Smoke and Mirrors. Are you sure The Matrix isn’t true?

If you’re following the Edward Snowden story then you’re seeing something that’s almost exciting as a film – but without the pictures – unless you count the one of aircraft on the ground, empty aircraft seats and people standing around at airports.

Except,of course, that shouldn’t be the “story” that everyone is following at all. Since the current whereabouts of the man who told us all about what secret government agencies REALLY do is unknown (currently, on Twitter, he is said to be in Iceland, in Russia, in Hong Kong, in Ecuador and, in one extreme case, not actually to have ever been in Hong Kong at all!) and whereas the story of his flight and the reactions of the US government and the Russians, etc. is great fun, it shouldn’t really be what all the respectable journalists are covering.

Instead, surely, the focus should be on the enormous amount of data that GCHQ and the NSA have been (and almost certainly, still are) collecting on innocent people.

Being in Italy I can assure you that many of the ways that the Fascists collected and reviewed data on the common person are still in place, even if a little more relaxed now (I’m sure if I’m wrong on this, I will be corrected). The Fascists wanted to know everything about everybody because knowledge is power and, more importantly, the power to control (the masses).

WWII was all about defeating Fascists and the Fascist idea.

It seems that the whole thing was a waste of time because what we have now is the collecting of all this data and the controlling of the people.

And, yet, the main focus is on one man. Not even a very powerful man (since he’s given away the secrets).

Instead of very hard questions being asked of Obama and Cameron – the very hard questions are being asked of a man who is somewhere that only a few know. All the while, the destruction of his credibility goes unchecked and unquestioned.

To be honest, it’s not really important WHY he went to work for a particular company nor HOW he was able to take the information nor, even, WHERE he is.

What IS important is the WHAT he has exposed.

I would like for it to be stopped, this collecting of data. I would like the real freedom that was promised by the fighters of WWII. I don’t vote any more (because what’s the point) – but I say now that should anyone come up with a plan for ridding us of these Fascist principles of governing, I would go back out there and vote.

Spying – for the masses or, rather, on the masses.

Police spy on innocent people to try and find some dirt to discredit them.

Someone tells us that British and American secret agencies are spying on us all.

The whistle blower above is “chased” across the world by the very people who did the spying.

And those are just the very latest. We could add Bradley Manning, Undercover British Cops having affairs and babies under false names to find information and then “disappearing”, those same cops planting bombs and writing leaflets, and so on and so on.

It’s nothing new and nothing entirely unexpected.

But, for God’s sake, don’t buy into this “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear” crap. You have everything to fear. You don’t know when, at some point in the future, for some reason you can’t now foresee, that information about you will be twisted and turned against you. No one is safe.

And we aren’t really in a democracy unless, by that you mean that everyone gets a vote. They used to get a vote in the USSR too, you know?

What makes me laugh is the discreditation of Snowden. Apparently, people are castigating him for going to a country with less “freedom” than the USA. Whereas, of course, if he were to go to a country that was “friendly” and as “democratic” as the USA, he would, undoubtedly be sent back to the USA and suffer much the same fate as Manning or the others.

So, when Hilary Clinton said:

“countries that restrict free access to information or violate the basic rights of internet users risk walling themselves off from the progress of the next century”.

Maybe she didn’t quite mean what she said. This was back in 2010 which I wrote up in this post.

I guess it’s OK if you’re letting them do what they want but just recording everything they do. Eh, Hilary?

Am I dreaming or what?

Everything just seems “not quite right”.

I’m not going to be able to explain this very well.

If, at all!

The alarm goes off. I had already woken almost an hour earlier. F had opened the window and turned the fan off. He is Italian and drafts are like some black magic. Drafts make you ill and can, probably, kill you. Therefore the fan, excused by the need for the dogs to keep cool, had been left on for a few nights. But the weather has “broken”. It’s not so hot (although still hot by British standards). Therefore we can now turn the fan off. Personally, we could keep the fan going all summer – however, not for him.

Instead the window is open although the shutters are drawn.

But Friday is bin day. The bins from the apartment block have to be put outside. The guy comes around 5.30 a.m. to do this. He is noisy but it’s not so bad if the windows are closed – open he might as well be dragging them past the bottom of the bed!

I wake up. And then it’s difficult to get back to sleep with all the noise and so I get up and close the windows.

So, back to where we were. The alarm goes off. I feel like I’ve been drinking the night before – which I had, of course. With A. And I promised not to blog about it, so I won’t.

