Response to Ricky Gervais and his Huffington Post questions.

These are questions posed at this link here. I am stirred enough to reply.

What is a social conscience?

I think social conscience is simple, a state of mind that means you don’t want to affect someone adversely because if the tables were turned you’d be pissed that someone was treating you in such a way. I live my life by two simple rules, these rules can apply to every decision you ever make for the rest of your life. Rule 1: Do my actions break the law of the land I live in? And Rule 2: Do my actions adversely affect other human beings? Answer ‘No’ to both in any given, situation and you’re OK to go ahead. Simple, everything else is incidental. Follow my rules and you’ll not go far wrong I reckon. Annoying someone with your ideas, speech, writing etc, in a free society is inevitable. But if you answer ‘No’ to my Questions it really isn’t your issue who cares, or not.

What is art?

Art is simply human creativity; it’s the expenditure of time and effort by a life form that doesn’t result in procreation, food or shelter but instead results in ideas, images or sounds that tickle the senses and provoke thought. It’s imagination and it’s a human state. I’m sure someone will read this and say rudimentary creativity has been observed in various apes and monkeys, but I’m not an expert on those things, so I’m sticking to my man only-creativity-life-form argument. It’s the meaning in the meaningless – art is what you want it to be. We all bring our own experiences to the table and we all see the table differently, the table isn’t right, wrong, or controversial, it’s a fucking table.

Does art automatically justify something?

No I don’t think so. Art, as a creative ‘turd,’ is meaningless until given meaning by a person who is affected by its very existence. A thousand people can look at a Warhol painting most of them see nothing, take nothing away or even stop and ponder it. But a few do. Art touches like minded people or awakens the hearts and minds of people who needed to see it. But it justifies little unless of course it frees people from tyranny, but political ideologies do that, art can reflect that, it doesn’t cause it.

Does art have its own conscience?

No. Art is a side shoot of human thoughts. It exists because of the human creators’ conscience but has no conscience of it’s own outside of that.

Is it amoral?

Yes because art is neither right or wrong, it just is. As we can all accept its existence and disagree or agree on its validity the idea of art cannot be moral. It can only be perceived by an individual as agreeable or not.

Can there be art that is so bad it is no longer art?

I’m not sure. I want to say no but then I’m thinking of a serial killer saying “Twenty heads on sticks is art!” But now I also want to know if said killer is insane. But even then I’d/we’d be judging him insane because of an illness and is art formed in illness no longer art? I can’t really offer an opinion on this question because I think the answer is no, but I also think sticking up for negative art such as a turd in a bucket or a dog tied up and left to starve to death in the name of art is awful and wrong. I feel that heads on sticks or generally any art including non consenting human remains or animal cruelty is not acceptable at all, as is torture or enforced suffering or violence. Art has to be consenting when it involves life forms, otherwise it can become cruelty for sick bastards and not art. So I’m changing my mind in a paragraph, some art can be so bad it’s not art… apart from in the eyes of it’s insane creator.

Can art be great art but cause great harm?

I thought of the cartoons that portrayed a well known deity when I read this and thought… ‘yes’ Bloody human satire! Art can anger, but from an atheist point of view you cannot offend believers surely because a person assumes that all religion believers (God botherers I call them) have so much faith that people taking the piss cannot rock it. If people taking the piss out of your religious faith can cause you offence maybe you’re faith is in question not the joke itself. I believe Wolves are a great football team, you might laugh, my belief stands true. If I cry and moan and bitch it’s because I’ve realised that when you laugh at my team it’s because you’ve seen the chink in their armour and they are shit. BUT THEY AINT, SO FUCK YOU FOOLS! What I mean is if you believe it what do you care that some other fool thinks different? As an atheist I can appreciate the pyramids,Mecca, the waling wall, English churches, etc, but still stand aside from the meaning. No art cannot cause great harm, well maybe to brainless fucktards.

Can art ‘cause’ anything?

Anger, love, appreciation, thought, hindsight, happiness, time-killing, hatred, more anger, bile, marriage, more happiness, laughter, shaken fists, conversations in pubs and maybe, just maybe a human being might change a terrible opinion of hatred and become more human. Apart from that art has only ever caused revolutions, real thought about real issues and made people stacking shelves in Asda for a living decide that there is more to life than boxes of crisps and they’ve gone on to do brain surgery. I’m riffing at this point, but then I’m much more drunk than when I started.

Art, be it comedy or music, sculpture or dance, is a positive, entertaining, good and lovely thing.

PS I’m drunk. Artless, working class, but full of it. Full of art.

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Peak Oil and the Fools Paradise.

