A Discourse on the Necessity of Letting Go.
When I state that I often feel as though I don’t belong to this world, that I don’t fit into the madcap happenings and attitudes that are pumped out by the man-made institutions of the media, finance, popular entertainment, the legal system and the pap that passes for popular culture, I know all too well that I am not alone in having that sense of somehow being lost, or having suffered a loss.
The other day, a man going by the name of Mulvany on the X platform, opined that he had woken up to a profound sense of loss that morning and that the Jam’s song, “Strange Town” had popped into his consciousness as a vivid illustration. Reading the lyrics of this song, which is some 47 years old, I can instantly see why:
Found myself in a strange town
Though I’ve only been here for three weeks now
I’ve got blisters on my feet
Trying find a friend in Oxford Street
I bought an A to Z guide book
Trying to find the clubs and YMCA’s
But when you ask in a strange town
They say don’t know, don’t care
And I’ve got to go, mateThey worry themselves about feeling low
They worry themselves about the dreadful snow
They all ignore me ’cause they don’t know
I’m really a spaceman from those UFO’sYou’ve got to move in a straight line
You’ve got to walk and talk in four four time
You can’t be weird in a strange town
You’ll be betrayed by your accent and mannersYou’ve got to wear the right clothes
Be careful not to pick or scratch your nose
You can’t be nice in a strange town
‘Cause we don’t know, don’t care
And we got to go, manRush my money to the record shops
I stop off in a back street buy myself a snort
We got our own manifesto be kind to queers
And I’m so glad the revolution’s here
It’s nice and warm nowI’ve finished with clubs where the music’s loud
‘Cause I don’t see a face in a single crowd
There’s no one there
I look in the mirror but I can’t be seen
Just a thin, clean layer of Mister Sheen
Looking back at me
Oh, ohFound myself in a strange town
Though I’ve only been here for three weeks now
I’ve got blisters on my feet
Trying find a friend in Oxford Street
I bought an A to Z guide book
Trying to find the clubs and YMCA’s
When you ask in a strange town
They say don’t know, don’t care
And I’ve got to go, mateThey worry themselves about feeling low
They worry themselves about the dreadful snow
They all ignore me ’cause they don’t know
I’m really a spaceman from those UFO’sStrange town
Strange townBreak it up, break it up
Break it up, break it up
Break it up, break it up
Break it up, break it up
Break it up, break it up
Burn it down, shake it up
Break it up, break it up
“There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world.”
History teaches us that the last days of Empire – and each and every ’empire’ is but a construct of man – are characterised by unnatural and licentious behaviour in which anything goes – acts of depravity like bestiality, buggery, child abuse, drug taking, prostitution, violence, increasing levels of madness and all manner of harmful behaviours are common place, with the fake rulers so out of touch with the morals of the balanced and inherent goodness of the people, that as the oppression increases, the unveiling of the state’s depravity becomes clearer and clearer.
Better we step out and away from it as it collapses into its own hubris.
As the discerning viewer may see, this Rogue Cast begins with yours truly in a slightly downcast mood that is reflected in the weather but, just like the clouds, it begins to lift and that mood is cast aside, simply and joyfully and there is a return to a natural cheery state.
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