Sunday, 25 March 2012

On Horrible People


Friendship groups are in constant threat of destruction by utterly terrible motherfuckers. These specimens are invariably interesting and complicated people. They may be charismatic; they may be handsome; they may just be doggedly determined. A horrid person can't be defined in generic terms. Everyone – evil, fucked-up bitches included – has their own eccentricities. But bilious, walking-mind-fucks conform to a general pattern when invading the company of others, and there are some specific strategies that friends use to remove their poisonous, faecal presence.

The horrible person will mould the social structure of your group to better achieve their aims.  A core aim of a bastard is to cement their place within the group. The fucker needs to create dependence amongst the group members on their own continued membership of the group. With drugs, this is achieved through their connections to the underworld. The friends need them – and will be very obliging to see that they remain a part of the collective, in spite of their assholery. There are other ways of achieving this power: sex is a classic; money is another; someone influential in the local art scene is in a niche position, but it can suffice for being a complete asshat.

Smaller groups are easier to manipulate (we're dealing with local shit-heads, not Rupert Murdoch). People might realise that their new pal is a total douchebag. Evil misanthropes will address this problem by sewing discord. A common misconception is that discord will blind the victims to the evils of the perpetrator. Not so: being a known arsehole spreads more discord than being an unknown arsehole. No-one will be able to prevent the cunt from being a chronic shite-lord, because they have no choice but to react to the awful milieu.

Discord is created by bruising and breaking existing ties of affection. The smeg-bearer need not invoke a clandestine strategy. A common approach is that the parasite will refuse to socialise with one particular individual. Such an action causes an immediate schism. People will be forced to evaluate their loyalties. The arse will prefer to test close bonds: siblings and lovers are favourites. Wrecking close relationships affects an amplification of tension within the group: other people are upset to witness good relationships turn to shit.

These rackets mirror human interactions conducted in good faith: we all have small groups of friends, and we do prefer the company of some people to others. The important difference is that the black-hole-of-a-person we are dealing with has no concern for genuine participation: ideally, they want only to achieve their narrow goals.

Horrible people always inhabit a web of co-manipulation. They will introduce you to others. It is difficult to know your position within this scheme. The highly intelligent wanker is dangerous in this respect, for they will place their sluggish brethren tactically. This is the general method by which one becomes acquainted with people who are both dim and awful, for they otherwise won't find you. Horrid people who are slow on the uptake can ruin otherwise good company, merely by the unpleasant state of themselves. These people are exemplified by diazepam addicts who slur and cannot think.

Nasty personages can be identified by conversing with those whom you still trust. Manipulative cocks will be discovered in this manner, because they will impart different untruths to different people. But even a blatant pile-of-discharge must be identified in this socially forensic manner, because your friends may not be as brave (or sober) as you are.

Once a complete cunt has been identified, an intervention will inevitably occur. The friends may present a combined front to the offending gobshite. Formally announcing this new-found solidarity to the fucker can be an effective tactic: they will realise the game is up. Crucially, there will be a rule that no-one may speak to the turd. This is more difficult for drug-users, for everyone will most likely attend the same dealer's flat.

The strategy of rejection is not effective when facing an evil, psychopathic, bitch. The peril is that he will not be driven off, and will instead turn up at your place of work and cause a scene. A friendship group can deal with such demented freaks by denying them information. The unbalanced abuser will be unable to show up at your child's nursery, because they do not know where it is. This is difficult to implement, because of others known to both the friendship group and to the awful banshee. If the bastard is crazed enough, the friends may be able to convince third parties of the soundness of the plan, as the third party will know all about the craziness. However, if the third party is an arsehole themselves, this will fail. The friends may be forced to excommunicate a large number of people. Always remember that such people may have a genuine medical problem.

