On this day

New unemployment figures come out - at 7.9% it shows an increase by 35,000 in the 3 months leading up to October. No panic, says the government, its cool because starting next year they'll start stopping people's benefits if you don't 'take part', as employment minister Chris Grayling puts it, and get a job. And, pray, where are these jobs?

Oh yes, the private sector!

Oh come ye brethren into the ether of employment incorporated.

The hope that the private sector will one day pick up the stragglers, which they only will if they have confidence that the economy. Is a continuing and growing private investment in individuals really what we want? And if so, what kind of jobs are likely to be available from companies which are continually downsizing? In a letter in the Telegraph, 18th Oct 2010, signed by an absolute army of company executives, promises were made that “the private sector should be more than capable of generating additional jobs to replace those lost in the public sector.” To name a few of these CEO signatory's companies and their respective recent layoffs we have...

BT (35,000 cut since 2008)

Boots (900 over the next 3 years)

Marks&Spencer (1,000 in Jan2009)

Carphone Warehourse (450 in 2009)

GlaxoSmithKline (4,000 in Jan2010)

Arup (20% of workforce over the past year, more to come)

Kingfisher, owner of B&Q, (3,000 since 2008, another 1,000 to come)

Whitbread, owner of Premier Inn and Costa Coffee, amongst others (600 in the past year - but not Lenny Henry, curiously enough)

Yell (1,300 since 2008)

Stats taken from CorporateWatch.org - read more here

Meanwhile, clashes in Greece. Former conservative minister Kostis Hatzidakis took a beating and much fire spread was sparked around Athens. Measures have been taken to protect businesses, at the peril of the workers, who say -

"We need to send the government a message that we will not accept measures that lead us only to poverty and unemployment," Ilias Iliopoulos, general secretary at the civil servants' union Adedy.

Curiously, overlooking views of tear gas and molotov cocktails, the chap reporting from the incident itself for BBC news stressed the anger of the Greek citizens, not the 'violent minority' who are responsible for violence in this country. Why do we have 'irresponsible violent minorities' who 'ruin peaceful protests', while the Greeks' have concerns about reforms when their anger spills into violence? Anyway, as self-appointed spokesperson for the concerned British, I extend the hand of support and solidarity to all our Greek friends in their time of struggle.

Elsewhere, I didn't do much at all.

Letter from Joan Ruddock, Lewisham MP

Thank you for your email. I was very sorry to learn of the scenes at the Council meeting. I was in parliament that evening, as usual, so I have no direct experience of what happened.

The Mayor has issued a statement which indicates that some people had planned – through social media – to use violent tactics to prevent the meeting taking place. As people were encouraged to ‘bring paint, flour and shoes to throw from the public gallery’ the Council had no option but to ask the police to maintain order.

As one of the leaders of the 1980s anti nuclear weapons movement I am a strong supporter of people’s right to demonstrate – but it must always be non-violent. People who set out to cause violence must take responsibility for it.

I am absolutely appalled at the Coalition’s cuts – both those already made and those that are planned. I make every attempt to speak out against them in parliament. I will also make my views known about how I think the cuts should be made locally (I have supported the Save the Libraries campaign).

The enemy is the Coalition not Labour – people should be venting their anger on Tories and Lib Dems not Labour politicians. Coalition plans will transfer resources to the rich – Lewisham is the 39^th most deprived borough in England. The Prime Minister’s Council West Oxfordshire is in the top 5 least deprived. London Borough of Lewisham is expecting to lose around £70million of its funding while West Oxfordshire is expecting an increase. However, there is no option for the Council of not making cuts. They have a legal duty not to spend outside their budget.

Those who condemn Labour politicians are doing exactly what the Coalition wants. The burden of decision-making is being shifted from central to local government.

With regard to higher education funding. I am shocked that the Coalition should be proposing 80% cuts to university funding and putting the burden of making up the shortfall onto students.

I know that many students from higher education institutes across London live in my constituency and I also have Goldsmiths College and part of the Trinity Laban estate in Lewisham Deptford. I am in constant contact with the institutions and students and their representatives. You may like to see the contribution I made to the debate on the 30th of November http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm201011/cmhansrd/cm101130/debtext/101130-0004.htm#10113070000100.

I couldn’t get called to make another speech and Vince Cable wouldn’t take many interventions. However I voted against the government’s proposals and will continue to oppose.

Yours sincerely

Rt Hon Joan Ruddock MP

A couple of fine things to note - UfSO / brutalpoliceblog

The recent work of the University for Strategic Optimism included ....

...following an encouraging talk by the university on what they are all about. This was at the Anthropology teach-in last monday at Goldsmiths University and was pretty productive, not least in getting more involved in the UfSO. Watch the mini-lectures here, or on Yootooob

Following that they embarked on a course of optimism par excellence, inviting the public to join in the protest on thursday, with roses and hearts and other such nice things. Video here.

