I think from a very long time ago. Like perhaps you never really grew up. But specifically, a day that screams you becoming that child once again, is March 20th 2020, the day the lockdown began.
It’s true, isn’t it, that we are all being treated like children. We don’t care for our elderly and so we are not allowed to see them, we are not trusted to avoid others, we are fined for having a picnic, we cannot plan any aspect of our futures, we are legislated against in every aspect of our lives because, apparently, we are selfish and loose cannons and by thinking only about ourselves we are actually killing people.
And so we are infantilised. Every adult in the UK that is not a police officer or a government official happens to be being micro managed as if they were a dangerous child in a secondary school. We are literally being shouted at, given lines to write out over and over, we are permanently in detention and are under a constant threat of further measures being taken to bring us into line. It’s brutal but it works.
And we are not getting out of this. We are stuck now. It’s all over. That flowering of freedom that arrived with the sexual revolution and developed it’s way through the seventies and eighties has been very much all stamped out. Orwell’s jackboot is stuck to your face right now and you’re going to have some considerable bother having it remove itself. You of course are not equipped to rid yourself of it’s pressure. You don’t have the power for that.
Power even over our own bodies is removed, first with coercion – no jab, no job – yes, that’s being called for, and by the certain introduction at some time in 2021/2022 of vaccine passports. That’s not freedom. Only being allowed up to five miles from your house is not freedom. Being refused the right to demonstrate is not freedom. And they who are not free, who are being paid to do nothing, are children. Your life is not yours to control. Your life is theirs to control. And they are your surrogate parents (evil parents at that) and they have plans for you…
In two days time my experiment with Twitter will be over. I’ve engaged and I have found it useful. The information stream, despite it coming from an echo chamber, has been enlightening and the chit chat with others as pissed off as me has served it’s purpose. However, it’s time to move away and maintain my adult self in the best manner that I can . That is to be independent. To be isolationist. To hunker down and prepare.
My ‘The 365 Days Columnist’ will end at 31 days. I just can’t do it anymore. The Twittersphere is full of well meaning people but they appear to me to achieve nothing. They are children sounding off, like a lively class of kids in a disruptive school environment. And the clamour goes on, without any associated action. And it is action that is needed, for sure. Look at Italy and at Holland, great examples, although currently with differing outcomes, of the power of the collective. But it would appear that those raising their voices on Twitter are unaware that they are the children and their considered, petulant, tearful or abusive outbursts, despite letting off some stream for them, is a reaction to and marker of them being in an adult detention. Who, free and happy, would spend their time on Twitter, lining the pockets of an elite class that regards the content providers as ‘useless eaters’ or ‘dumb fucks’.
Until the masses murder their parents and are finally free to grow up we really do have nowhere to go…
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