Anyway, that’s not the point.

Unusually, instead of turning the alarm to “snooze” mode, giving me an extra five minutes (not of sleep, of course, since I am always worried that, inadvertently, instead of pressing snooze, I have pressed “dismiss”), I get up.

It’s all a bit sudden. And all a bit early. And, for some reason, it’s all quite wrong as if I have forgotten something.

I go to the kitchen and switch the coffee machine on. This is normal and, yet, it doesn’t feel quite normal.

It’s as if I am not quite in my body and yet I am still controlling it. It is just taking a bit if effort.

I go to the bathroom to shave. I am doing the normal things without thinking and, yet, I am having to think. I am having to make myself and my limbs and my fingers do things. Obviously, I know HOW to make them do things but this morning I am having to concentrate to get them to do anything.

And, yet, they seem, sometimes, to be doing things on their own, as if I am, in fact, not needed nor indeed part of the act.

I shave, shower and get partly dressed and then I go back to the kitchen to press the button to make the espresso pour into the cup below the nozzle and press the switch so the steam can pressurise to make the frothy milk.

I return to the bathroom to dry my hair.

I wonder if I should wake F up. He had said, earlier in the week, that today he would get up at 6.30. But there is something in my head saying that we had a conversation last night and he told me that it was not necessary now because “someone else was going to do it”. Whatever “it” was that he was going to do.

Except that I’m not sure if I had the conversation with him or not.

I weigh up the possibility that I had, in fact, just dreamed that we had the conversation. Was it real or not? Should I wake him to check or not?

But part of me is certain that the conversation was real and not a dream.

And, in my partial, out-of-body-experience state even thinking is by extreme effort.

But something is wrong.

I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. That sort of achy, butterflies thing. As if you’re going for an interview. I push myself forward and do the milk.

Perhaps, actually, I am dreaming. Except this cannot be a dream because everything is real. And, yet, I know that in a dream everything feels real so who knows?

I sit and have my coffee, reading the web pages that I normally read – doing the things that I normally do but with this very uneasy feeling that I should be doing something else. Or maybe that something is about to happen? It’s not exactly a feeling of dread although it isn’t pleasant.

For sure, something is wrong.

I realise I am going to be a little late abut I am finding it hard to motivate myself to move. Much as now, I am finding it hard to motivate my self to type. To think. To do anything.

Yet I do get up and wash up and clean my teeth and gel my hair and go back to the kitchen to put my shoes on. Piero comes to say “hello” and I give him a stroke.

I leave the flat. As I reach the internal courtyard, I light up my cigarette. It’s not the first this morning, of course. I’ve already had the usual three. As I walk towards the door of the building I feel for the car key in the bunch in my hand. But the keys are different – lighter – and missing the car key because, actually, these are F’s keys. Damn! I KNEW I should have changed them last night.

The lift is at the bottom. I take the lift to my floor and go in and swap keys.

I reach the car and get in. It still doesn’t feel quite right. I am worried that, at some point, I shall lose my ability to control my limbs which is still taking some effort. I am still not wholly inside my body but neither am I outside of it.

I drive to work. Things seem to be “in my way”. I try to concentrate on driving like you do when you’re a little drunk. You know? When everything requires you to do something that normally you “just do”. But I’m not drunk. This is the same and not the same. I feel like I’m going to have an accident. Like some sort of premonition.

This feeling of an almost impending doom won’t go away. No, something is most certainly not right.

And I still have it. Not quite so bad as this morning but, all the same, it’s still here.

So, there you have it.

Not explained at all well but I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.

Can’t wait ’till I’m home. Thank goodness it’s Friday.

Blah, blah, blah

There is a person that I really, really dislike.

I would almost go so far as to say “hate” but how can you hate someone you don’t even know?

There are two basic things “wrong” with this person.

1. They live here but, from what they’ve “said”, they hate/dislike so many things, I really don’t know why they are still here. Well, I do know why – it’s because they’re married to an Italian – but, really, why stay?

I don’t like everything here but, as I’ve said, many times, I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I love my life here and the things that suck are few and far between (and, if I don’t try and do anything official, it’s generally pretty fine).

This person complains. Pretty much all the time. And it’s annoying. It seems really difficult for them to see positive things, most of the time.

