Weltanschaung

The Philosopher’s Stone

zenothestoic@protonmail.ch

Tag: Bullshit

  • Who needs a guru?

    Who needs a guru?

    Nobody does. Certainly not the variety on public offer.

    It is tempting (or perhaps just lazy) to seek someone who claims to “Know”. To have “The Answer”. A cursory search on Amazon will provide you with thousands of authors who will give you the answer if you buy their book. The world is full of wellness retreats and spiritual gurus who suck in money from the gullible in return for a garbled word salad of  fantastical excrement. Sometimes with a dash of “sacred” magic mushroom or gut wrenching ayahuasca added to the mix.

    The world is full of thought systems. Attempts to answer the unanswerable.  I am wary of those who believe they have answers, but they are legion. Some wearing a more traditional cloak, a priest of some recognised religion. Some in the garb of charlatanism – the new agers, the modern druids, the purveyors of woo and auric eggs. Who remembers the venerable Betty Shine.

    The truth is there is little enough to distinguish all these pedlars of hope and certainty.

    But if I had to make a choice, my preference would be for someone who isn’t on the make.

    Traditionally a guru is a mentor or guide to those who seek spiritual knowledge. While the word is Sanscrit, the concept is applicable the world over. Many faiths have their gurus, though they may wear a different guise.

    I was at the National Gallery in London this week, looking at the newly hung and magnificent collection of medieval and early Renaissance paintings. The overwhelming majority of which depict Christian subjects.

    One particular portrait of a monk reached out to me. For all I know he could have been as vile as Rasputin or as drunk as Friar Tuck, but somehow a deep sincerity shone from his face – here was a guru I might have found acceptable. A wise and kindly man living a life of poverty, helping the poor and devoting himself to prayer and good works.  Although for all I know he was one of those who gave the monastic life a bad name and helped to usher in the Reformation.

    But my point is twofold.

    I suspect if I met the genuine article face to face, I would know. A light would shine, it would be blatantly obvious that here was a man who “Knew”.

    And yet I am not at all sure he would have much to teach me. Of course he would be a better person than I. He would be pure in mind and body, a healer of the sick, a man of modesty and humility.

    But he would teach by example, and for that I do not need to sit at his feet. I certainly do not need to read or believe his holy books. All I need to know is that here stands a good man.

    And that is what spirituality is. To me at least. The material world becomes translucent, the futility of ambition and power wanes and fades in a dark corner. I do not need a guru to tell me what I need to do. The way is blindingly obvious.

    But I do perhaps seek his company, his friendship. His goodness.  To bask in the radiance of his obvious decency and begninity.

    That is all I need from a wise man, a guru.

    The only thought system I need is how to behave, how to think, how to act. And after so many years of thought, I do not need anyone to tell me the answer.

    So yes, there are many systems of belief which teach much the same simple message but which have become cluttered with baseless supernatural speculation. You don’t need a guru to tell you all that nonsense.

    If you need a guru at all, it is for companionship along the difficult road of life. Preferably someone rather better than you are. More tolerant, kinder, better intentioned, humbler, further along the road of awareness.

    I don’t need Betty Shine to tell me about auric eggs. I have no interest in running an off-licence and turning water into wine. I don’t need to wail at Yahweh or bless the Prophet. I don’t need theosophy or the Perennial Philosophy. You can keep Madam Blavatsky.

    And if you think about it, you might decide you don’t need gurus either.

    Because quite honestly all you need is to go within. To consider life and where you might have gone wrong (or right). To listen in the silence for a voice, likely your own.

    If I came across a holy man, I would know what I had found and would be glad of it. He might be discovered in a monastery, a desert. He might be a train driver or a bus conductor. But I would know him when I met him.  Even if I didn’t need to be “taught”, I would still enjoy his company.

    So much nonsense spluttered over so many thousands of years. So much violence and greed. So many good ideas twisted and made evil.

    Who needs a guru when it is all so simple. If only we could adopt such simplicity, we would need little else to bring peace.

    Humility and kindness. Nothing else is really needed. Except a great deal of practice.

  • “Worldly”

    “Worldly”

    Some consider it a compliment to be described as “worldly”. To others of a more reflective disposition, such a label might be seen as unfortunate.

    Our “world” as we know it depends upon competition for survival at every level of living organism and if we at the human level realize this, most of us seem oblivious or ignorant of the result. Which is to live in fear and misery.

