Monday, 5 August 2019

Reflections on the Brecon abd Radnor by election of August 1 2019.



 'I want Brexit', it was spoken to me by a man in Penrhos yesterday. It was spoken like the words of an ancient conjuration so that it's very words would banish all doubt and restore a simpler less complex world. It's very sound is more like an article of faith. It makes me feel that all necessary Brexits exist but each one is different and means more as an emotion than a concrete fact. It has more to do with Abrahamic religions and male authority than anything else. It calls out to the shaven haired men anxious to know that their authority is beyond challenge from anywhere. They may invoke democracy and popular sovereignty yet at root it is a sympathetic magic talisman against ontological Insecurity. Yet it's very sound causes it's user to a world of right wing and crypto authoritarian axioms and outlook.
Two young women tell me they will never vote because all politicians lie.and that they don't do politics I tell them politics is about everyrhing they do and experience. I tell them is about homes and benefits and health and education but the men on the Brexit bus have been there first and all is denied . There is no politics anymore..

Children on bikes in Penrhos shout Brexit as the word passes down the generations it's a longing for certainty, faith and meaning. But it means whatever you want it to mean. It can't be fought by reason or fact it's simply a faith.. a religious faith and longing for something that never has been or ever will be. All necessary Brexit exist for everyone but when they realise that they can check out but never leave . It's the new opium, the crack cocaine of the street gang of the shaven haired men calling for patriotism.

Then we have leaflet after leaflet by bland Liberal Democrats pushed through doors ad nauseurm. They tell people that they will fight for them but never tell you how or what they will do. Like Cuckoo's in the next they set up a melange of events and others actions and claim them for their own. From the new ATM to the expansion of broadband the Fib Dems march on claiming it all. The bald men and the bland centrists March on. Yet each has a symbiotic religion with other. The bald
Men would nothave risen were it not for the bland ones of the Fib Dems Tony Blair the destroyer of ideology was their midwife and out of the womb of beoliberalism came Farage Like characters described by John of Padmos the abyss writes as the monsters look back. The last men of Nietzche and the hollow men of TS Eliot are held up as heroes and the bland as fantastic.. these are the days and these were the thoughts I had yesterday as an honourable, worthy socialist candidate gained just over 5% of the vote. While the bland and the bitter gained 95% this is the way the by election ends not with a bang but a whimper. The baldmen talk of Rohchild conspiracies but call the left anti semitic. Tbet talk of free speech yet tell you that they will bring the lads round to talk to you .these are the days of getting oor country back and of being patriotic.. Yet if you do not share their views you should leave. The bland look on uncomprehending of just what the threat is. But both the bald and the bland hate the left These are my thoughts the day after the Brecon and Radnor by election. There is much to do and the road is long but the end is near...and tbe stench of Weimar hits our noses. I am nearly asleep by the time we reach Pontardeawe but the the thoughts and images continue floating through my unconscious.. like Nietzche battling with the implications of the death of God we battle with an event that can never truly be or be known about. Both God and Brexit exist between the paradigm and the grammar...and the language is mutually unknowable between us and our fellows. By the time we are in Ystradgynlais there has been rain.. but just what is being washed away?

I stare out of my consulting room window over Ystradgynlais Cross and fantasize about the pallid bar charts of the bland leaflets and the purple bus of the shaven haired men and their binary oppisite hard faced women washed away by the torrent of rain. Perhaps somewhere we wait for justice... lashing down. Ystradgynlais
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