Og manifesto

The dreaded Goblin has asked me, or should I say Askh’d me, to submit a manifesto for this redoubtable entity that is Nesthole. It sounds easy, but what should it contain? What, indeed, is a manifesto? It can be a political promise, for example that of the late musical goon Sir Harry Seacombe, “If elected, every day would be the first day of spring”. Alternatively, it could be a statement of what I feel matters in life. ‘Whose life?’, I hear you think. That was a figure of speech, which is a construction without corporeal form, not even speech in this case (since it was written and not spoken (unless you, as a reader, have spoken it)), an activity that itself has a physical, if unseen, presence. Do not be fooled into thinking that the shaping of the mouth to form a word is the physical activity to which I refer. No, the physical activity of speech is the existence of waves of sound; a pressure wave of intricate variation emitted from the mouth (but only partly emanating from there) and received everywhere in the vicinity in a direct line, or reflected (at an equal but opposite direction, though dissipated to a degree partly determined by the quality of the material intercepted) from those surfaces until the energy of the wave is entirely absorbed, in a cumulative way, by all of the surfaces it has encountered (to be subsequently released to the atmosphere as heat). Should one of these surfaces be the pinna or canal of a functioning ear, the message contained in the wave can, in certain circumstances, be correctly decoded by the auditory structures and nerves within the ear. I won’t dwell here on the physical processes involved in hearing (this is not a biology text, yet, but give it time and it might become one, who knows?), but will rather refer the reader to my previous term ‘in certain circumstances’. This, of course, concerns the owner or possessor of the ear (that is the one to which the ear is a part, attached and ‘plumbed-in’ as it were, not the ‘owner’ of a dog, whose ear it really is. One cannot truly ‘own’ a dog, or any other being; many objects, too, come to think of it, because they are part of the fabric of the world itself which, although it might be claimed by those with unbounded audacity and ignorance of the way it works, cannot be truly owned). The aforementioned ‘decoding’ can only be performed if the ear belongs to a person who 1. understands the language of the utterer, 2. is in close enough proximity to the utterer for the words to be comfortably audible, 3. is awake, and 4. is not subject to extraneous noise of sufficient volume to mask the sound of the utterers voice. The reader will doubtless be able to think of several other instances in which the words might not be heard. The instance of fully functioning auditory paraphernalia only a moment after the death of the ear possessor would come, of course, under category 3 above. The small but important matter of whether the message uttered by the utterer is heard in an appropriate language and understood by the hearer is another subject entirely.

It seems paradoxical, does it not, that the above series of moderately interesting snippets of information and philosophical musings comprise one of the most boring pieces of prose that you are likely to have read for some time? Me included, except that I have not actually read it. I have merely written it. Please wait a moment. . . . . . . . .Hmmm. I have made a few minor changes, which you will have to take my word for, since the seamlessness of the text will not delineate their presence but, frankly, I am a little disappointed in its lack of boringosity. Yes, I wanted it to be more boring than it is, to the extent that after a few minutes of listening to the drivel, a normal person might not wish to merely change seats so as not to endure a Mr E.L.Wisty, but instead would be seized by the desire to murder him and all his family. Suffice it to say that such a feat surpasses my capacity as an author. Probably not such a bad thing, or there might be jihadis all over the place. Come to think of it….

Now, manifesto. Manifesto, manifesto manifesto. er, did we do vaginal juices …. er, Biggs? What do I like, love, dislike, hate? It all seems rather pointless really. I love my children of course. Not everybody does love their children it seems. Some people have their children killed rather than lose face should the unfortunate child fall in love with the ‘wrong’ person, or a person with the ‘wrong’ religion or background. How can falling in love be such a crime? Of course, it’s a power thing really. All of this so-called islamist behaviour, entire ideologies in fact, seems to be based on a fear of women, and the desperate need of men to control them. Listen boys. They’re much better when they are free. I shudder to think what decent people like my dear friend Haseeb think of these pathetic monsters that have turned half the world against Muslims. Anyway I have drifted off a bit (so unlike me). My children are both rodents: a dormouse and a rat. Well one thinks it is a dormouse, but in reality, a mollusc fits the bill quite nicely. They are far better than most children in my opinion. I’m also quite fond of the goblin, though I’ve tried not to show it if possible. I suppose I’ve let the cat out of the bag now. I should have put a brick in it and thrown it into the canal. I don’t like cats for a number of reasons. They make me sneeze for a start. They dig up my newly sown seeds in the spring garden, then shit in the hole, and not, I might add, in order to fertilise it or add to its artistic appeal. They kill birds and small mammals (reportedly 30,000,000 per year in the UK), and their absurdly high numbers overwhelm the local wildlife, making some areas all but devoid of birds. On top of that, the packaged food consumed by cats is high energy stuff that amounts to the protein requirements of millions of people. Some of it, or the fodder for it, is grown in countries where those people are starving. It doesn’t seem right somehow. Here’s an interesting fact for 2007: the wealth of the 358 richest people in the world is equivalent to that of the 45% poorest of the worlds population?