    Just as the mouse or vole lives in terror of the hawk wheeling overhead, so the human lives in terror of the despot or the greedy capitalist hoovering up the world’s scarce resources and keeping as much of it for himself as he can. Doling out slave wages to the hapless van drivers and factory workers chained up to his money making machine.

    Living in fear also of the petty politicians who live to prey on others rather than serving the people who elected them. Or worse, seizing power and creating a tyranny. Again the motive is the same – fear and greed. They will take to survive. And they believe the more they take, the greater their chances of happiness and survival. Oblivious to the fact that happiness does not work that way.

    Power corrupts and you can see this at all levels in all societies. Local and central government politicians, elected or otherwise, soon come to believe that they own the public assets they oversee. An unfortunate “groupthink” develops both on the left and the right. Those in poverty are seen as scroungers out for all they can get, refugees are seen as greedy opportunists who are out for economic advancement.

    The lowly, the desperate, the poor and the needy become demonized. Those who wield power over them come to see them as a threat to be contained or eliminated.

    There must be better people in this world. People not consumed by greed and power. People who see the world and human behavior for what it is and want to change it. But perhaps they are the “meek” and whatever the scriptures might say, they do not inherit the earth.

    Those who inherit the earth are not the mild mannered who wish peace and happiness and plenty for all. They are the people who, like Benjamin Disraeli, have climbed to the top of the greasy pole and intend to stay there. They have committed all sorts of brutality to get to the top and they will fight tooth and nail to remain in power.

    Is it worth fighting against these people? Well the word “fighting” may give us a clue. Violence can never be right and yet aggression seems the only way to wreak change in a world governed and dominated by violence and obsessive greed.

    The other way is resignation. Let these fools grasp for their baubles. Let them discover the age old truth that human desire is never satisfied, can not be.

    Take yourself as far away from such people as you can go. Both metaphorically and physically. Reject the painful and hideous group think of the political parties and the leaders of our corrupt capitalist businesses. Live as far as you possibly can from their ideals and their physical locations. Become a Stylite, live in the desert or on some remote island in some emerald green sea.

    And in your mind be free. Living without greed and hatred, envy and the ignorant desire to dominate and conquer.

    There is little you can do to cure the world. So leave it, ignore it and recognize that this too shall pass.

  • The High Cost of Woo

    The High Cost of Woo

    I find myself wondering just how much the historical Jesus billed Lazarus for his resurrection.

    And what about all that water he turned into wine. Must have made a fortune. As for the Gaderene swine – wonder if he flogged them off for a hog roast.

    You see, I have been considering Woo recently. Not that I’m suggesting JC was a fake – and anyway, how would we know after two thousand years.

    But modern Woo – that really is something that has me scratching my head. There is one particular American Woo salesman who really takes the biscuit. He wears designer shades with diamante adornment and suspect clothes. He jets all around the world spreading the Word and sells save your soul books by the million. He peddles what one could politely call nonsense and gets handsomely rewarded for leading people in search of the end of the rainbow.

    The only one who ever finds the pot of gold is the sly salesmen himself. Quite what the suckers who buy his produce end up with is something else. Disillusionment and despair perhaps. At worst, some of them are tipped over into madness and death, when the spiritual riches the wondrous healer promises turn out to be apocryphal.

    It does not escape me that I tend to talk in riddles and poetry myself these days. And metaphor and allegory and symbols.

    But at least I am not charging you for it. Nor do I wear diamante specs. And I don’t try and look like Gandhi or an Ashram Guru. Or JC for that matter – I never liked Jesus boots anyway. And the locals would think I was a right odd one if I took to wearing flowing desert robes down Deal at the supermarket.

    I do not promise to unleash your infinite potential for a fiver. I do not offer you aura therapy or undertake to massage your chakras (even supposing I could find them).

    I have not found “peace beyond understanding” (as one asinine salesman claims) and so I am afraid I can’t sell it to you. Nor do I have the resources to have my picture taken in every exotic location from Ulam Bator to Timbuktu, in each of which I peddle my gospel in return for money.

    But Old Diamente Specs is just one of thousands of purveyors of faery dust and snake oil – admittedly one of the most successful. Financially I mean – I don’t suppose his flock has benefited much from any miracles .