But the one that impressed me most was the action on the day itself, the 9th of December, by all those who protested, I might add. We all know the bill passed but it isn't about that; the coalition have been shaken, and will continue to be shaken as the students and the unions unite, and those not represented by unions too. In short, everyone who is being effected, and its a fair chunk of the populace. On this day, the Uni was holding a conference on violence on the front line, where they conversed with public and police alike, attempting to fuse the respective discourses so often at odds with one another. Alas, the police don't contribute too much, preferring to stick with the more hands-on approach - maybe this is wise, for who knows what could happen if they started to speak? Gotta remain responsible, these boys and girls in blue, and yellow. Stick with brute unthoughtout force, it's not like they could ever be made accountable for that. I'm rambling. Watch the video, and note the cheeky dubstep.

http://universityforstrategicoptimism.wordpress.com/2010/12/11/ufso-first-conference-on-violence-9-10-12/

Nina Power's illuminating blog led me to another illuminating blog, which follows nicely from the UfSO's most recent post. It is http://www.brutalpoliceblog.com/ and it compiles thoughts and documentation on the behaviour of the police not only at the student protests in London recently, where Alfie Meadows' encounter with a truncheon left him needing brain surgery, but at the TopShop protest, Dublin protest, way back to the Ian Tomlinson incident. The videos are downright shocking and deserve a good peruse.

"Why, 'scuse me officer, could you point me to the nearest post office?"

Thoughts on Neoliberalism, and the Wisdom of Whitehall

'Our technocists and technocrats have their hearts in the right place, even if it is what they have in their minds which is given priority' Henri Lefebvre, Notes on the New Town.

In Notes on the New Town Lefebvre explains how a new boredom has arisen in the social communities he sees. Not the boredom of yesterday that had 'something soft and cosy about it', but 'the pure essence of boredom.' The concern of Lefebvre, his associates and followers, including the Situationists, went beyond simply being bored, for they were analysing and documenting what they saw as modernity imprinting itself on social products, its own fears replacing history itself. The products of capitalism were obscuring the harsh realities of capitalism. These concerns have not diminished, but a new key word has replaced that of capitalism — neoliberalism — as the ideological force responsible for exploiting to their full effect what many see as the problems inherent in capitalism. In Britain we have a prominent culture of educated fellows learning about how the world works, we have a system which allows the free dissemination of knowledge and ideas (the internet), we have a politicised intelligent youth and a coalition government who are attempting to reason with them, and push through their measures of fairness and progress. Why don't the people buy it? Do the politicians themselves buy it? Why do we continue to characterise politicians as sinister fiends who care for power and power alone?

Cameron and Clegg

The above Lefebvre quote resonates in world in which the responsible collectives which run the show—the economic gurus, the banker-gamblers, the politicians—come across as so reasonable. You may laugh but it's true! They speak with such conviction and look you right in the eye on Question Time; they explain their questionable use of MP's expenses and why they voted for the war in Iraq; they explain why they should be given, or should be giving, huge bonuses. And in response we say they are liars or stupid or power hungry. In short, we simplify their behaviour in the act of castigating them, by goading and teasing them in the press, by occasionally dismissing them. But they are not stupid, or evil, or completely self serving, or only concerned with the defence of power. So we are asking the wrong questions, and we are letting them off the proverbial hook.

Politicians are responsible, and as such they forget their hearts and follow their minds. Minds are accountable in a different way than hearts, they are said to abide by logic and reason, and thus are dependable. They work within models, they refer to statistics. In 1981, Northern Irish prisoners followed their hearts, Thatcher, her head. According to Lefebvre, it is the bourgeoisie's use of analysis and analytic reasoning which allows for a dismantling of things previously united — nature and man, being and thought, etc. We can see this dissemination in the way the market works — exploiting gaps, creating middle men. But simultaneously everything is unifying — relationships have become money relationships, everyday life is reduced to its functions, capitalism subsumes everything, power spreads and unifies. And all this occurs under various ideological motifs and gestures, deployed in accordance with what is considered to be the common good. Could this be the technological essence of being that Heidegger warned of? A type of being characterised by standing-reserve, by optimisation and calculus? Heidegger's mind led him to these complex ideas, did his heart lead him to Nazism? Anyway, we follow our minds, and remain responsible, accountable to the right persons, and thus, when considering politicians, it fails to matter whether they have their hearts in the right place, for all that matters is their actions, and the results of those actions. We can condemn them justly, for they followed their minds and look what happened.

But should our hearts be so disregarded? Policy makers have come to a point where everything is decided on the basis of its economic merit. The education system is the most recent example. The government has become, collectively, one mind disregarding its heart. For arts and humanities can be justifiably undermined for their supposed lack of economic contribution (a point contestable in itself). They come to this conclusion using all their inherited logic and reason, handed down to them as they climb the political ladders of Whitehall. It is this handing down which contributes to the method of reasoning that they endorse, this type of reasoning which first surfaced during their school years. Models are applied to society, predictions are made, rational argument decides the outcome. (It is ironic that the government are undertaking such extreme political economic measures while they bring out this happiness index, which works on the premise that GDP is not the be all end all of a society's quality of life.)