Another thing I dislike, since I’m on the topic, is arrogance, especially when combined with pig-ignorance, which it often is. It can be laughed at but that doesn’t give it its due in terms of vitriol. BMW drivers: where do they come from? Why do they drive and park like that? Do they actually know what people think of them? Surely not, and urban 4x4 drivers! What utter tossers! Presumably they think they’re superior to everyone else as they drive around in their Wanker Wagons, as they are properly known. There are numerous clones, including the Mitsubishi Wanker, the Toyota Land Wanker, the Vauxhall Front Wanker or the Land Rover Freeloading Wanker, and if it’s a BMW too… multiple tosser! Burn them I say. Burn them all, and if you say, “no, recycle them” (you know who you are), I say OK, but burn the driver!

I’m warming up now. Flagrant users of energy and resources, you know what’s coming. You are the pus-filled syphilitic sores on the anus of humanity. Stop wasting energy, now! Save it. If you are intelligent enough, consider these few truths:

  1. There is a 45-50 year time lag between atmospheric CO2 concentrations and the temperatures they cause and that we experience, which means we are now experiencing the warming from CO2 concentrations of the 1960s.
  2. Mean (average) concentrations of CO2 in the 1960s were 320 parts per million (ppm), up from 280 ppm before industry. Now they are 380 ppm.
  3. During the heat wave of 2003, 32,000 people in Europe died from the temperature, and hospital admissions were up 16% in the same period.
  4. It is projected that by 2040, those temperatures will be normal for European summers, and by 2080, they will be ‘cool’.
  5. By 2040 it will be too hot to grow food in many parts of Africa.
  6. Projections indicate that around one billion (1,000,000,000) people will migrate northwards out of Africa.
  7. Demographic projections indicate that the global population will reach 9 billion by 2050. Presently it is 6 billion.
  8. The war in Darfur is the result of resource and food scarcity due to drought.

You can get all of this information, and more, through Google. Stop a moment and think what this little series of things means. Still smug enough to drive your idiotic car, fly abroad for holidays and live your narrow-minded lifestyle? Wanker. Why not pop down to your local builder’s yard and buy a bucket of sand? The you’ll be able to hide your head in it in the comfort of your own home. Also of note: this is an indirect consequence of climate change. Google the direct, and other indirect consequences.

I’m not sure this is the type of stuff the sinister denizen had in mind when she foolishly asked for a manifesto. Did you know it is perfectly legal to let down the tyres of a parked vehicle provided a note is placed on the windscreen stating what has been done? You need four bicycle pump adapters, screw them on the car tyre valves, and by the time you’ve done the last one, the first is flat. Very quick, but don’t get caught. Your average 4x4 driver is more likely to not think it is a good use of your time.

How about some pearls of wisdom? Try to stay happy. Don’t take things too seriously. Don’t make it worse. Try to make it better. Evolve. Get outside more. Don’t fart (at least loudly) when addressing the queen. Do fart loudly when addressing a politician. Change is the only constant. The ocean is the ultimate solution (thanks Frank). Think things through. Be wary of people trying to trick you (they are everywhere). Keep a picture of a nice pair of breasts in your wallet. Don’t let your partner get hold of your wallet. Play good quality music, and go to see it live. Climb trees. Protect children from the fucking idiots who pass for parents and icons. Eats pigeons and rabbits rather than farmed meat. Say something startling if things are getting mediocre (but beware, I got chucked off the biology general email after I took the piss out of a senior professor’s mental capacity. It can be fun though, e.g. when Prince Andrew visited the University and the roads were blocked, I told the highly decorated and moustachioed military head guard chappie that I was going to strip off naked if he didn’t let me through. He went so red and flustered that I quite felt sorry for him, but he let me through.

I love the field behind my garden. There is no roof visible and a small flock of pigeons circles it every morning, and several other times every day, when the ‘fancier’ lets them out to stretch their wings, beautiful. I love watching them, and other birds, insects and bats that inhabit the area. A few days ago a party of swifts decided to fly repeated circuits low over my garden. Round and round they went, for ten minutes or more, just inches above my head. I felt as if I could just extend my arm and pluck one out of the air. I could hear their wing beats and the tiny wheeze of expelled breath on the downward wing strokes. They manage to manoeuvre so fast by moving the entire wing backwards; curious. Someone has analysed their movements, and built a robot swift. One day it will be as amazing as a real swift in terms of flight. It won’t be able to breed though, or run on insects. Nature is pretty wonderful.

Nature does actually explain everything, and Darwin explains most of that. An understanding of nature is the key not only to wisdom, but to understanding and handling difficult situations. Any behaviour, political act, business ‘leader’, thug, tyrant, law, mistake, accident, structure, aesthetic, compassion, love, or murder can be explained when placed in the context of nature and an understanding of Darwinism. It’s all about context. Here endeth the lesson. By the way, state religion and other forms of oppression are attempts to control without an understanding of nature. It won’t work without it.

So, have I written a manifesto? Bugger knows. I think I’ll write another story at some point, but for the present, I’ll have a cup of tea and a biscuit.