Can I just start by saying I don’t like 2022! I don’t like the look of it, nor the sound. Why is that? There’s something cumbersome about it. I mean compare 21 to 22 … of course, 21 is so much better and aesthetically more pleasing – and, yes, it still was awful! 2021 will be remembered for being so forgettable. It came and went and we were static, confined to our lives in a miniscule radius. Like battery hens. Well, you know what I mean. My hair hasn’t fallen out yet, I’m not sitting in my own sxxt, and I’m hoping my lifespan extends beyond weeks before I am cruelly segmented into portions, slapped on a piece of polystyrene, secured in non-biodegradable plastic (which could kill a dolphin) and plonked on a shelf in some well-known supermarket but …
There’s still time. Cheery, as ever, I have to get on with my future best-seller/s and, thus, I am going to try and limit these posts to an hour – don’t worry, I mean to write not to read! It’s actually quite fun, spontaneity, that is. Anybody remember that? It’s a word which can be defined as doing something on impulse; without planning or prior-consideration. Those days are gone, though. No deciding to pop out for a drink at the last minute, or to go for an impromptu meal. No, no! Tables have been booked for weeks in advance and diaries scheduled and co-ordinated. Everything and everywhere is booked ahead of time. As though programmed, there is nothing left to whim or chance. Add to that the infiltration of the mainstream media, complete with its rhetoric of bias, into our homes and our psyche and we no longer have any conversation other than that! Whether compliant or infuriated, it is all-consuming and oh, so mind-numbing! Two years on, the battle lines have been drawn and, in terms of the individual – sorry, that word is struggling for breath – the decision is ingrained. Glancing at Facebook feeds or Instagram comments, the divisions are clear between those more than willing to accept and follow the Government advice – gleaned, of course, by securing the advice of the chosen medical and scientific experts – and, critically, have done so, and those whose gut instinct has led them to do their own research, looking beyond mainstream media and its brutal censorship to the advice of the experts who have nothing to gain and, so, drawing their own conclusions. Two years on, neither side is for turning. Interestingly, however, only one side is on the attack.
Referring back to my previous post and the definition and traits of Mass Formation Psychosis, you will remember that this is what happens. Anyone who casts doubt on the accepted narrative of the masses is a threat and, thus, subjected to collective abuse. However, critical, here, is the fact that, for the majority who have followed the party line, there is no turning back. They cannot risk being persuaded otherwise. Fear of being wrong, of having made the wrong decision? Well, the individual embodies that very fear and, thus, invokes aggression. Irrationally, the individual who is deemed not to comply becomes the enemy; a danger to those who have. Divide and isolate …
Yesterday, I was sent a cartoon by a friend in St Wolfgang. Now, he’s an individual if ever there was one! Intelligent and fun, he is nobody’s fool and, of course, he was always going to make up his own mind. Can’t, for the life of me, imagine how we, all, gelled?! Definitely, the mugs of Gluhwein played a part but … The cartoon – in German? Of a King and his loyal servant standing on the castle parapet surveying ‘the people’ below, half brandishing pitchforks and the other half, torches. The loyal servant observes: ‘There is no need to fight them! You just have to convince the people with pitchforks that the people with torches want their pitchforks!’ Yep! So simple. Tell the masses that those who refuse to comply are a threat to them and then sit back and laugh …
Djokovic. The whole debacle is a metaphor for the depths to which we, collectively, have sunk. Ultimately, one of the world’s top athletes – super-fit and super-healthy and, critically, a threat to no-one – was treated like a low-life purely because of his decision – and his right – not to be vaccinated. Granted, the rules of entry to Australia preclude those who are not multi-jabbed but, as in life, there are always exemptions and Djokovic’s Covid infection mid-December secured him just that – anonymously, it must be noted. Lack of communication between the Australian Tennis Association and the Government, however, meant that, on arrival, Djokovic’s entry visa was revoked. No fault of his own! Questioned for hours and, subsequently, detained, he was subject to appalling treatment until, finally, released several days later when his lawyers won their appeal and an unbiased Judge over-turned the ruling.
Yes, old news, now, but the timeline and conclusion depicts pettiness in the extreme. Of course, subsequent revelations as to Djokovic’s movements and his flouting Covid restrictions, prior to all this, did him no favours and cannot be condoned but, in truth, they were irrelevant in this. Instead, Alex Hawke, Australia’s Immigration Minister – undoubtedly, in cahoots with Scott Morrison, Prime Minister – lulled Djokovic into a false sense of security, allowing him to practice, undeterred, until Friday before pouncing! In full view of a looming election – and following two years of brutal authoritarian rule – they beat their Neanderthal chests, exercising their power in a bid to stem the backlash of the masses who had kowtowed to subversion. That’s it! Novak Djokovic’s presence in Australia, in his bid to defend his title, was a threat to nobody. He was merely the fall guy for a couple of shameful politicians running scared. Wake up, Australians! Take down these not so invisible bars and glimpse the future. In the end, the dignity of Djokovic, throughout, served only to dwarf these pathetic power-hungry buffoons. What was achieved? Nothing bar a stay of execution for Hawke and Morrison. Djokovic? There is not a chance in hell that he will be beaten into submission!
What else have I learned? The importance of words – or one’s choice of. Throughout the Djokovic furore, three words kept coming up: those of ‘privileged’, ‘entitled’ and ‘selfish’. Nothing new, there. Forever the same. The poison that is envy; grievance. Djokovic was a little boy in war-torn Serbia. He came from neither a privileged nor a wealthy background. With the support of his family, however, he was able to nurture and hone a talent which, through hard work, dedication and huge sacrifice, has brought him, not only immense wealth, but ensured his position as the world’s number one tennis player. If he is, now, privileged, the credit is all his. Rich? He has earned every penny! Entitled? His dignity rebuts that accusation; one which is purely borne of envy – the poisonous green-eyed monster responsible for so much hate. Selfish? Oh, were it so, how that would appease the baying masses. Selfish, however, he is not. Instead, he made a choice which impinges on nobody but himself for it is common knowledge that the unvaccinated are no threat to the unvaccinated. It has been established that, both, are capable of transmitting the same viral load – perhaps, surprisingly, not freely acknowledged in mainstream media. The vaccinated, though, have nothing to fear unless …? No, who would be mad enough to question the mainstream narrative?!
Meanwhile, a little insight into the future may be gleaned from France. As the diminutive Macron delights in his threat to do everything in his power to ‘piss off the unvaccinated ‘ (excuse my French), the proletariat have downloaded the app and are, compliantly, getting on with everyday life, obediently, holding forth their QCR code – a window to all their private data – in a bid to all but wipe their own bottoms! Ladies and gentlemen – always – welcome to China …
‘Our great democracies still tend to think that a stupid man is more likely to be honest than a clever man and our politicians take advantage of this prejudice by pretending to be even more stupid than nature made them.’
Bertrand Russell, New Hopes for a Changing World.
Not Boris?!
This is Trish, signing off.