2. I really dislike it when people allude to “special powers” they have. In this case it’s “links to powerful people”. And, by “powerful people”, I don’t mean the Prime Minister of Italy, nor the local police chief but, rather, the local “mafia”. I remember a guy I once went out with who alluded to being part of the Israeli secret service. It was, of course, a complete load of bollocks – not least because, if he had been, he wouldn’t have gone on about it. Or someone I once employed who tried to convince everyone he had been in the French Foreign Legion. I thought he might make a good salesman but should have trusted my original instincts. He, of course, was lying about everything. And, I mean everything. Including a child that he said wasn’t his and the other women in his life. In the end, he married another employee of mine and I was quite sad about that – for her.

And, so, anyone alluding to some sort of secret connections/job that they “can’t really talk about” but do, really annoys me. I find these people to be, generally, untrustworthy and, so, don’t trust them.

Other than those two things, most of this person’s outpourings are, to be frank, utter bollox. A lot of hot air – or blah, blah, blah containing nothing of interest.

The problem is that I can’t quite bring myself to “get rid of them”. It’s like watching a car crash. Fascinating and hateful at the same time.

But, if I ever met this person, I would want to give them a really good slap in the face so it’s a good job that there is almost no chance of ever meeting them.

Still, I put up with colleagues that I dislike and are really stupid so I’m sure I can put up with this person.

But it’s annoying all the same.

This morning

I have mentioned before – if you want to get an official document or get something stamped or signed – it will require at least two visits – maybe, even, three!

So, this morning, as my job required it, I needed to get a couple of copies of my passport and driving licence authenticated.

First by Italy and then by India.

I had everything.

So, the alarm went off. I stuck it on “snooze” but, as usual, got up about a minute later. I am in my usual it’s-too-early-to-function-as-anything-other-than-a-robot” mode. I shave and stuff. I make coffee. Once I have washed up, I start thinking about the getting the final things ready (gum, cigarettes, my tie, etc.)

I think “There’s something important in my bag”.

What is it that’s important? And why would I remember?

Then I remember. It’s the copies of my passport and driving licence which need to be authenticated by Italians and then passed by the Indian Consulate. It’s a work thing. What’s more important is that it means the alarm should not have been set for 6.15 a.m. but more like 8 a.m! Damn!

It’s now 7.15. For a second I think about staying up and then decide that an hour in bed is better than nothing. I go back to bed. F briefly wakes up as I am getting undressed and asks why. I give him the briefest of details.

About 8.15 I get up again. Without the shaving, I do it all again, including the coffee.

I leave the house for the office where, it seems, I may be able to get an Italian to stamp or authenticate my copies.

I get there.

I queue up.

When I get to the counter, I am told I am in the wrong queue. It should, of course, be the longer one.

I join and wait. I note that it will take 3 days for the document to be stamped. Italy cracks me up.

When I get to the counter (this is the counter next to the woman who told me I was in the wrong queue I am told that they can only authenticate my copies once my copies have been stamped as true copies by the commune (local council). WTF?

I walk down to the office that does this stuff.

I arrive and work out where to go.

I get a ticket. I think that IF (and that’s a big IF), I can get this stamped here, then I can try the Indian Consulate, since they only want it stamped by someone …….probably.

I wait for my turn.

And wait.

Eventually, I get to the counter.

It can’t be done. I have (and, of course, now that I think about it, stupidly, because I should have realised) copied my passport and driving licence onto one document. It saves paper and both documents prove that I am me.

But, as they are 2 documents, they have to be on two separate pieces of paper since then they can make separate charges.

I express my disgust at this and say OK I will do something else. He tries to explain something to me. I say it’s OK because I will do something else. Except, probably, I shout this a bit. He starts shouting at me and I just leave. Fuck ‘em. Really, WTF more than the last one!

I had had a bright idea that, since the point was for India to have copies that were authenticated, maybe the British Consulate in Milan could do it. And, at least there, I don’t have to deal with Italian bureaucracy.

I go to the British Consulate.

I am told that, as from the 1st April (so I missed it by 15 days), all this sort of stuff stopped being done by them and was now done by a couple of solicitors. They give me the details. I find that one is the other side of town but the map on my phone doesn’t recognise the name of the street of the other one. I toy with going back to the British Consulate to ask and decide that, as it’s now nearly lunchtime, I should go home and go to work.

At home, I make a cup of tea and check the map on the computer. The street was two minutes from the British Consulate. Grrrr.

I go to work anyway.

I arrive at work to get told that this documentation is no longer required.

So, although my theory of a minimum of two visits was confirmed, at least now I don’t have to do the second lot of visits!

And it was a beautiful day to be walking around.