Economics is a projection, it deals with the future. Yet the unsustainablilty of the capitalist drive always leads the way. Our responsibility for future generations has become a much used catchphrase, excusing austerity and bolstering public image of reckless companies. Moreover society exists in the present and the people who inhabit that present are as relevant as the ones who will come to inhabit it. For all those whom have gone before us, and all those to come, we will readily accept the importance of the output of the arts and humanities. We figure the past, and note the great works of art and literature. We build upon the ideas that they had; we learn about them from their artifacts. And to the future, which remains perpetually abstract and yet we continue to manoeuvre so as to create it in its perfected utopian state, quality of life remains a key phrase, characterised by flourishing arts and humanities, enlightenment and other such silly hopes. So, is it for us, those feckless occupiers of the insignificant present who have to forfeit this privilege? For the good of the future, the agents of the present must be sacrificial? Need one mention the chances we can expect for a resurgence of the damaged arts and humanities for this imagined future?

But it is not, in reality, that we do not care for those in the present. We are just selective. We project great things for the future; we build it in all its glory, but we must, for us, forget about what will make it glorious. In the meantime, we must work. We must work for those whom we have selected for care — those in positions of power. For this is what filters down through the discourses of time to meet us now in the logical, reasonable minds of those who represent us. It is a pattern far too rigid to be undermined, says the voice in the head. Far too complicated — only chaos would remain if these delicate structures were left un-oiled. The Platonic hypothesis that wisdom and reason should rule, with these abilities beholden by definition by those who are in power who decide what it is to be wise and reasonable, simultaneously excludes the masses who are not only ignorant, in Plato's sense, but ignorant by definition, as those without power and the ability to define ignorance. So he who wields the budget, in that battered old red suitcase, goes forth toward the public, a barrier separating them, and announces his plans without a qualm, for reason has informed them and no one can question that.

At a time when certain educational paths are being discouraged, certain social divisions being widened, and when cross-party political consensus is rife, should we not be turning the tables? Questioning the education of the politicians? Naturally, everyone knows that a disproportionate amount of cabinet members were privately educated and went to Oxford or Cambridge, but we usually highlight this when talking about class and opportunity. What about the type of education they are receiving, the nature of the degrees politicians have done, the messages, the ideology, the logic, the reason? Is it constitutive to a broad reasoned debate of the type we hope to find in Parliament? Is it constitutive to the sort of agonist pluralist democracy that political thinkers such as Chantal Mouffe endorse? Maybe the positive discrimination which is always rearing its questionable head to get ethnic minorities and women into politics should instead be used to include people from a variety of educational backgrounds.

Recently, as they were handed half, or a third, of the blazing torch of power, the Liberal Democrats have unfortunately been unmasked as the neoLiberal Democrats and are, as such, perfectly at home in this coalition. For it is the principles which encourage the bloating of the private sector and the treatment of individuals as firms, ready to be invested in which are thriving now. We should not be surprised, if we follow Foucault's genealogy of Liberalism to its opportunistic roots embedded in Political Economy, as opposed to the much nicer idea of universal human rights and the like. Moreover, as Mouffe has shown, following various thinkers, liberal democracy is a paradox, if one considers them in their respective popular logics. And so is the Liberal Democrats, too, a paradox, for they tell us all the time — they're in power, yet they're not in power; they are progressive and fair, yet the policies they endorse say otherwise; they disagree with the rise in fees, so they abstain because they know it will pass anyway. The newly politicised youth will learn, with a fine example, the woes of neoliberalism, and maybe that is what the government is trying to curb, by attacking the humanities, for it is here where critique happens, and critique is a dangerous thing.

More like Simon Poohes

A moment of (pointless) direct action.

Dear Mr. Hughes,​

As a student from Goldsmiths College you are my most local Liberal Democrat MP. I, along with all those my age who I know - mostly students - voted for the Liberal Democrats in the previous election. Most of those had been voting Liberal Democrat since they were eligible to vote. It was not merely the pledge to refuse to accept rising tuition fees (which, as we now know, was a farce) or the promise of new, more trustworthy era of politics (again, another farce) which secured the vote of the younger generation for the Lib Dems. It was the growing number of people in this country who believe in equality, fairness and progress - all those things churned out with the liberal rhetoric now shown to be hollow - that secured the limited but important slice of power that your party now hold. These people still hold these convictions but are now understandably disillusioned. I now know of no one who will vote Liberal Democrats either in my generation, where they all previously did, or older generations, which didn't vote Lib Dem anyway.

If nothing else, however, the actions of your party have politicised a generation at an unprecedented level - firstly with the televised debates and the subsequent frenzy, and then with the u-turns and Tory policies which now lurk in your shadows. This politicised generation, for good or bad, will send the Lib Dems to their grave, both for their failure to hold true to the liberal ideology which encouraged such support, and their lack of political conviction. This has been brought to the fore in the wake of the abstaining voters. Surely there is no place in politics for those who can't make up their mind? Not that that's the case, for we all know that abstaining is a purely tactical move designed to maintain a fragile coalition. This has to be condemned (no pun intended) as spineless. Opposition to a proposal should be expressed in a way which actually opposes it, not actively allows it to pass. In your Evening Standard article today you claim to have opposed the measures, by abstaining as agreed, yet you also seem to think Vince Cable's education package is pretty great. The other oversight in this article I will point out is your assertion that 'the next six months will be easier'. I can't see this being the case.

