What are Monday’s for? Starting the week? That heartsink when the recycling bins are waiting for you like upended suitcases, reminding you you’re always back where you started?
Well joyous bells of heavenly punks. For myself, and the one reader of my blog that lives in Cirencester, I present to you my Monday morning gobbet* of opinion Faultlines.
I’ve long been perplexed and concerned, riled even, by the dividing lines that separate us. All this when we need to be uniting behind the monumental problems we face as a species of consciousness amongst an unconscious planet in the seizures of collapse. You know, the old “we’re fxxxed why don’t those fxxxers understand?” argument. Inversely read as “we’re not fxxxed why don’t those fxxxers understand?” argument. Also reasonably subtitled as “why the need for the strong language Jet?” Well the profane and the profound dance a tight little tango in my opinion.
So what do I have to offer on this stall? Mouldy mushrooms. Half formed clickbait. The odd vegan sausage? “Roll up. Roll up. A bag of meat in a bag,” the butcher used to shout from his refrigerated trailer when I was a kid.
I do not offer you a bag of meat. I offer you a confused man trying to make sense of confusion every Monday. Gathering up a gobbet of opinion.
Next week I begin with hypocrisy. The week after it might be toenails. Or fresh strawberries. Lets see.
*Gobbet: a small piece or lump of something, especially food. Cambridge University Dictionary
*A commentary or gobbet is largely concerned with the explication of a single passage of text; an essay is directed towards a different goal, making a more general argument or arguments on a set topic. Faculty of Classics Oxford University
* “He taught her how to hawk up a prodigious gob of spit” Sid Vicious instructing Viv Albertine in 1970s propulsion.