What the hell is going on in Hastings? There are fireworks again, and there was a zombie walk on the pier today, Halloween stuff tonight, last night and probably tomorrow as well. The mid life crisis cyclists are supposed to be tarting themselves up in a horror themed bid at attention seeking, I’m not sure when that is / was though as I’ve been ignoring them all in the hope that they will eventually go away. Sadly, they haven’t yet, yawn!
In my world there is something far scarier…. Like the letter that landed on my doorstep this morning.
Money is a total pain in the arse. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been bombarded by visions of the future and now, at forty six, the future has failed to arrive. Sure we have lots of shiny tat, screens on everything, data flying everywhere but we are still enslaved by the notion of money, and that is really all it is, a notion. Money was originally meant as a means to represent resources but now… Well it’s a living breathing entity to which we are all enslaved. Last time I checked there were a few countries in the world discussing the idea of giving each of their citizens a basic lump of money on which to live and then any work they did on top would enhance their lives further rather than just keep them afloat. Thus removing the indignity of a means tested benefit system for the vulnerable and allowing people to pursue less money focused goals if they should desire. Maybe the fact is that I’ve been binge watching Star Trek for the last few months and it has totally permeated my conciousness but a world without money makes perfect sense. Then again I would as I never have any, and when I do it goes straight back in to the next art project.
The horror story that arrived on my door mate today is my housing benefit forms, being part of the vulnerable community of serfs that have to rent their home is bad enough but as the reason I need to get help is because my fledgling business earns sod all money, it means that I need to stop whatever I am doing to spend a number of days, parcelling up every single invoice, bill, receipt and whatever from the past year and stuff them all into little envelopes because the local council doesn’t trust anyone to be honest. It’s mad though, all they really need to know is that I am skint, the amounts are immaterial. In my view it’s one of those vestigial notions left over from the workhouse days of futile make-work to punish the poor for being poor. I have so very much to do, but instead of that I will be photocopying, well, everything, I’ll be updating spreadsheets, digging frantically through bank statement and spectacularly failing to do anything that earns money. Oh! And they will run off with my cash invoice pads too so I will have my cash invoicing go completely out of sync, grrrrr!
It’s such a funny world, the harder you try to drag yourself back to normality, the more stuff seems to crop up to drag you back down again. It won’t though, I will take a deep breath and push on through to the next bit of nonsense but it won’t stop me. Although the, given the choice, give me a few witches, ghost and zombies to deal with any day of the week.