Tuesday, 2 February 2010



Yes nonsense. I mean, there’s a lot of it about. To not serve sense, common sense, regular, boring sense. Why not turn to nonsense? You got an argument? Bet you have but every word of that argument makes sense, not nonsense.

People have seemed to forget this life, world; nay this universe is built on pure nonsense. To think an Omnipresent being or a bang out of nowhere started this race for sex and wardom is core to the nonsense sense. Nonsense is neither bad nor good it is simply misunderstood bliss spread over the bloody troughs of tyrannical hate smiles.


The first ‘nonsensor’ was Peasant Doris G Gibbon Jr a permanently distracted male. On a mild September morning in York 645 AD Doris was seen arguing over the price of gruel tarts, which led to him starting a fight, with himself. He beat, kicked and sadistically tortured himself over a two-hour period mutilating both himself and himself. The fight and he was later broken up by a chicken farmer down on his luck and the town did celebrate this victory and defeat with a somewhat familiar chicken-ish stew.

After that day more townsfolk in the village of York began exhibiting alarmingly nonsensical behavior. Two men were observed arguing the toss of a coin that hasn’t been tossed and didn’t exist. A gaggle of maids were seen flirting with dead cows, offering their best bonnets for a quick stroke. Small but elaborate piles of bi-sexual ghost chairs were reported in the town square. Written reports at the time suggest nothing as pencils were used as cavity probes and paper as clothes.

As songs of soil socks floated through the air, thick with smells of sweat from herding cloud farmers. All was unified by the random ringing of apples and pear bells from the wig-wam plop-pits or Pizz ah uts.

This continued until roughly now.

Who are you?

It’s like when you get a bit older and demographics start to not make sense. I’m over 25 but not 35, I’m not in a middle-income position, or owning my own home with my wife and one to two kids. Yet I’m not disabled, a war criminal or being discharged in the last 6 months for offenses committed in the Democratic Republic of Congo. You kind of wonder if you fit in, or have ever fitted in, back there, near the child with a stammer in the shadow of the privatised BT phone-box.

You watch your country discussed and summerised nightly between houses and attic selling and consider all this considering is nonsense because next night they’ll be someone else tell you slightly differently about your country and if they all really cared so much they’d save it all up and tell us all at once, in March.

Overload, overload.

Systems, systems seem to be full of system failures or system (ic) failures. Buses don’t run properly, banks don’t use money well, police are causing crime, private companies sponsor public governments, job centres have no jobs, cycle lanes cause accidents, to cyclists. Prices rise, while wages don’t, and everything’s getting smaller while our appetites are getting bigger.

People are saying it’s going to get worse, this is non-sense, it is worse. The only way it can surpass that would be the shock defeat at the May elections by the surprise candidacy of Robert Mugabe who under community chest rules has automatically gained ownership of Great Britain in an ill advised Endimol game show “the people vs. Mugabe” in which the UK population play a virtual monopoly board against the South African dictator for the banker’s blood gold and a all inclusive holiday for 66 million to Sunny Zimbabwe.

Get up?

Even day-to-day life is shockingly non-sensible. Cleaning the body for half an hour each day, maintenance, in winter, with only 2 and a half hours daylight. Who’s gonna notice? And if they do, just call them shadows.

Procuring, cooking and eating three meals, three or more times a day, forever, insanity. Moving, like walking and things, why? We have the Internet for information, phones for communication, TV for entertainment, delivery drivers for food and duvets for warmth. Tell me why? Tell me! Your not gonna tell me are you?

Sculpted imperfection

Look at your body, look even that doesn’t make sense. Nipples for men, hairy toes, earflaps, the little finger, stretchy ball sacks, a hairy bottom. Nose holes, dimples, cellulite, the other eight toes, excess hair! Even deeper though, after eating only a slice of cucumber the cacophony of sounds that emminate from a rear end is staggering. Backs being just bad, lumps, sores, nosebleeds, migraines, cancer. Cancer makes no sense. Why would the body create cancer? Oh y'know I just make something that could kill myself in multiple areas for no reason. B.o. Bad breathe, blindness. This list could seriously go on. And it will, in your mind and you’ll have total, some or no control over it, tick, tick, tumas, tick...

Oi, matter

Most advanced computer in the world, er the Internet, Mother Nature, an i phone no, your brain, your brains more powerful that the Internet. Look there in the queue for Night at the Museum 3, yes they have more processing capacity and contain more information than Mother Nature. Try a water damaged Casio calculator or a sloppy rat turd. Mr I know science because my coat is of Godlike colouring.

Thinking, reacting, understanding, is all completely nonsense, brain-to-brain-to-custard. To relate to a stranger is a series of potluck personality tick ticks; got that, that’s ok, yep, likes it a lot, maybe, that’s fine, o.k. It’ll do, yes, yes, you’re in.

Other more simpler life forms operate rather differently; West ham? Maaaaate.

But it all amounts to everyone knowing everyone else, yet not. Friends, lovers evens mothers, no matter how close, deep or intimate are all alien to the subjective experience of you.

Places for all

I can’t be the one talking sense. It’s o.k. I’m not. The great Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote “1+1=2 is a nonsensical proposition” and he’s great, or rather to give his statement more standing I pre-cursered his name with great, I don’t even know who he is. I just looked up ‘nonsense’ in Wikipedia and he had an emotive quote which is bollocks cos my next door neighbor’s a compulsive liar with an internet connection who could’ve wrote the whole page and invented dear old Ludwig Wittgenstein from the letter heads of the Austrian inhabitants in our low quality housing block.

Which could be made up crap because the idea of a neighbourhood in the 21st century is dead so I thusly can’t have neighbours and must have therefore invented all the characters detailed above minus Ludwig Wittgenstein who is Wedge Witting In Lust or Indulge Stewing Twit or another anagram that mocks the reader, speaker or just makes no sense, Swede Gin Gut Wilt Tin?

By my reckoning, everyone and thing, regardless of stance, power or viewpoint, makes no sense, is nonsense or even Logorrhoea, to seem wordy. For to make sense elements have to be arranged to collectively form coherence. To a mad man, even the most elementary sense ridden statements would read like wallpaper sandwiches. Ergo (really want to use that) ergo, it’s all absolute insania.

The Start.

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