Tonight I ate a zero carbon emission dinner. Spuds, carrots, beans, raddish and scallions. All but the spuds were still growing half an hour before I ate them, the spuds were harvested a week or so ago to harden off so they were ready to boil. I grew them all in my garden, a resource which never ceases to amaze me with its yield, it makes a mockery of my lawn, it needs to go. So far this year my garden has given to me enough strawberries to fill five-dozen punnets, two dozen sticks of rhubarb, dozens of radish, onions, herbs, beetroot and dwarf beans and still it prepares more with a hundred green tomatoes, flowering rooster potatoes and a dozen or two of bell peppers just waiting to ripen… and all of this in the garden of a pretty lazy mother fucker. I don’t make it look easy, it just is.

It’s simple to do. Give plants rich soil and water and they do the rest. The idea that we grow these things is absurd, they grow themselves, we just light the touch-paper. Easy! Well its hard work in February and March but that earns you months of easy gardening until October so even with that bit of effort, it’s pretty damn easy.

It makes me wonder why so many people with so many gardens decide not to even try. There is a three day food supply in most urban areas in the West. By three day food supply I mean, if oil ran out tomorrow (which one tomorrow it actually will) we’d have three days of food in the shops and stores, some dodgy corner shops might have five or six days but still, that’s all we’d have. No more strawberries from Spain, or tomatoes from Israel or even beef and chicken from Lancashire. We’d be self sufficient overnight. Or in other words, our under-evolved, over-spoilt asses would starve to death, and we’d blame Asda and Texaco, not ourselves, for subscribing to a world built on weak foundations.

That is an extreme example, but one to ponder nonetheless. Something that won’t stop after the peak oil apocalypse is the plants in your garden, they’ll keep growing. Oh hell! You could even water them with piss. The ammonia/urea is great for plants and actually helps them grow stronger. Trust me the filtration that takes place in the soil and the stem is adequate to avoid you biting into a tomato and getting pissy juice run all down your chin. Life would go on post peak oil doom. But only if we all grow something edible. Individuals can grow some things, communities can grow lots of things, sharing the crop responsibility amongst ‘experts’ and gardens, making sure we maximise growing areas and yields and plant knowledge. Bartering and sharing could keep us all healthy and happy with a crop offering from everyone sharing their crops giving us everything we are used to, from squash to roots to leaves to herbs to seeds. One man can grow ten crops and ten men can grow a hundred crops, and sharing your crops with everyone would be the result. I give you, you give me.

But hang on, we don’t need an apocalypse for this to happen, we can do it all now.

But because we are human we won’t. Complacency rules, why worry about tomorrow when it’s still today?

Having a small cock makes you hate canines.

Phillip Pook has been fined £2000 after using an illegal shock collar on his border collie. He admitted the offence but denied knowing that these collars were illegal. My first question when I read this story was simply, ‘What was the dog doing for you to need to shock it?’ a fair question to ask I feel. It turns out he zapped the poor animal because it was trying to ‘jump over a wall’

To be honest if Mr Pook owned a shock collar and used it on this occasion and got caught, I reckon he must have used it on other occasions and not got caught. I’m not surprised that the poor canine was trying to get over a wall. He probably wanted to get as far as possible away from a man who electrocuted him every time he didn’t sit, fetch, shake a paw or say sausages. I’m riffing here, I don’t know if he zapped the dog for any of those reasons but cases like this make me wonder. If a man is caught breaking into a house and he has a swag bag, gloves, a lock pick, a glass cutter and a getaway car with a hollowed out back seat to hide the goodies you can assume maybe this fucker has been working at this shit for some time. This dicksplash owned the shock collar, you have to assume he used it more than once.

£2000 is not a suitable punishment, this man should be jailed, if only to make an example of him to others. People who have pets, be them dogs, or cats, rodents, rabbits, fish, snakes etc are responsible for them and they have a duty of care. Remember they are at your mercy when it comes to being walked, or let out, fed and watered, brushed, stroked, fussed and loved.

If you don’t love animals why have them in the first place? Does picking on innocent life forms make you feel big, does it make that teeny tiny penis in between your legs feel that millimetre or two bigger? Go and fuck yourself Mr Pook, I hope you get savaged by a dog one day, a feral one that escapes into the woods to live another day. You massive, massive wanker.

It’s Pre-season time: Crewe 2-1 Wolves.

So Wolves lose 2-1 to Crewe and all of the Baggies idiots come out on this forum and have a laugh about it. OK, you’re entitled to do that even though… lower league clubs are back in training earlier, friendlies mean fuck all and are all about stamina building and both teams made eleven substitutions at half time. But still it’s not like the shit have lost any games this pre-season you’d expect them to win, and it’s not like a goalkeeper for an American team has scored past you with a punt up field is it….. oh hang on.

