I hate to say I told me so

To relapse into my pre-2015 premonitions. The rise of what felt like a workable hope in-between 2015 and 2019, now mysteriously absent. But the way things are accelerating at the moment it feels like it has been wiped from history altogether and we are at the the other end of line of reality stitched back together – one of hopelessness.

The dominance of the political despair that defined the late Noughties and early 2010s is now characterising our current moment, but in a more advanced stage, and despite many good deeds, many good people, nobody really knows what to do about it again.

Listening to Tory party conferences, seeing interviews from the attending Nigel Farage, was a form of torture made more horrificly so because they, those attending the conference, seemed to like all of this so much that you felt like a different species separated by 400 million years of evolution, and not just mere difference of opinion (also, why are these people drawn to such terrible music?).

Difference of opinion, as a term, is just one example of the dead language that still floats around dominating our tongues, as we engage in polite conversation. Few words strung together to make a workable the late 20th century term, can affect the living any longer, without experiencing their deadness chip away at our fake smiles.

I hate writing like this. I hate that 4 years ago, I was at the tail-end of a quasi-Millenarian sense that a better world would manifest itself through the force of its own sheer necessity. This lift, encouragement, was absorbed into my daily undertakings, I perhaps wrongly, sensed its atmospheric presence, within out shared breaths.

Ironic then that it vanished during an airborne pandemic. But it’s taken a couple years afterwards for the void to be filled by a government within governments who seem to have no depth they cannot descend into.

I hate to say I told me so.

I hate that what in the late noughties and early 2010s felt like the mid-point of a self fulfilling prophecy, was interrupted by a hope so thick that it enters the bloodstream, only to vanish into a void.

Sorry I can’t do more with myself right now.