Yours Sincerely,

F.I.P

for Simon Hughes' apologetic, read http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23905910-simon-hughes-why-i-abstained-in-tuition-fees-vote.do

What Big Teeth You Have - the myth of apolitical youth; the myth of the post-ideological age

There's a big presence of a kind of cynical 'what do you expect of politicians?' that seems to run through the blood of a chunk of British public. They have seen people dismayed with the actions of their politicians, they have seen people fight back, and they have seen not a difference ever made. But positive change, like negative change, is a subtle affair. Who knows what the world would be like had no one protested Vietnam, or even the Iraq War - I choose examples here where the protest itself did not stop the thing happening at all, where protest could be said to have been a waste of time by the cynics - and environmental protests which, as of the time of writing, have not yet saved the world. The importance of people expressing themselves in these ways can not be underestimated, and those who attempt to curtail it need a serious telling off (ahem, kettling). This is not to mention the efforts of the suffragettes, and so forth, whom's efforts directly effected policy. We should question the way the protest as a 'right' is defended and encouraged by those in power, and contextualise this with their response when it gets out of hand. What is at stake for power and thus the efficacy of the protest in these respective moments?

The voice of many an angry folk is used when the people get the sense that they are not being represented, and this is why they are angry. They are angry not only at the politicians, but the union-based puppet-show which casually represents their respective groups - for the students, the NUS are like a group of self-satisfied elders, making assumptions as to what their village-folk actually want, against the blatant disapproval of said folk. The NUS become effectively a political group concerned with mediation, with all the inconsistencies and spin of the mainstream media.

I often hear a criticism levelled at 'today's youth', that they're apolitical, self- centred, they all want to be celebrities. So on and so forth. So when 130,000 of them, and people who are not 'the youth', it must be said, march against rising university fees and cuts to education and beyond, are they said to be not apolitical? Not quite - they are now 'naive', ('what do you expect of politicians,' again) naive to the political real. 'We've done it all before', says the lady from the Times, 'but then at least we were fighting for something.' The something in question being the Vietnam War. Apologies for not being born at the time, but governments don't only wage unjust wars against other countries, they target their own citizens (thank god we don't have oil or we'd really be in the shit.) If not naive, the 'students' who, according to much of the media are the sole perpetrators in the protest movements we currently are seeing, are only concerned about how much spare change they have to spend in the SU bar. Because that's what students do - get bloody drunk.

Of course, the students now will not be paying the new fee rise, for they are already in university paying a smaller, but still outrageous, fee which is binding. Why could they be marching then? They're OK, surely, with only 18,000 debt? Maybe it is the fact that they are struggling to find work, and have noticed from time to time a large Osborne swipe of the axe at various jobs in their local communities. Maybe they, since leaving university with whatever degree, have been dependent on their parents, or benefits, as they struggle to find a footing in the job market which offers them endless internships and so-called experience which is apparently great for your CV. Maybe, finally, they are not so self-centred and they are out in the freezing cold marching due to some principle they've conjured up, that education should be a right; that an educated society is a privileged society; and the whole range of interests and university programmes should be treated as having the same merit, validity, social relevance, etc. (I'm referring to the targeting of the arts and humanities here).

Education should, thus, be distinct from training, which is what it's fast becoming (become?), for there is merit in pursuing one's interests, and their should be, and is, a place in society for all of those respective interests to have total relevance. Education should not be changeable on the whims of the markets, wherein economic factors alone decide what courses are viable; where a workforce is created in an academic institution tailor made for the narrow consensus which informs the free-market ideal, and the companies who abide by this idea. What would happen to the opinion? Education is rewarding and influential. One of the benefits, no necessities, of it is that it provides a massive group in society with the experiences and apparatus to think for themselves about a whole wealth of issues, and the fact that some come out with marketing degrees and some come out with philosophy degrees is a good thing, for it allows difference of opinion, and that is vital in a productive society, and moreover is vital especially for a society which hopes to one day be 'fair', with all the little things that can be included under that big word.

In terms of the post-ideological, listen to this gent from the coalition of resistance, from John Hutnyk's fine blog..

http://hutnyk.wordpress.com/2010/12/04/the-future-is-going-to-come-true-buy-this-bloke-a-beer-said-my-friend-vij-future-presidential-candidate-for-the-united-socialist-federation-of-europe-i-reckon/

hear hear.

(more theory next time)

and then, right before my eyes, he exploded into a thousand pieces of glass.

The following occured during the summer, when I was still waiting to embark on the MA I have now started. It looks ahead to a time which I have finally reached, from where, in turn, I now look back to what I was once expecting. I put it up now partly because I havn't been bothered to do so thus far, and because I now have a slightly clearer idea about what cultural studies is. And that question, dear reader, is of troubling concern to this me of yesterday. Not that it matters, i now realise, for half the time my associates concern themselves with discussing what cultural studies is and is going to be. No one really knows, you see.

*

I am soon going to London to study. This summer is mostly spent in the westcounty, somewhere between a state of preperation and anxious academic malnutrition. A heavy dose of procrastinaiton accompanies me, even though I have nothing to do. I was asked by the man, as he peeked up at me from his position on the floor, So why are you going to london?