As information about everything becomes easier to access, absolutely fucking squamous people will become an increasing hazard everywhere. The core defence against these total cunts is to love your real friends with dearness and devotion, and to rejoice in the unity and trust that you've nurtured together without having all those bastards around.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

ZEN

The failure of pop philosophy to engage with problems facing some real people.

ZEN

Embraced, as one,
a meek self-loathing.
Still never come
amid driven down clothing.

Bending yet still;
still tonguing your Zen.
Stroking the drill
amid driven, drunk, young men.

Nocturne solemn.
Watched sparks on asphalt:
zapping coulombs,
amid driven spray and salt.

Endless squalor;
precipitous ridge.
Phobic, and poor,
amid driven carriages.

Reincarnate:
sweet old madrigal,
send me a fate
amid driven animals.

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

The Hallucinations of J.K. Rowling


The Hallucinations of J.K. Rowling
A play in one scene
written by
John Morrice

CAST

J.K., alcoholic schizophrenic beat period novelist.
Charli, J.K.'s abusive friend.
Potter, J.K.'s sadistic hallucination.

                  J.K'S DIRTY FLAT. J.K. LIES IN BED, DUVET  
                  COVERING HER LEGS. SHE WEARS A WIFE-BEATER 
                  VEST. HARRY POTTER IS SEATED.
                  CHARLI IS HEARD FROM OFF-STAGE


CHARLI: Hello? Hello? Hello? (ENTER CHARLI)
        (QUIETLY) Oh. (PAUSE) Hi.


J.K.: Fuck! (PAUSE) What time is it?


CHARLI: (DISAPPROVING) Uhhhhhh it's after ten.


J.K.: (DISAPPOINTED) Fuck.


POTTER: Fuck.


J.K.: I was gonna get some drink at the shop.


CHARLI: You're such a fucking jakie.


J.K.: Chuck us one of those tinnies, please.


CHARLI: Nuh.


J.K.: What? How?


CHARLI: I thought you needed to buy drink?


J.K.: Need more for writing later.


CHARLI: What the fuck? I thought we were going to the cinema!

J.K.: What?

CHARLI: You said you wanted to see Titanic with us!


J.K.: Oh yeah. (PAUSE) It looks a bit shit though.


CHARLI: It's amazing! I've seen it four times!


J.K.: Go chuck us a beer.


CHARLI: You don't care about me!


J.K.: (CLUTCHES OWN HEAD) GAAAAAAAAH


CHARLI: For fuck's sake. Here's your fucking beer then.


                    CHARLI THROWS BEER CAN AT J.K. IT FALLS 
                    SHORT. J.K. GETS OUT OF BED TO PICK IT 
                    UP. SHE IS NAKED BELOW WAIST.


CHARLI: That's fucking disgusting. (PAUSE) Oh my god. 
        I'm going.


                    EXIT CHARLIE
                    J.K. DRINKS BEER, GLUGGING QUICKLY.


POTTER: That's better, isn't it?


                    J.K. BEGINS TO CRY


Shut your ugly fucking mouth and get some paper.


J.K.: Okay Harry.


                    J.K. WRITES AS POTTER NARRATES


POTTER: Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done. You're 
        killing off students, you think it's good fun.


                    CURTAIN

Saturday, 3 March 2012

I Get Erased

I wrote this song blind drunk, while my now-ex-girlfriend was fucking a better guitarist.

 When you're strangled with guilt,
do you put it on your tongue and let it melt?
I know some folks like their pills at night,
but what I like to do is drink Jäger in pints!

I get erased, erased, but the memories stay,
like bones drying out when the flesh has decayed.
Destroyed, destroyed; my personality switch,
that's somebody else lying there in the ditch.

When you feel like you want to die,
do you ever consider getting really, really, fucking high?
Or does the thought fill you with tears?
Well, hold me please sweetie, I've been doing that for years.

 I get erased, erased, but the memories stay,
like bones drying out when the flesh has decayed.
Destroyed, destroyed; forever more I will burn.
Yet I yearn for your turning like the spin of the world.