We, whatever that pronoun now means, move into the New Year. It’s been a ‘festive season’ but I haven’t felt very festive: Black Friday rugby scrums, pointless mark ups and then “sales” featuring yet more scrums and midnight queues for merchandise. “We” marked Christmas Day and we also observed the solemn drinking bacchanal that is New Year’s Eve. It is odd to find words so ineffectual against a tide of news from around the world that grows darker and darker. War continues, and against a backdrop of social unrest and inequality comes the inescapable truth that the 2008 ‘crash’ and its repercussions actually shifted money into the financial elite – the already rich, the tax-evaders, the ‘tycoons’ and ‘oligarchs’, the giant corporations, the grey areas where crime has a face that is bland, often-white, often greying and with a Home Counties postcode on their P60 return. They got richer. The middle bit took a pay freeze. The poor people got fucked and the post-war welfare state was slowly disbanded in the name of ‘Austerity’.
“We” (there is no ‘we’, increasingly) sit here atomized waiting for Houllebecq to be proven right (again) and waiting for Burgess’s future to come into being. “High Rise” happened soon after it was written (Barbican Tower, perhaps) but only really came true in the last few years with the poor doors and homeless spikes in Zone 1, proud and irascible and unrepentant.
It isn’t even a thing to do is it ; to write a “blog” ; it’s an irrelevance, a fart in the windy dark.