To do a Masters.

Oh right, he said. Is that in a subject?

It is - Cultural Studies.

'Oh right. And eh. So eh, what does that involve?' He was protecting his eyes from falling dust. His rounded glasses were on the floor beside him. He had blue overalls, and a head shaped like the Isle of Wight.

It was a question frequently asked of me by people enquiring about the future. They would invariably not actually care, but still felt obliged to be clear on the matter. An ambiguity shrouded the name, Cultural Studies. Understandably so, I guess, for what is culture? Only, like, everything.

So I said: well, things like the philosophy of art, political theory, literary theory, media studies -

'Oh yeah,' he said wiping his brow. 'My sister's in media. She's a caterer, works on set. Does walk on parts from time to time, yeah. Not easy getting into media. She was lucky, met a weatherman, bought a dog off him. Though, a Masters has got to help ey.'

'Yeah, well, I mean, it's not media per se. It would be more . . . studying the media from the peripheries, and -'

'Lots of opportunities as a weatherman. Or woman, I might add. High turnover, you see. The only keepers are the ones with the right names, you know? Like Jon Snow, David Frost, and there's eh, Dan Snow. Yep, they've been reporting the weather for years, for years.'

He continued: ' . . . but not many stay on, 'specially with regular names. There was that one, that woman, a real looker she was. Sarah, eh. Sarah something. You know the one?'

Alas I didn't.

'Where is she now?' he mused. 'See, they dont hang about for long. They get into the meteorological department, away from the public. The public hates them, you see, always have done. The British and the weather. There's some magical connection, there is. The English await the weather like the lonely old woman awaiting her visiting grandchildren.' He sat up, as if suddenly happening upon something unmissable in the corner of his mind. 'And the weather report is like a card, or phonecall saying - "we're on our way". Nothing worse than the wrath of disappointed grandparents, we all know it. So the weathermen are the bringers of good, but misleading, news, Cos they're always wrong, right? The grandchildren always have better plans.'

'How's it coming on?' I asked. He stood up and looked at me. He held a blackened tissue.

'See, not many people know it,' he said, 'but the first day of summer, traditionally the 3rd wednesday of May, is national "taunt the weatherman" day. It came about because news anchors were getting bitter about the attention the weatherman was getting, back in the sixties, this was. So they started changing the script, or putting up messages on the screen behind them. You could get away with anything on TV then. Yeah, they'd have a report of a fine day ahead, a fine day, and you'd have sun plastered all over the country, with bits of blue tak. But he'd be saying, "so get out yer raincoats, if your heading out today, because this weather is set to stay." The chap on the newsdeck would be creasing up. These days, on the third wednesday of May, they do things like that. April fools for weathermen, and women, I might add. Well, won't be long now mate. Just got to check the eh -

'But now,' he said turning back to me, 'It's a bit sinister. If you're a weatherman you better get used to abuse on the streets, that's right, on the streets. "You said it would be sunny," they screech. "My washing's on the line!" Oh dear. They throw fruit, they throw pasties. Depends where you are - what shops are nearby I suppose. I think I'd throw a spanner. Although that might hurt. No, I have no issue with the weatherman. So, do you come at it from the media, or the meteorological, angle then, you prospective weathermen?'

'Well I don't want to be a weatherman, I'm studying Cultural Studies.

'Right, well we're almost done here. You're semi-converter plasma conducter was shot, so I replaced that. And the old jig ramp could do with a greasy make-over. But that's your perogative, son. Last thing I want to do is sell you a greasy make-over - '

I nodded.

' - but in all honesty, without a make-over your ramp will fail and your jig flap could fall off on the way home.'

'OK, well. Do what you need to do.'

He shuffled off, continued in silence. No more did we speak. I looked down the road, pretending something interesting was down there. Tomorrow, I'll have the same thing with the boiler man.

Day X and the University for Srategic Optimism

Yesterday, November 24th, thousands of students, teachers, academics and generally disillusioned persons - totally maybe 130,000 nationwide, according to a Guardian estimate - staged a walk-out from their places of schooling and places of work and spent hours upon hours adding their opinion in this education cuts / general cuts debate. The fact that it has come to this, where the anger has grown to an extent that the media latch on to pinpointed moments of aggression and exploit it in an attempt to undermine 'students' (the Daily Mail's curious attack on female students is the most perplexing spin I have yet to see), only makes apparent the hopeless process of debate through which fair decisions are supposed to be made.

". . . the way thatmore heads and hearts will be won in this country is by reasoned argument." says Michael Gove. But alas, that approach doesn't actually have much effect does it now. One may note the current lack of agreement in the LibDem corner of the coalition on these issues, and the shouting down of MPs who appear to have a view which runs contrary to the consensus.

Thus,

Millbank - 10th November

and,

Whitehall - 24th November

On this day, during the march police used their notorious kettling techniques to box in thousands of protesters until well into the evening, effectively removing their right to protest. But the story continued nonetheless . . .

As fifty or so policement made a bright yellow line at the Trafalgar end of Whitehall, pushing around young girls who are trying to get out the way and not allowing any access to the pub there, seemingly preparing a full-speed-ahead charge at the marauding (or subdued, freezing, boxed-in) protesters.

