Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Re-educated

I don't see any way to convince people that capitalism is not hugely triumphant, because they have mistaken progress that is largely an outcome of technology (itself largely fuelled by us jointly because our governments have funded it) for an outcome of the economy.

But capitalism does not focus on betterment, rather on the accumulation of claims on labour. But from the point of view of the labourer, wouldn't it be better to live in a world where your needs were met without requiring you to do much than one where you have to strive for those needs and, because we lack imagination, for wants that are created by the capitalists because without them they could not create claims on your labour?

What remains puzzling is why anyone would want to claim labour that is largely worthless, but I don't think we are capable of conceptualising its worth coherently, because we are so used to thinking in terms of "money", and not of what money actually is.

Our needs are, as they have been throughout the history of settled peoples, distorted by the distribution of land. Our first need is for food, but a close second is to have somewhere to live. That some can profit by that need seems to me the most elementary wrong in how we organise ourselves. Whereas libertarians see property as central to their utopia, I see it as the largest obstacle. We simply have not moved on from the Middle Ages, where we were forced to labour for a place to live (and our means of subsistence in feudal times) because an elite that dominated the exercise of physical force held the land. This is still true and libertarianism results in not much more than a defence of feudalism, since they believe that governments should only enforce the right to deprive others of land.

Were the state to place land in the hands of the commonwealth, we would need to do little to supply our needs, and could easily satisfy not only our own needs but those of every person on this planet. For what is an economy but a way to direct resources, of which labour is one? Resources are horribly badly allocated in capitalism. What do I mean by that? Well, my labour is a resource, which my employers pay about $30 an hour for. I waste my life doing something of very little importance to anyone, except capitalists who want to advertise their services to others.

Were I a film star, my labour would be "worth" many thousands of dollars an hour. I could command labour from people like me disproportionately to my own labour. I could also command enormous amounts of other scarce resources. This doesn't seem like a good idea. It doesn't create anything for the commonwealth, bar films. And do we really believe that actor X is so talented that he could not be replaced by a million other hopefuls, or at least that we would really suffer anything if he was? Culture is a huge industry, supporting itself by a coterie of hangers on whose own livelihood revolves around convincing us that it is valuable and that its producers are of such enormous value that they are not fungible. I think they probably are and more importantly, I think that culture would still be produced, and would likely have greater quality, were it not highly rewarded (or at least no more highly rewarded than any other kind of labour).

I start to see the value of re-education camps. We tend to see the Pol Pots of this world as madmen, but the vision behind their actions is clear enough, and is founded in an analysis that I mostly share. Most work is worthless, providing nothing to the commonwealth, even if we pretend that it does, or involved in creating new ways to waste resources. When you reflect that you cannot live without your iPhone, you might also consider that your grandfather did, and was none the worse for it. Not all "progress" does anything good. If we were to distribute resources more equitably, I could see the value in saying to worthless parasites like lawyers, art critics or management consultants, you have six months to learn how to do something useful.

Because if we were all employed in useful things, we would barely need to work at all. Neither food production nor resource extraction are particularly labour intensive any more, and distribution is limited only by its cost. In a world where cost is meaningless, we could distribute whatever we chose using rationally apportioned labour. And really, wouldn't you be more fulfilled driving a truck full of food through Africa, or building the roads that truck drives on, or helping to provide clean water so that the people you were feeding would not die of diarrhoea or cholera?

Maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you like working like a navvy to make other men rich. Maybe you feel that you need to work hard to "deserve" having more than other poor souls. Maybe you have mistaken ideology for truth: the invisible hand of the market did not make us rich; it ensured we remained slaves.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Handsome and gentle

There is a picture of my boy looking out at me from my PC.

You can see the man he will one day become, handsome and gentle. He seems intelligent, yet guileless, looking at me frankly, without judgement, the way he does.

He is a skinny boy, a gentle boy, a delicious boy. He is my dreams wrapped in a human skin.

I can forget we are apes; I can believe we are made of something special.