    What I like about my local priest is that he doesn’t always have his hand out, or if he does I feel every comfort that he will be giving it away to the poor. Once the greedy local Bishop has taken his cut. Robin Hood really should do something about the Church hierarchy.

    There are good people out there and you can always tell who they are. There is a wonderful old clergyman round here who gave immense comfort to my fearful father. He beams goodness and joy. He fills my day with light, when I chat to him out of one of my rambles. He makes me feel good about the world.

    He is not shoving some mumbo jumbo down my throat, and even if he did he would never dream of charging me for it.

    Woo salesmen on the other hand are false friends. All they want is my money.

    At one stage I followed serious and worthy clinical research from some of the world’s finest institutions on the possibility of a cure offered by psychedelics.

    And I believe such cures will come to pass. Shepherded into medical use by hospitals and doctors.

    And if you wish to jump the gun, perhaps with intelligent application, you may affect your own cure.

    What you should not do is to head to your local Woo salesman who has set up a Mother Mushroom healing church. Or a Sister Ayuhuasca’s Shamanic temple.

    Social media and the Internet are awash with videos of the hilarious ceremonies offered by such people. They are mostly crafty westerners who have donned Shamanic robes. They dance around blowing sacred smoke into people’s eyes and fanning them with hocus pocus. Mother Mushroom will heal. Sister Ayuhuasca will speak. Wooooooo! Many of said money grasping fake Messiahs are interviewed speaking in faux-hushed tones, wearing priestly white.

    There is nothing wrong with ritual and ceremony in the right hands. I’m all for smells and bells and Gregorian chanting. It lifts the soul and can heal the mind.

    What I do not want is “for profit” spirituality. I don’t believe in healing the world for money. I do not like “entreprenooooooooors” like Diamante Specs. Fake priests.

    Spirituality and good works belong to genuine priests. Whose motives are, well, godly shall we say. Health, healing, the spirit. Salvation, the Way.

    Would you expect to find healing at Mc Donald’s? If not, then why would you buy it from a fake guru whose main interest in you is to empty your wallet?

    Jesus never charged for resurrection. If someone seeks to sell it to you, hopefully you will be wise enough to turn away.

  • The “Influencer”

    The “Influencer”

    There can be few callings which I hold is such low esteem as that of the “Influencer”.

    Apparently, an influencer is “an individual who has the power to affect the purchase decisions of others because of his/her authority, knowledge, position or relationship with his/her audience”.

    I picture the male influencer as a man of around 40, sporting a brown and overly wide chalk stripe suit. On his feet are likely to be found a pair of grey basket work winkle-pickers.  He will have a orange tinted face, a perma-tan, mined presumably from some tub of ointment or procured from that most bizarre of salons, the tanning shop.

    His voice will be unctuous and over friendly – for he is the close relative of the “Salesman”. He will appear over confident, bumptious and very probably ignorant. His education will have been from the University of Life, since conventional universities do not yet offer education or training in “Influencing”. No doubt that shortcoming will end soon. At some college near you, a three year degree course in “influencing” will soon become available.

    It’s all to do with Social Media apparently.

    They say that “influencers” fall into the following categories:

    1. Celebrities
    2. Industry experts and thought leaders
    3. Bloggers and content creators
    4. Micro Influencers

    What the hell is a “thought leader”? You got me there. No idea I’m afraid. Perhaps it’s some horrible new invention by the US Military or the CIA. Brainwashing?

    And “celebrities”? Women with enhanced breasts and huge buttocks married to swarthy gentlemen wearing gold chains who drive large white Rolls Royces? Yes, I think that must be it.

    Anyway, these awful people blog and vlog. Vlogging is apparently blogging but making it doubly ghastly by videoing their message.

    Men in their brown suits and women with their protruding exuberance will stare out at you and unashamedly try to convince you to part with cash for loathsome tat you have no need for and don’t want in the first place.

    ICOs (International Coin Offerings) represent my earliest memory of the “influencer”. An over zealous little puppet was recommending that we should buy entirely useless tokens and altcoins which would crash and burn shortly after launch. The odious little shark was getting paid by the issuers to push their useless junk and thanks to “fomo” (yuk!) his horrible tactics proved most efficacious.

    So there you have it. The “Influencer”.   All you need to know really. If you recognize one switch the blighter off immediately. Smash your “smartfone”, abandon the internet (or at least use it for something useful).

