Does that say Isle of Marr?
Anyway! The Tragedy of a Ridiculous man. It's a film! A film I've never seen but I did recognise the fact that the music from this film was used in the Adam Curtis documentary series Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace on BBC2. He's obviously seen the films of Peter Watkins but I'm not sure that great man would completely approve of this series. While the content is certainly highly engaging and thought-provoking you're barraged with footage film, music and authoritative narration, all rather rapidly and flitting between narrative strands that arn't always totally satisfactorily tied together. Still! I liked it! It had Morricone music in it so it could have been a documentary about what a load of shit I am and I still would have liked it. In fact I probably would have liked it more, starved of attention that I am.
Actually it did slag me off. Or at least I think it did. Certain notions that ran through the Crackers trilogy were critically examined by the films such as the vague techno-utopianism and biological reductionism evident in some of this work or the woolly environmentalism that lies behind it all. Now, I hadn't been aware of how far I've fallen into a post-industrial hippy malaise until I started reading The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood which I'm currently enjoying a lot. Is the waterless flood policy rather than prophecy or is that too obvious?... I'm about 2/3 of the way through so I'll soon know. Anyway I was rather startled to find that I'm already some of the way to being a God's Gardener. I'm certainly a Gardener alright though maybe I need to work on the religion bit. I'm no atheist. Only a fool believes in non-existence of God. I merely strongly suspect it- Koosism has at its core divine ambiguity: I don't know and never will. Hallelujah fuckerts! Regardless, I might as well be in a religious cult what with the grinding agrarian poverty It's kind of become, by accident, a whole lifestyle thing and whole areas of my previous life are become swamped with greenery and forgotten. Which reminds me I must read Ballard's The Drowned World again soon.
Yeh I've mentally imploded. It feels ok. Like drugs but less shaky. Kind of stopped communicating with all my friends round the world and will probably shortly stop interacting with this daft thing. It is a form of mental masturbation after all, endlessly talking to myself like this. Perhaps there's nothing wrong with a bit of masturbation? Maybe. All the same it's not even as good as regular non-mental masturbation so I might as well just do that instead. Unless I have something I consider meaningful to say but really it's all been said a hundred times before, often better and is probably all total rubbish and not even worth picking over on BBC2 to the accompaniment of excellent music. The past was pretty cool and I was lucky to have seen it.
Tomorrow belongs to me! You can keep it if you want.
Go Team Mongoose!
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