View From The Treetops (10 June 2007)

I Myself am the Pedestal…

This piece is in response to Princess Haiku's call to write a few lines on why we blog; how could I resist?

I began blogging despite myself.
I’d listened to an acquaintance waxing lyrical on about his blog (the blog of an ordinary man), and after reading his posts I wondered at the arrogance and ignorance of this individual who could go so far as to believed that his ‘dear diary’ cataloguing the minutiae of his everyday life in all its paint-stripping banality (and deluded self importance) could possibly be of interest (let alone significance) to that audience that lurks out there in the electronic ether. Suffice to say that the blog was more interesting than the man… but only just.

Of course, the seed now planted, germinated in my own ego and I found myself believing that I could create something more, something interesting; something different.
And from the ego, the alter-ego Pisces Iscariot was born and The Far Queue was spawned.
The name Pisces Iscariot is the title of a Smashing Pumpkins album; a name which I felt would accurately portray the character of my inner self:

Pisces - my star sign and all the creative and melancholy lunacy that comes with it

Iscariot – perfect surname for one who has betrayed all of the religious beliefs he was brought up to propagate.

Of course, the ‘The Far Queue’ is nothing more than a bad pun – a perfect vehicle for the acerbic nature of Pisces’ thoughts.
Ultimately, the act of having to come up with regular posts to keep the Queue moving has been a huge benefit to both my writing skills and my state of mind; often helping to clarify my own world view or simply purging my pent up frustration at the insane nature of the post Post-Modern world.
To me the basic premise of blogging is a lie – the individual presenting the self to the world is compelled to lie (even if only slightly) – for the perception of self can only be from behind the curtain of the face, and the human desire to be liked (if not loved) will almost certainly present that self in the best possible light (as perceived by that self).
When blogging incognito (under a pseudo-self), we are presented with a zen-like contradiction – the self presented, although a lie, is true to the pseudo-self and need fear no reprisals from, or offence to, friends and colleague of the self for opinions given.
Thus, the idealised Pisces Iscariot, although the essence of my self, and while a more honest being than my self, is not in fact a true representation of my self as seen by those who know me as a living breathing human being.
Blogging, for me then, is an exercise in freedom, but as with all freedom, care must be taken not to allow that freedom to corrupt.

See also my previous posts on the subject:
Babylon Keyboard
Babylon Keyboard (reprise) and
Babylon Keyboard: Requiem Masturbation

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Are You The Teachers of My Heart?

…we teach old hearts to break

Why is it that we are expected to admire these creatures and to believe that they act on some calling; some higher vocation.
They’re just fucking teachers after all.
As an adult I have been under the misapprehension that teachers are there to guide and aid our children through their essential learning years.
As a parent, the progress of my sons through the education system has repeatedly brought home to me the fact that the profession has not changed since the days when I was at school; day when physical pain was legally brought to bear on those who strayed from the path.
I am forced to remember their tyranny, their absolutes and their condescension to pass on the facts and figures so jealously guarded; so important to the smooth running of the system.
Yet they portray themselves to concerned parents as noble and selfless creatures; like policemen; nurses and firemen; as keepers of the keys to the future.
Ultimately they appear oblivious to the content of their syllabus; begrudgingly propagating the lies of the past; the rules that may not be broken; that must be obeyed in order to progress beyond the slugs that our children so obviously are; the ill mannered and badly parented slime on the heel of the system that gives so freely of itself to lift them up from their spoilt little pit. These hollow teacher creatures feel obliged to perform their calling; stooping to educate - but not to enlighten.

And while disenfranchised of their right to inflict physical pain on palm, knuckle or buttock, they venture yet to inflict torturous worms of belittlement and sarcastic betrayal of all that matters: the value of self confidence borne of innocence and crushed under bitter regret by those who profess to know better.

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He Sank Beneath Your Wisdom Like a Stone

It is a realisation that must eventually come to everyone who professesses "I am not a racist": the realisation that the demon still lurks at the core, and that to pronounce the words does not automatically undo the conditioning. Further work is needed to extricate the self from those deep furrows ploughed by our upbringing; work that can only be performed internally...
...once more my blogger friend Gregra&gar has compressed the coal of nighttime wondering into a diamond of rare insight… take time to wander across to It must be the Vapors to admire this gem.

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Leonard Cohen ~ The Future



One step forward in the Queue for anyone who can name the 3 Lenny songs from which the lines used for these titles are stolen.