    The “Influencer” turns out to be nothing but a modern interpretation of the grubby, odious salesman.

     

  • Billions -Faint Disgust?

    Billions -Faint Disgust?

    I watched an episode of Season 2 of Billions last night and was left with an unaccustomed feeling of repulsion.

    According to Wikipedia:

    The series is loosely based on the activities of Preet Bharara, the former U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, and his legal battles with hedge fund manager Steve Cohen of S.A.C. Capital Advisors.

    I had watched the first series with much pleasure but perhaps since that time I have grown older and wiser. And not a little more philosophic.

    Every character in the show is repulsive from the vulgar checkbook waving wife of Bobby Axelrod, to the driven and unpleasant district attorney who seeks to make his mark by crucifying the hedge fund king.

    What particularly struck me last night was the the awfulness of the motivational speeches. If your work life is driven by these, then no wonder we live in the paradise we have created for ourselves.

    Everyone is the show is portrayed as ruthless and horrible, greedy and venal. Surely such characterization  has to be parody?

    The great glory of the show, in visual terms, has to be Maggie Siff as Wendy Rhoades. Wow! What a beautiful woman. She is the sexy in-house coach at Axe Capital, and rather unfortunately married to the vicious district attorney out to crucify her boss.

    She may be beautiful but what she has to say is brutal and tiresome. And vulgar. There is talk of Viagra and stiffness, both of which are needed, apparently, to succeed in the hedge fund world. Same with Bobby’s speeches – if ever there was an exposition of the sublimated violence in business and capital, you need look no further than Bobby.

    Its all savage, violent, sexy, drug fueled and (surprise!) materialistic.

    How must it be when your every waking thought is the urge to conquer? When money is all you seek? When culture, erudition, philosophy, if used at all, are used merely in the pursuit of the material.

    Its all show, showtime, vulgarity. Art is to hang on the wall, never mind its meaning. Beauty is to be pressed into service, used, not for any intrinsic quality, but in the pursuance of more.

    Of course this is all fiction – or so I assume. People are not that ghastly, tasteless and gross in the real world.  They do not, surely, talk like that, speak like that, think like that? Or do they?

    Perhaps it is because I lurch towards the end of my life that my thoughts turn to the intangible. Perhaps, way back, I had ambitions to be Bobby. Perhaps once upon a time, way back, when I found myself miscast (dramatically so) as an investment banker, I sought to emulate Bobby.

    If so, then age is not without its advantages. As drama, as entertainment its a good romp. I’m not at all sure I can stomach too many more episodes though.

  • 12 Ways to Wipe Your Butt

    12 Ways to Wipe Your Butt

    Why do the cretinous like numbered lists? And why do they annoy me so much?

    I was asked to write a chapter for a book on investment a while ago along with people who, unlike myself, knew what they were talking about.

    The publisher asked me to write about my 10 investing rules. Piqued by the absurdity of the  idea I wrote 8 rules instead but I could just as easily have chosen 1 or 15.

    For some reason I have a bee in my bonnet at the moment about Jordan Peterson who opines that there are 12 Rules For Life.  Perhaps it is just that I am jealous of his success? There again probably not – it must be exhausting to be in demand.

    This particular clinical psychologist offers books, “podcasts” (whatever they are) and general existentialist thoughts on every aspect of life and the universe. Or do I mean 13 aspects? Or 5 1/2?

    As a shrink perhaps Jordan could tell me why there are 12 Rules for Life? Or did his publisher just think the title was catchy and there were 12 apostles? Or was it 11 because that rotter Judas doesn’t count?

    Why 40 days in the wilderness? Surely 10 would have done the job?

    A cursory look at Google produces the following equally banal lists:

    • 30 Ways to Die
    • 12 Ways to Get to 11
    • 7 Ways to Maximize Misery
    • 7 Ways to Maximise a Fart
    • 130 Ways to Fill a Notebook
    • 16 Ways to Kill a Vampire at McDonalds

    Note that I have used a list! This is my “6 ways to point out the absurdity of numbered lists”.

    Is there a point to all this? Am I going anywhere or just driveling?

    Well I think there must be a point somewhere, if only I can find it. I’ll have a shot.

    We humans need certainty. We need codification. We like to explain the universe in terms of mathematics, and indeed that is the only way so to do.