And I did have an extra 40 minutes snooze this morning.

Disappointment and conflict

I grew up in the 70s and ran a business for over 20 years from the mid-80s through to early 2000s.

I remember things like the 3-day week, the bread shortages, the power strikes. I remember the strikes at British Leyland (where I worked) and that being the cause for M and I to move south, for different jobs and a better life.

My working life started in those days of the things I mentioned before and the power of the unions and the constant battle between the government and those unions.

And then came someone who promised us change and change for the better. Where hard work would be rewarded with a better life, more money, a sense of purpose and riches beyond our wildest dreams.

The first thing to do, of course, was to rid the country of those all-powerful, self-serving unions.

And that was done, more or less. So, here we were, going onwards and upwards towards a much better future.

And, then, for reasons more of accident than purpose, I ended up running a business.

It was also the time that M & I split and V came on the scene.

I suppose I could have been a good businessman, a successful businessman were it not for one thing – me.

You see, I had a problem. What I “had” was a business that felt more like a family – a community of like-minded people. As time went on, we employed more people and the business grew. And that was where the problems started. I understood that it was a cut-throat world in business. I understood that the suppliers were in this game to make money out of us and that we were there to make money out of our customers. What I could never get to grips with was that some of the people within the company itself were there to get what they could – even at the expense of the company.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that before the 80s people were, somehow, kinder, more willing to help one another, etc. Nor am I saying that during the 80s and onwards, there were no people who were kinder and helpful because that would not be true.

And it’s not like I’m looking back with rose-coloured spectacles either. In the 70s, the unions, with that huge amount of power, were not interested in doing the best for the country but only in getting the best deal for their workers (and, for those at the top of the union, for themselves). In the 70s, with the destruction of the unions, the time came for the industry heads and the rich to have their way. That was the change.

And, so, we went from the selfishness of the unions to the selfishness of the bosses.

And, I was one of those “bosses”. Well, when I say that, I was the Managing Director. And this is where the problem came in.

I found, as the business grew that more and more often I was disappointed. Not immediately, but after I had time to think about it.

First, I would be angry. Someone would do something that was stupid or, more likely, against the general good of the company. I became very angry. How dare they do this thing? What are they trying to do, bring the company down?

But, after a number of hours or days, my anger would morph into disappointment which, in turn would turn to disillusionment and, finally, resignation. But, certainly, the disappointment would remain. And grow with each occurrence. And, in the end, I had had enough.

And, whilst it looks like I am blaming everyone else, be assured that this is not the case. For I realised that the real cause of all this was myself. It was my inability to fully understand the world that was created in the 80s and 90s. It was my inability to see that the selfishness that became the by-product of the rush to make something of yourself, on your own and stuff who it hurts or destroys, had been made into a positive thing. Something to strive for. Something to laud and praise. And that was my fault.

Of course, the conflict arose because, whilst it was perfectly OK for us to “stuff” the customer, it was not OK for my employees to do the same to us.

Thereby causing conflict in me.

I was trying to be a good businessman whilst, at the same time, trying to safeguard the company – not for me but for everyone in it. And that was the problem. Not everyone thinks the same.

And, leaving that behind was a great relief. The conflict (and the sleepless nights – which were almost every night) disappeared and I became more relaxed and happy with myself.

Until last week when, again, the anger at the way that people thought rose up and engulfed me as it used to do which has, already morphed into disappointment and is fast changing to disillusionment.

And then this little old lady died. And it helped me to understand the problem. For it was she that spearheaded the drive to “self”. It was her that, rather than clip the wings of the unions, destroyed them and, with it, any pretence of people working together – so much so that, during the 90s there was much made of team building – necessary because the whole thing had changed and it was all about oneself and not the general good.

Don’t get me wrong, the unions needed to be curbed – just not destroyed. The over-large, mammoth nationalised industries needed to be reformed, just not broken up, sold off to the highest bidder and then dismantled. The annoyance that BT (British Telecom), for example, no longer care about serving the British public but only about making a profit seems incongruous if it comes from the right-wing thinkers. That was, in the end, what they stood for and that is why this now-dead lady sold them off – so they could pursue profit above everything else.

I came to understand that during my time as a “businessman”. The pursuit of profit was, of course, important but not at the expense of everything and everyone. And that’s why I couldn’t understand those people who were, of course, Thatcher’s children – children who had grown up believing that it everything was up to you and you should ignore anyone who stood in your way destroying or, at least, leaving behind those who were less fortunate than yourself.