Yet.

I cannot ever look at him without sadness that he will one day perish. I feel it is a crueller fate than my own demise.

I would believe in any god that could spare him, yet no gods exist to spare him. I would believe in any magic that could let him never die, yet there is no magic in this life.

There is only you and I and he, spinning in our own universes, figments of our own imaginations, spinning out our lives, meaningless to any but us.

He is a handsome boy. I love him dearly. I understand, finally, what love is. It is the certainty of loss. The boy will become a man, drifting quietly away from me, until all I have is a picture, a few garbled memories, a man who I can no longer kiss but I will still yearn to. I know, we are all destined for this. There is no bargain to be made, no court to plead in. There is only today.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Vale Chavez

A post I made on an internet forum expresses what I feel about Chavez.

The US hates democracy and liberals across the world, as demonstrated by their fighting to overturn the will of the people on many occasions, and their support for basically anyone who will kill liberals, particularly in South America. It's a shameful record.

Chavez was elected in elections that were acclaimed as free and fair, against enormous, well-funded opposition, including the connivance of the US government.

He didn't allow a completely free press but I think that is fair enough when the media are exhorting the people to rise up in a rightwing revolution. We are not talking a few nutters on cable. We're talking major media. Free speech does have its limits: fire in the theatre and all that. He also repressed some political opposition. But a tyrant, no?

Take an honest look at it. It's easy to say that the whole world should just transition to a completely free, democratic system overnight, but two things should mitigate that feeling. One, we do not start from scratch. Most countries have such entrenched, unjust structures of power that they simply do not have the civil society to support a democracy, and it's on the whole doomed to failure. Two, does it work for the people in those places that have it? Is America paradise? Is having a smallish number of very rich people, a larger number of affluent people and a large slice of poor people what we should actually strive for. Is a system in which money buys power, and ONLY money buys power, actually a good thing?

Is it good for a country like Venezuela, where wealth disparity is even more marked than it is in the States? Is saying you're free to buy power a good idea in a nation where a tiny elite controls everything?

Freedom is nothing if you are unable to exercise that freedom. Freedom of speech is nothing if you have no voice. Freedom to own property is nothing if you cannot acquire property. Freedom is nothing without justice, and justice is nothing if it comes at a price that only some can pay.

He did some great things for the people of Venezuela, increasing spending on health and education enormously, and spreading the oil wealth in a way that strongly contrasts with the US. He was a hero, a giant, flawed but magnificent and it's no wonder the right hates him. A hundred Chavezes across this world and we would start to build a good place to live in for all of us, not just the privileged few.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The possibility of love

I need release
I need my heart to stop beating
I crave your touch
because your touch was fleeting

Do you believe
in the possibility of love
that's lasting
it seems
it dies and all
that's left is pretending

I need a kiss
remind me that I am living
a moment's bliss but
life is unremitting

Have you ever
loved and lost your mind
I have
it was fine

It's like a melody
you heard and then forgot it
but feel it sometimes
lost on a wind
blows up from nowhere
once recognised
it's gone.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

The price of health

This will leave you speechless if you read it all. With fury, if you are American and have a soul. If you can stomach this and not support Medicare for all, I don't know what to say to you. This is like a grand organised theft that is bleeding America dry.

To put it in perspective for non-Americans, generic drugs, the sort you buy in a Wal-Mart, are very cheap in the US. Cheaper even than here in Australia, where I can buy 24 paracetamol for 80c. 100 generic paracetamol (acetaminophen to Americans) will cost you $1.50. About an English pound. ONE paracetamol administered in a hospital will cost you $1.50. Yes, you read that right. A 10,000% markup over the retail price. From a hospital that buys them in bulk and is not even paying 15c a pill. If you went to a shop to buy a litre of milk and it cost $200, you'd recognise immediately that the shop was gouging you. You'd grumble at $2.50.