But they were out-flanked by an extremely well co-ordinated march heading west at pace. Chaos in the square ensued as excitement grew, amplified by a few dozen fiends on mopeds donning Guy Fawkes masks. The rapidity of this march, the elusiveness of their stategy forbade the police from getting a grasp on the situation, and, as far as I know, it came to a head next to Charing Cross station, with a tiny kettle - an evening tea-for-one, almost - and many a "LET THEM OUT" and "SHAME ON YOU" being directed at police from bystanders.

------------

Elsewhere, a few hours earlier, and with extremely good behaviour, the University for Strategic Optimism held their inaugural lecture in a LloydsTSB near Tower Bridge. Thirty-ish individuals joined the few customers already in the bank and witnessed the esteemed Dr. Etienne Lantier give the course outline for Higher Education, Neo-liberalism and the State. Only the bank manager didn't like it - too challenged by the set reading, one might assume. Within 7 minutes they were gone, off towards the growing tensions in central London.

The video is heeeeere! as is lecture notes and future plans and a healthy buzz.

http://universityforstrategicoptimism.wordpress.com/

And keep out a curious eye for future lectures in locations yet to be disclosed.

do grills dream of electric toasters?

i recently tried to put music on here. suffice to say that that that that didn't work.

am i strolling a little too close to the the sandy shore of jounalville?

each time i restart the play i give up for i deem the play rubbish. why is that? am i apathetic towards it? have i lost my ability to write? (did it ever exist?) is the concept too vague, leaving me little to latch on to, like a paperclip used to spread butter on a slice of bread on a warm day? my inability to write at the moment concerns me. it makes me question my future; my rather presumptuous and totally undefined future, somewhere within the vast spreading and diluting world of writingness. its not just the quality, but the ability to produce. just anything. the grasp of inertia doth indeed have some sway over me. lord, doesn't it take a while to get going.

i was standing on some uneven rocks on the sea front. i wanted a place to sit and write, to mull over this ever deepening problem. two potentialities arose - sit upon the rocky ledge of despair, against the wall. Or aim for the ledge edge, as it were; legs a-dangling, nothing but sea for many a mile. by the time these options made themselves apparent, however, they had presented their inadequacies. the rocky ground was far too bumpy to ever be comfortable, and, legs a-dangling, in this wind, i would risk a dangerous danger - i would be ill advise to jump in after the inevitably wind-swept notebook, which i would soon lose beneath the waves. what i wanted was a quieter spot than i had found all day, let me escape this day wherein the summer beach goers alone had descended upon the town. i saw ice creams, sea gulls, scooters, dogs and leads. an indiscernible babble, the summer soundtrack. i needed to get away from this world i seem to find so uninspiring, where my writing remains so stale. here i was, stood against a wall on a bumpy rocky sea front ledge thing, failing to do this.

i was just about to go when two boys arrived. now i couldn't go, for it would seem like i couldn't stand them, or they intimidated me, or some such reason. i now had to stay for a short while. they peered off the ledge down towards the sea. down there was another ledge, over which the tide was just about pushing the waves. a subdued wave would curiously venture onto the concrete ledge, half-heartedly spread over it, like an upper-class woman in a dressing gown mounting a leather sofa in a provocative way to impress an indifferent dinner guest; before trickling into the sea. this ledge ran all the round the sea wall to the beach. i think i knew what was going on - these intrepid explorers, kid A and kid B, were going to scale this ledge, challenge the threatening rising tides, and make it round to the other side; to victory on the beach.

'the water's a bit high,' said the taller kid.

'how are we gonna get round?' said the shorter kid.

'we can't, that's how.'

that's how?

tears at the party

A quick scan of the party assured me that I knew absolutely no one, except, of course, the lovely Amy Knight, everybody's friend, our honourable hostess. But this was little consolation, for Amy Knight was certain to be preoccupied for the duration, taking up her rightful position of centre of attention.

I, on the other hand, had resigned to a familier role; the detached mass of inconsequentiality to be found lingering in a corner, in an inpenetrable circle reaching a metre in all directions. But, experienced as I have become in this regard, the role greeted me with a strange comfort. With a beer in my hand, my reliable friend, I gauged how long it would be before I could realistically leave.

But I was not alone, as I had thought. There were two of us. Another member of my species hoverred above the buffet, unreacheable to all apart from one reliable friend, a can of beer. As the party continued, Amy Knight at its epicentre, we two stood alone, clinging to separate corners of the room, listening to the music.

As he prodded a pork pie, the Sinead O'Connor version of the song Nothing Compares 2 U came on the stereo. The man's head rose slightly in appreciation, as if acknowledging the god of music, and standing there by the buffet, he hesitated to eat his pork pie, and simply closed his eyes.

He was a squashed accordian of a man, a stomach disproportional to his height, and I struggled between states of bewilderment, awkwardness and sheer laughter as he stood there, eyes closed, head raised, holding a pork pie out in front of him. After a short while, before the song had finished, he roused himself from this trance and approached the dizzy circle of friends as they attentively listened to the humorous tales of Amy Knight.