I don’t have any strong emotion for the little old lady who died. I don’t know her after all. And I don’t hate her for what she was. She was, after all, a product of the age, of the self-serving union’s super-powers and she was lucky that, at that moment, many people (and even me!) agreed that “something” had to be done.

But, in the end, as people in power (the unions in the 70s and Thatcher and Blair in the 80s and 90s) do, they took it too far and destroyed the very fabric of the country and, for that, I was angry which has turned, in time, into disappointment then to disillusionment and, finally, into resignation. It is the way things are.

Was she responsible? Yes, to a certain extent, she was. Should she be vilified? Well, yes, if that lights your candle – but do it in private or use it as an example of what to do right or what to do to fix it. And remember that although she may be typical of “that kind of person”, she was just one of them. The problem is that she, as a result of becoming the Prime Minister and having so much power, created a whole world filled with the same type of people. Those people without compassion. Selfish and ignorant to to the needs of those around them. Less of a team than a collection of individuals, each striving for their own goals.

Some,of course, would say that that was alright. Certainly those who are Thatcher’s children and benefited from this way of thinking.

For me, I am glad I am out of it. I am glad I don’t think like that. I realise that, as a result, probably, I am and will never be rich and powerful – but that’s OK by me.

Now to get through this stage (this current one from last week) and move on. This time, retaining enough of the anger/disappointment/disillusionment to make sure that I move on, not only in my mind, but also in reality.

Finally, am I glad she’s dead? No, I’m not. In the end, this fragile little old lady died. Alone in a hotel room. We’re all alone when we die but I would like someone to be there to hold my hand. Maybe she didn’t want or need that but I somehow doubt it and, for that, I am sad for her.

And, although I don’t particularly like him (possibly because he IS one of Thatcher’s children), this piece from Russell Brand is rather good.

Finding Nemo

Today was the day that I decided that enough is enough.

It’s time for me to find what I am here for.

We all reach a point (or points) in life that tell us it’s time to make a change and make things better.

Well, at least make a change.

And that time is here.

So, I’m going back to the original heading for this site. As it originally said, I came here to find passion. Not passion in love (and, anyway, I have that). No, I mean the passion. The one thing that I was sent here (in Milan? In Italy? In the world?) to do.

Lola put this post up and the video she found on Karl’s blog in this post.

It’s not new – at least not to me. It’s what I’ve done more than once. But then, not knowing what I really want to do, I “fall into” something and, for a while it’s fun and enjoyable. And then it isn’t.

The details of the past times will be in another post which I’ve half-written but today was one of those defining moments. Now the time has arrived again and I must do something about it.

I found, today, that there were a load of people who, quite obviously, couldn’t care if they had a job or not; I wasted one a half hours of my life and it really got to me; and I was lied to by a fool. And I say that’s enough.

So many people are such absolute cunts who will never, ever, ever find their bliss but belong to that army of people who just trudge along in life. It’s what I do too when I get sucked in. But, today was a wake-up call.

It’s time, once again, to be a little bit daring, to jump off the cliff and see if I can fly.

So, here I go, trying to find my bliss. Except I don’t like the word bliss. It’s a creepy word. Instead I’ll call it Nemo (for want of anything better).

So, here I go, finding Nemo!

The Lives and Loves of Hana Lee

I’ve just read my first “real” e-book (or is it ebook like email. Perhaps, in time, it will become an ebook).

This is one written by someone I know. Well, I say “know” in that I’ve been following his blog (The Ugly Truth) and he came to stay one night at my place on his way somewhere else and we had a pizza and a beer.

Anyway, it’s good and you should read it and not only to support him in his first venture in self-publishing (but not his first book).

The book is The Lives and Loves of Hana Lee.

It’s rather good and I read it in a few days (which tells you that it’s good) even if I would have preferred a paper copy.

I warn you now that it has quite a lot of sex in it – but, for those of you who like sex, I guess that’ll be just fine.

I recommend it. Read the sample in the link above and then, of course, buy it. You will buy it ‘cos you’ll like the sample and you’ll just HAVE TO find out what happens. :-)

It’s good to be back.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s over …….. for now.

Which means that I can get back on track. It’s been over a month and it’s been tiring, to be honest. Still, it seems that this part may be done apart from one, smallish thing.

In the meantime, I’ve missed being able to comment on horsemeat, comedians in elections, UK elections, etc.

So, starting tomorrow, or maybe Tuesday, I’ll get back to writing a post or two.

It’s good to be back.