A shaved Bungle from Rainbow

THE WRITER’S LIFE

If I were asked to describe Donald Trump in metaphors, I’d probably go with a cross between a head injury and a plastic sack wrapped around a lamp post in the wind. But I wasn’t asked.

Jason Hazeley and Joel Morris are the writers behind Charlie Brooker’s Wipe, but sadly Wipe 2017 was cancelled as Brooker was too busy making more episodes of Black Mirror. They’ve shared some notes they made which came from a brainstorm, “Describe Donald Trump,” and put them on a charity T-shirt, with all profits going to The Refugee Community Kitchen, a charity providing meals to displaced people both in the UK and abroad. The insults on the shirt are splendidly juvenile, and it’s all in a good cause.

Trump globe

My shirt arrived today, and the full text on the front (see below) reads as follows:

A man who looks like he’s constantly shitting. The face from a leaflet about blood pressure. Pig off of Pipkins. Father Jack. A guinea pig in a Toby Jug. Your first girlfriend’s horrible dad. The evil Beach Boy. Someone trick or treating as Paddy Ashdown. A kitten balanced on a Chelsea bun. A fist full of straw. A live-action reboot of President Business from the Lego Movie. A talking haystack. A totem pole made of fish paste. A cross between Silvio Berlusconi and Boss Hogg. A walking wig named after a fart. Worzel Gummidge after a spa weekend. A man who’s sprayed the top of his head with so much thickener, it’s got into his brain. The evil Bruce Forsyth. The Cheshire Cunt. Less a politician than a bag of hair through which stupid ideas could pass. Fascist Bagpuss. Primitive He-Man doll made by a feral child out of straw and turnips. Ageing He-Man cosplayer dressed for court appearance. A fist with hair. A home-made Alec Baldwin. A baboon’s arse poking out from under a fucked doormat. An American businessman from a Two Ronnies Dallas sketch. Hitler Simpson. Donnie Dorko. The sheriff from Live and Let Die. The crude bigoted mayor from a simplistic children’s film about racial tolerance. A shaved Bungle. A billionaire bigot who looks a bit sweaty because he’s trying to smuggle the prototype of a giant Shredded Wheat out of the factory by hiding it above his forehead. A Vic Reeves drawing of Jimmy Savile. Your dad, drunk on Boxing Day, but with a Tribble on his head. An orange supremacist. The words ‘HOW HARD CAN IT BE’ in a suit. The American Boris Johnson, but like their milkshakes, the American version is much, much thicker – and even worse for you. A man who looks like a clingfilm bag of tinned frankfurters that’s been kicked through a cobweb. A character that, had it been invented by Roald Dahl, wouldn’t have made it to the end of a factory visit. A lame 80s fish-out-of-water movie president. The furious orange. Mickey Blowoff. Gropey Doo. Buzz Shiteyear. Head like a cartoon cat squashed into a mailbox. His smashed handbag of a face. The sort of face David Cameron might stick his dick in for a bet. The kind of face that if it appeared outside your window might, ironically, make you consider building a wall to keep it out. If he kissed a baby, it’d probably just be a first step in a long game of going to bed with it in eighteen years. A soulless rich white male who claims to represent ordinary, hard-working people – in much the same way I could be said to represent the Brazilian grimecore community or the nineteen-headed creatures of the planet Blitheroid or the international carpet-eating association. It was surprising to find out that he was a juvenile, entitled, chauvinist locker room dick, because he looks more like a horse rapist. Farage compared him to a Silverback gorilla, probably meaning that once in captivity in the White House, he’d sulk in a corner, masturbating and going insane.

TheDonald Tee shirt

Support Refugee Community Kitchen and wear an offensive stream of consciousness upon your person.

Like a wave from a subway train

THE WRITER’S LIFE

There won’t be anyone to stop you if you’ve truly made up your mind, but no matter how bad it is, and how little people might seem to care, every lost life affects others. You’ll only be aware of the splash you make, not the ripples you create.”

Vincent SchiavelliVincent Schiavelli (‘Subway ghost’ in ‘Ghost’) at WarpedFactor.com

I was thinking about that last paragraph from my previous post, and recently watched an excellent documentary on BBC4, called The Secret Life of Waves. It dealt not only with sound and light waves, but poetically and philosophically with the waves on the ocean as metaphors for individual lives.

The programme posited the thought: Is the world around us static or dynamic? We as humans – as sentient, self-determining, conscious beings – are fluid within the world we occupy, but even that which we consider permanent is also in transit. It made my own life make sense, when it’s been so transient and turbulent.

Buildings are static, but they come and go, with fashion, with gentrification; abandoned, squatted, reclaimed, demolished; they are eroded by the waves of life. The building materials came from the Earth, inflicting upon it another scar of humanity, like every person passing through each place they lived, all leaving a mark.

Now I sit and write, very much aware of my place. I feel my own weight bearing down on my buttocks in the chair, and it’s gravity. It’s the world, pushing up beneath me as it travels through space at 50,000 miles an hour with me attached.

The planet is moving not just in space, but within. Mountains and landscapes form and grow, like mineral waves, titanic and slow. Ice caps melt, glaciers carve new canyons and continents shift, geologically. Up above, the geopolitical world is a surreal kaleidoscope of shifting sands and oil. All of these things are waves which have a beginning and an end, and we’re watching various speeds of transit.

We can blow the surface of still water and it will ripple. We can jump from a bridge, land with a splash and make bigger waves. We speak and we create sound waves, and simply by being, wavelengths of visible light allow us to be seen.

It’s a fundamental law of the universe that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, so all of those actions – conscious and not – are transfers of energy, from one form to another; potential energy within us creates kinetic energy in the waves we make. Eventually those waves break, like the ocean on the shore, moving and eroding the surface of the Earth as the energy is converted again and returned from whence it came.

And so it is with life. When a life ends, all the energy it contained is dispersed, like the breaking of a wave. Some of that force lives on, in ways we don’t yet understand when we leave our physical, organic bodies. And part of an individual’s energy will become the grief (or celebration) of others. We live on, beyond here, but there’s no place where life is a singularity. That was at the beginning, before the Big Bang, where all the energy in the universe came from. It’s still here and it always will be, because the force can’t be destroyed.

Back on Earth, it’s easier to ride the waves of life than creating the kind which might drown others. We all have a powerful weapon within us, an energy which could destroy our loved ones. It’s a big burden sometimes, but it would be selfish to unleash that on those less able to deal with it.

best-gary-zukav-quote-by-gary-zukav-1856173Gary Zukav

Don’t get carried along by the waves made by others, when you could otherwise channel their energy differently. Be careful who you surf with, and always wear sunscreen.