better than crying. I loathe crying, it is on a par with being sick, the uncontrollable wrenching of the stomach and the fear that it will never end.
I started to think that what if I am not alone in this, after all under the rules of masculinity ‘boys don’t cry’.
Thereby it would suggest that if the ‘masculine’ way to handle sadness is to project it as anger, then perhaps much of the anger in our world is in fact sadness.
The gammon faced Brexiteer, or the anti-vaxer Karen may not be filled with hate and ignorance, they might be just as sad as everyone else – only they are unable to cognify this and so project it onto the world around them.
Or they could just be cunts.