Wolves/Crewe goals here with no sound…

Up the Wolves!

Elvis tribute’s ego found dead on toilet.

On Friday, me and the missus had the good luck to be at the Robin 2 to see Chris Connor perform as Elvis Presley. At £17 a ticket we expected something pretty good, I’ve never paid that much to see a tribute act before and I’ve seen plenty of them. The warm up was OK, and turned out to be his backing band and backing vocals which boded well. Himself, he was stunning. I mean I’m no Elvis fan, the missus is, but he looked amazing. It was like seeing Elvis on the stage and he sounded pretty awesome to. He belted out the hits that he sang so well, he had me hooked, like I said I’m no Elvis fan…. It was good. Now for the bile….

He kept the audience waiting for thirty minutes to come out. His band finished, got their applause and left and we waited… and waited… and waited… eventually he arrived and as mentioned earlier, he was really, really good. Then after about forty five minutes he was gone. We waited for the inevitable encore, it came, but it wasn’t Chris Connor. It was some aged, fat bloke in civvies. He sang, we listened, he was OK, but he wasn’t why we were there. £17.00 for 45 minutes… nice to pay that, that season ticket for Molineux seems like value for money now. Shame I can’t afford it, even though I can clearly waste £34.00 for what amounted to two halves of football watching an Elvis tribute.

The performance was very good, and I was won over by the end, maybe I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to see more and maybe if I wanted to see an extra from Shameless sing the encore I’d go to more karaoke themed wedding receptions.

The playlist from the stage. Longer than the gig.

When I were a lad.

When I was a kid I used to listen to all of my old relatives talking about how life was much better back when they were youngsters. They were all in their 60’s and 70’s and were going back fifty or sixty years but today I feel that you only have to go back fifteen or twenty years to realise how much the world has changed. 1991 was a simple time if my memory serves me well:

We only needed four TV channels. Repeats were kept for 11pm at night and all of the channels were off air by 1 or2 am. Although if you want to see what was on TV in 1991 or earlier just tune into the 24 hour rolling 1970’s and 80’s and 90s sit coms and documentaries that now masquerade on cable and Sky in the guise of 24 hour TV.

Phones were fixed to the wall by a something called a cable kids. It was impossible to lose your phone cus all you did was go to the wall where it was attached and drag the thing back to yourself… ah there it is.

Computer games were innocent, no 18 certificates. I love computer games and nothing gets me smiling like your modern consoles and games. But what does piss me off is the dull debate that comes with them. ‘They are too violent, too gory, too graphic etc etc.’ Does anyone care? In 1991 you could blow up a mosque on Gunship 2000 with Hellfire missiles and no one was up in arms. It was a simple time, it was a better time. (Not racist/religiousist, I’m just joking.)

No one had heard “dubya, dubya dubya’ muttered outside of County Ballyirish. WWW was just a dyslexic terrorist organisation in Northern Ireland. (Wow that sounds more racist than the last one – sorry about that. Not intended.)

Wrestling was fifty something fat men in shorts, not steroid enriched, cockless idiots who died aged forty two.

Anyone could win the football league title. This could be a longer blog post on its own but I’m not going to fill myself with bile during the closed season. It’s a blank page right now and no games played that lets us footie fans convince ourselves we might do really well. But really we know Man U and Man C, Arsenal, Spurs, Liverpool and Chelsea have already purchased the top six places and the rest of us are playing to survive.

The News of the World was acceptable reading. Now no ones reading, obviously, but the re-branding of the same bullshit begins. I hope the politicians and the police come down hard on the people who deserve it and the little man keeps his job and aint made scapegoat…. But we all know what’ll happen really. Sun-Day.com?

The Liberal Democrats didn’t exist and certainly weren’t needed to prop up a Tory government that was destroying the country. I still carry bile for Thatcher and Cameron is topping up the tank all the time. At least back then we knew where we stood… in a dole queue.

We had factories, nuff said. When did we sell them all to China?

No one owned a single piece of Swedish furniture. Sweden was simply a country that fucked us at the 1992 European Championships.

The only aspiration anyone working class had was running between their buttocks (Hope you get that guys, if not see Frenemy and other modern two word constructs.)

Anyway, life of course has gotten better. I know we live with Islamist terror, economic meltdown and environmental catastrophe but at least we have royal weddings, BOGOF supermarket deals and a National Health Service, for now.

I’m just sad that in twenty years I have to look back on today. It won’t be seen as the good old days. Not unless we nuke ourselves to a radioactive, zombie, apocalypse.