Trash

London in the morning

There are days when one is forced to reflect on the amount of trash which surrounds us every moment of our life.

Take your typical working-class or very low-middle class employee living in London.

He  gets up in the morning and the advs on the radio promise him some extravagant experience or other, predictably forgetting to say that if one’s life has no purpose and guiding light no kind of “experience” will ever make it interesting beyond the – generally expensive- fix of adrenaline. Yup, that’s another one on the credit card; it’s good he can’t count so he doesn’t worry about the interests…

Then he hops on the bus or train, and the onslaught begins: trashy newspapers and magazines (actually, containers of stupid advs for stupider products)  are offered to him from every corner; all of them free, almost all of them rubbish, dealing mainly with buying things most people can’t afford, gossip about people they shouldn’t care two straws about (and who most certainly don’t care two straws about them) and populist waffle aimed at letting them feel modern and “with it”.

When he gets out of office, it goes on with the “evening standard” – and a load of other magazines, in case the morning ones weren’t enough – offering in the evening the same cost-free rubbish “Metro” had offered him in the morning, with a but more depth of populism for the plebs with some airs. Then he comes home when, possibly in front of couch (it is estimated in the UK a vast number of people are not able to use cutlery; the next stage must be the regress to pure animal eating) he will eat pre-processed crap food whilst watching some deeply enriching transmission like those with strange containers or islands featuring people aspiring to – or more often getting down from – the nowadays all-too-common (and, again, very plebeian) status of “celebrity”.

I know, these people have always existed; but in the past they were ashamed of their coarseness and were rightly seen as what one was supposed not to become; nowadays they are the cultural mainstream and the people to be aware of.

In the meantime, possibly half of the natives can’t even distinguish “it’s” from “its”,  or “there” from ” their”,  pushing illiteracy to levels I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.

No one seems to care.

If people are allowed to stay in such semi- vegetative state, is it so surprising they approve of abortion and sexual perversion because the trash newspaper they get on the train tells them it’s all oh so modern? Heavens, a politician will only need to tell them they are to going to save two cocktails a months in taxes if we open the door to euthanasia, and they’ll follow him without hesitation!

We’ll never obtain a collective return to sanity until we realise what we need is to start mocking the likes of tattooed footballers instead of making of them the cultural references of the nation, and we need to hammer sanity in the heads of the uneducated mainstream by simply pointing out to the immense ridicule, superficiality and utter un-coolness of the plebs-“culture” which bombards us with rubbish every day. We must do it for them and hammer it in their heads; then out of their own initiative the plebs won’t do it, for sure. Otherwise they wouldn’t be reading “Metro” in the morning.

We live in a world which is becoming more and more made to the image of the most vulgar part of the population (which is also the biggest), because the total loss of every sense of decency has led people to believe whatever people “like to do” is fine, and if you disagree you are an old-fashioned dinosaur in the best of cases.

We already have people in flip-flops on the road (and then, unavoidably, in church; then if one doesn’t get what is wrong with flip-flops on the road, the church can’t be far away…) and after “leisure Friday” with dirty jeans and unpressed t-shirt the Pyjama Thursday can’t be far away. Sloth and stupidity will create more sloth and more stupidity. And don’t get me started on the tattoos….

Then we complain people can’t write, can’t eat, can’t think, can’t avoid disfiguring themselves, can’t have a halfway decent appearance and, obviously, can’t vote.

Just imagine how they’ll be able to pick the fight against abortion, euthanasia, or sexual perversion.

Let’s get rid of the trash first. I make a point of picking the “Evening Standard” every day from the far too old poor woman distributing it at the street corner, and throwing it in the next rubbish bin. I help the poor woman escape the cold, throw away a newspaper which would have been thrown in the rubbish anyway and actively help to make the business model of the “free crappy newspaper for the plebs” unworkable.

Perhaps in time I’ll help someone to think with his own head.

Mundabor