Don't tell me that wages are linked to value to society when a midlevel hospital administrator on the financial side -- a beancounter, not a doctor -- is paid $1 million a year. This person has  no value to society whatsoever. This is $480 an hour for a 40-hour week. In a country where some people will argue that $9 an hour is too high as the least we believe a person should be paid for their labour.

You don't even know me (1)

You don't know anything about me.

You know that I am forty-six years old. I feel like I should be younger because I have wasted years. Some people have wasted minutes, some wasted hours, some wasted days. I have years.

I do not mean I feel younger than I am. Everyone always  says they feel they are the same person they were 20 years ago. I have no idea who I was 20 years ago. You have no idea who you were either. You just feel like you must be the same person because that is what feeling like you are a person is like. It doesn't seem to you that anything "inside" has changed. But it always changes. It changes moment to moment because what you are is the chatter of dancing electrons, no more, no less, and you are interpreting yourself as being. But you are not. You are a mass of impulses, emotions, images and impressions that convinces itself that it has a continuing meaning just because the face in the front of the head that carries the brain it lives in looks the same from one moment to the next.

You know I was born in a country town in Essex. I always felt an affinity with it. When I was a child, I pretended I was player-manager of its football team and it played in a first division that was full of teams that were from places that do not have big football teams. Braintree would play Braintree United, Leatherhead, East Ham, Bath Spa, Penpol, Hayle City.

(I would draw up fixture grids and fill them in by throwing dice. Somehow Braintree did well always. I do not believe in magic. Do I?)

Penpol is the primary school I went to. Hayle is not a city.

Sometimes I wished it was. I would compare its population with that of other towns, as though the size of the town you live means anything. I spent hours poring through my gazetteer. It was part of the Pears Cyclopaedia.

I learned the names of all the scientific elements, the winners of the FA Cup throughout history, the kings and queens of England. Facts that did not make a narrative. I think this is why I do not have a good imagination for stories. I prefer what it is.

You know I taught myself to read by reading the encyclopaedia that my mum had been conned into buying by a travelling salesman. It was like Britannica, but although I don't clearly remember, I am fairly sure it wasn't. There were maybe 30 volumes, with pictures, maps, diagrams.

I could read maps endlessly. I still do. Sometimes I see the name of a town and look it up on Google Maps. I zoom in till I can read suburb names. Then I might pick a road and "follow" it out of town. I will see where it goes. See the towns it runs through and past.

I do not turn on the satellite view. I don't look up photos. I don't care what anywhere looks like. I do not even believe that photos are true representations of places, so how can I want to look at them? I only enjoy the truth.

When I read a book, if it rings false, I cannot enjoy it. It is not a problem that I know it is not true. It is only the pretence of truth I care about.

I have never known that about myself until I wrote it. I trust that that idea is right. Because I am wise now. I am so wise you could bottle me and sell me to fools. I know when I tell myself something and it feels like the truth, it is the truth.

I know what you're thinking. Monkey, you have become so good at lying to yourself that you no longer know when you're doing it.

What did you think wisdom was if it is not exactly that?

I am done for now. There'll be more but right now I'm sick of writing.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Alien universe

I want to die.

There, I said it.

Now you can tell me all the reasons I should want to live. Count out my blessings, my purposes, my desires, my aims.

Prove you do not have an answer for me by showing you do not understand the question.

I have always wanted not to exist, to twist what I have into a ball and kick it into infinity.

I have never wanted anything. If I have never wanted anything, I do not ever have to be disappointed, to be tormented through sleepless nights and the empty grind of meaningless days by what I cannot have.

Tell me what I have. Tell me how lucky I am to have it. No one understands except those lonely in the depths of their being that what you cannot have has infinite weight in any scales you choose against what you do.

Tell me that I should not mind that the world is not right, that you are evil and ugly and I should not mind it. I mind it.

I mind being on an alien world, in a universe that has no rules, no order, no justice. I mind living and dying. I mind the glimpse of eternity, the shuttered nothingness of my room on a warm evening, the moment before I met you.

***

I want to live.