'—and the irony was that he was a doctor too! ' she exclaimed, and roared with laughter. The ensemble around her roared in equal measure, and showed no signs of stopping. In the chaos of uncontrollable laughter, a gap in the circle provided a way in and was casually occupied by the approaching man.

'Nothing compares to you,' he said matter-of-factly towards Amy Knight, in a northern accent which I was too ignorant to place. The laughter was cut, and promptly spluttered out.

'Oh, erm, this is Lenny Carmichael,' said Amy Knight, attempting to regain her composure.

'Call me Darwin,' replied Lenny Carmichael, addressing the perplexed audience.

'Oh, yes, ...Darwin,' said Amy Knight. And then with some effort, 'Darwin is from the office.'

Darwin seemed to enjoy the attention, but unbeknownst to him a serious lull had replaced the jovial atmosphere. An awkward silence of inconceivable magnitude ensued, and Sinead O'Connor shone though with newfound clarity, crooning to her incomparable Other. A cross-fire of glances darted across the circle as Darwin stood there rocking on his heels.

With professional aptitude, Amy Knight flung into action, hoping to reclaim the party and get it under control. The reactions of the onlookers seemed to encourage this.

'So the doctor—'

'Those tears,' Darwin intercepted. He was not done yet.

'Those tears?' inquired one of the women, unaware of what she could be getting herself into.

'Those tears were real,' Darwin said.

'Sinead O'Connor's tears?' asked another woman.

'Oh yes,' he said, closing his eyes and biting his lip. 'Those tears were real.'

Another set of glances were exchanged, and Amy Knight's attempt had failed. From the comfort of my refuge I saw Darwin socially free-falling. I had a desire to run away on his behalf.

But Amy Knight was right on the button, soaring back into action from what looked to be a sorry defeat.

'The doctor had no idea, so...'

And she continued as the circle closed and slowly pushed Darwin out. He calmly pivoted on the spot, and headed back to the buffet, his beer firmly in his grasp.

You and me, we're the same, I said to Darwin Carmichael in silence, except that I am aware of the condition. We are the party no-hopers, forever cast to the sidelines, unable to penetrate the collective. Our purpose, to set the bench mark for the in-crowd, to remind them of their luxuries. I could have been the man attempting to integrate as Darwin had done, I realised with a shudder. I made a mental note to never utter a word to a person at a party.

And I knew, somewhere in the vast world of music television, Sinead O'Connor was weeping for the both of us.

as i make my way

This belt isn't quite right, coming undone like this all the time. It's ok when I'm still, it's the walking movement that does it; makes it flick out of place and come loose. But I don't know exactly how, and I'll never know, will I? I can't walk down the street studying my crotch in an attempt to work out exactly how this belt works it's way undone, can I Imagine if we all wore braces. Well, not the women obviously. Although, I bet some women would, if they were cool, and it was cool.

No, if braces were the norm, I would simply find some way of struggling with braces instead of belts.

Maybe I should have bought some wine. Can't go back to the shop now, or can I? If I am going to get some, let's turn back now before getting to far away from the shop, or I'm just wasting steps.

Argh, why didn't I think about it before passing the shop? I could have considered the problem far more rationally; an informed desicion based on money, self-worth, and consideration, not how far past the shop I have gone. They're not going to be happy, I'm always late. Extra late as a result of this wine situation. Maybe I should get two bottles by way of apology. No, one will be enough. It's a gesture, not an apology, let's not get off on the wrong foot — these dinner party things are, after all, with nice, kind, best intentions. I needn't convince myself I will be tutted at.

Hmm, £3.99 a bottle. Will they know it's a cheap wine? Will they assume it's cheap because I bought it? Now come on, I don't give that impression, do I? £5.99? Why not. Chewing gum? Sure. Longer queue than usual, Tuesdays must be becoming more fashionable a-night for drinking. Probably the students.

You don't get many shops with a bell on the door these days, it seems. It has a niceness to it, like, 'we know you're here, our attention will be appropriately directed at the soonest posible moment.' That ring establishes a brief relationship to be shared between shopper and shopkeeper, and signifies its end as you leave. Ding.

It's getting dark. If I only had a bike I could do this journey in seconds. Granted, many seconds it would be, but fewer seconds than my current performance. Ah, but I'd probably smash the bottle of wine. They have the thinnest bags in the world. One should not have to hold the bottle when surrounded by the bag, for the handles should suffice. These handles are not up to the task.

I wonder where the cracks in the pavement myth comes from. If everyone was always conscious of it, avoiding cracks on all journeys, then city centres would surely be a comical place — everyone staring down at the floor, dodging cracks at all cost. Would make for some well placed irony too, I'd say — concentrating too hard on cracks to escape the perils of an approaching bus, par example.

But people don't usually focus on cracks when they're walking do they? Only on lesuirely strolls. No, other things occupy the mind, leaving unsuspecting cracks in pavements the world over being ruthlessly trodden on. Maybe thats where all the evil in the world comes from; our failing to remember to dodge cracks, and the ensueing bad luck.

A tricky road to cross, this one. As soon as those lights change, these ones change, and when they change back, those ones change, leaving the road constantly packed full of cars - big, metal, crushing, cars. Why aren't cars big and fluffy? Surely a car's exterior could be soft, like a teddy bear, and deaths on the road would siese. Ah, a gap in the traffic always appears, sooner or later. Patience, young pedestrian, Yoda would say. Use the zebra crossing, Obe Wan would add.

Pavement, though. That's a good word. One would have to admit, however, that 'sidewalk' makes more sense - it's at the 'side' of the road, and you 'walk' on it. Say what you see, America. It couldn't be simpler. Edgepath? It's not brilliant, I admit. What we need is rotary pavements, or conveyor belt pavements (a la airport terminal), then maybe I wouldn't be running late. Well, 'pavement' is better than 'sidewalk'. If nothing else, we have that.

Blasted belt! I must look like such an idiot casually doing up my belt as I walk down the road, It comes undone! Should I explain this to onlookers? Or make a sign? BELT MAY COME UNDONE - DO NOT BE ALARMED - IT IS A SIMPLE MALFUNCTION. No, too long, needs to be catchy, so a simple glance will convey the message. BELT BROKEN: - NO OFFENCE. How seriously am I considering this? Maybe a new belt would be a better idea.

Was it number 32 or 34? I've been here at least 3 times, I really should know. Well, if all the houses didn't look so similar . . . Shall I phone one of them? No, surely I can't admit to not knowing which house it is after all those visits, it's just not normal. Let's try 32, what's the worst that can happen? Everyone will survive, it's no big deal.

"Hello!"

"Hi, sorry I'm late."

"Not at all, not at all! Come in."

"Great, here's some wine."

review 3

round 3 - the machine as considered by florence, rage, and radiohead.

for rage, the machine is the other - that to which they proclaim to rage against. for florence, the machine is the companion; that which constitues the other half of the partnership. both consider animate living things to be in fact machinic (sic(k)) - inhuman creations deviod of individual agency. rage are addressing political systems, systems of power. systems constituted by individuals who, by the very nature of the system, create a sort of machine unto themselves; each individual performing small taks but none really holding any real power. the power is realised through the combined participation of the individuals. the resulting machine is the oppressor. florence's machine is her machine, she is the puppeteer. the machine is her slave. but this machine too is formed from people, people playing instruments, who individually hold little power, little influence, but once drawn together, to realise the musical ideas, create songs. the dichotomy is one of figurative standpoints, opposed upon these overseers by themselves. they both claim to wield power over the machine, whether in rebellion against it or utilising it, but their view of the machine is held in different lights. one could see florences's standpoint as one of opimism - the machine is at her beck and call. but is she as in control of her machine as she might like to think? what happens when the machine abandons her? does her machine end with band members? should it include the synths, the managers, a & r, the industry? rage by contrast see only the negative, and rage against it with a supreme irony they surely must be aware of, being situated deeply within the machine of their nightmares, feeding off it. but let us not undermine them for this, the argument is too easy. the condition of late capitalism does not permit critiique from anywhere apart from within, this is its nature. radiohead knew this, and became the machine, enveloped it, embraced its cold ability to exemplify itself in the song fitter happier. here the machine is used to create, like with florence, and to undermine, a la rage, by going one further than the other two; fully removing the human, not attempting to challenge or control it, thereby unvieling the true nature of the situation - a morbid acceptance to the posthuman condition. pessimistic? surely not.

Review#2

round 2: Clark

the first half of the song 'Suns of Temper' cannot be conceived of anything less than having a purpose, and thus existing for that. in this respect, it gains a life which most music fails to have, for what is music's purpose? this half of this song is there to provide a space for the second half, which would not work if it came out of nowhere. it lays the red carpet, it clears the air. for this reason it has a purpose within music unshared with other pieces; it relates directly to its 2nd half in an explicit way which whole pieces fail to do themselves; indeed, throughout an album only a continuity of mood is shared usually. thus, where the first half serves the 2nd half, realising its efficacy, doing the manual labour, the 2nd half, of which the importance is assumed to be centralised, lacks any purpose beyond the abstract purpose of music.

so, when this half of the song finally fades away, leaving a lingering tension and an uneasy space where the mess has been removed, the full impact of the 2nd half can be felt, which enters like a huge monster happy that you didn't predict his entrance. but the severe depth of this part is compromised within itself, albeit not as a fault but a necessity. that is to say, it is as if the clarity of its force should not be truly exhibited, for it is a cliché threatening to happen. the layers of noise prohibit the cliché from emerging. that is its necessary compromise.

here we are reminded of the irony which flows through the album, made obvious by a glance towards the 1950's American (assumedly) suburbanites on the record sleeve. but of course in the digital age music (potentially) has no image, so the irony may never be known. we are further reminded of Barthes' proclamation of the Death of the Author, which makes itself relevant once again. it is in its destination, not its origin, where we can ascribe meaning. let us not assume. we can receive the changing quirks of the album, the clichés and disruptions to form as a playful appropriation and reinvention of standards. or we may see these as serious musical gestures. and is either one wrong? Barthes would say no, for intention is secondary to reception, and the resulting opinion validates itself. Clark is thus offering us a wealth of material to consider, occupying some space outside the judgements of cool and uncool. keep your dubstep, i've got irony-core.