    By writing a chapter containing 8 investment Rules I am giving people the certainty they crave. I am telling them that if they employ exactly 8 Rules in their investment strategy (my rules) they will achieve success.  What nonsense; how misleading.

    And so back to Dr Peterson. His theory is that just as there were 12 (or 11) apostles, there are 12 (or is it 13?) “Rules for Life”.  It makes people think there really are 12 Rules and that following them will lead to everlasting Joy And Happiness.

    Take the Kabbalah. It’s all about numbers. The mysticism of numbers. In numbers we will find our answers. 42 is the Answer to the Meaning of Life the Universe and Everything!

    Or take Buddhism: it has a Noble 8-Fold Path. Not 7 fold or 6. Or 5 1/2 but 8. Get a decimal point wrong and you will fall from the path and fail to reach Nibbana. Oh – and there are 4 Noble Truths!

    There is a place for the certitude of numbers and it is in the scientific endeavor.  The number of atoms in helium or strontium. The age of the universe. The rotations of the earth around our sun.

    There is no place for numbers in the messy and chaotic world of human behavior.

    So the next time some clever clogs tells you there are “12 Ways to Wipe Your Butt” the correct response is:

    “Bollox”.

     

     

  • Quackery and Useless Twaddle

    Quackery and Useless Twaddle

    Why is so much of the internet “told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”?

    OK, so I admit I got out of bed the wrong side this morning. My wife has the intensely irritating habit of leaving her smartphone on all night, with the volume turned up full in case our son or one of her numerous relatives calls in the middle of the night. Sound asleep, I will suddenly be shaken awake at ungodly hours expecting the worst, only to discover that one of her relatives from Australia has sent a picture of intense disinterest to me at 4 o clock in the morning.. And to make matters worse, having got a new phone, a simple “ping” does not suffice. Each message, however inconsequential, is accompanied by a different cacophony of sound.

    Having got that off my chest, I am sitting reading news and views from the blogosphere.  I am beset by problems and minor illnesses; grumpiness and angst being among the foremost of my ailments. The world is beset by problems, some more serious than mine.  What I need, what the world needs is solutions to those problems.

    My attention was drawn this morning to an interview on a website called Closer to Truth on the subject of “transcendence”.  There are some exceptionally able speakers featured on the website, including some eminent and interesting philosophers specializing in consciousness – perhaps the most important un-solved mystery we have.  But the article I was directed to was inconsequential and vague drivel.

    I have no problem with the concept of transcendence. My favorite author Ian Banks called it sublimation.  The escape to another realm from the dull and often dangerous physical reality in which we find ourselves trapped. Like flies in aspic or the Tar Baby of Uncle Remus. But what the world needs is a road-map of how to get there not some half baked diatribe on synchronicity, an insane dialogue with a non -existent deity or vapid, limp New Age bollux.

    I am not saying there is no room for imagination, poetic license, and metaphor.  These can and do soothe and pacify.  But such have existed for countless millennia and have never been known to bring world peace, freedom from anxiety or an escape from the dreadful condition we humans find ourselves in.

    What we need is hard science. If an alternate reality exists, if we are living on a plane just next door to some forbidden utopia our senses can’t quite grasp, well then lets go find it. Let’s not wallow in useless woo woo and crappy non existent chakras.  I can accept that there is “stuff” out there which our limited senses can not contact. Most frequencies along the light spectrum for instance.

    But if there is some “heaven” awaiting us we are not going to discover it by sitting on our collective rear ends talking piously about finding ourselves through faith healing, touch massage, poetry or  religion. We invented the wheel, penicillin, crop rotation and all manner of useful things. We may be on the cusp of trans-humanism – science fiction today, maybe science fact tomorrow.  So it if exists, lets go and find transcendence now so we can all enjoy it!

    We want cures and we want them now. If you think magic mushrooms will cure depression well, try it out. Don’t expect some Druid nutcase to wave his wand over you and make it better.  As I have so often repeated our twin saviors will be philosophy and science as they always have been. Philosophers to come up with the ideas, scientists to test them out and put it into practice.  Often they are one and the same person.

    There is “stuff” out there which actually works so let us concentrate on finding more of that and ditch the wishful thinking crap so many engage in.

  • Conscious Nonsense

    Conscious Nonsense

    I am deeply disturbed to discover what a search on the word “consciousness” produces when you sift through WordPress websites.

    Over 90% of the entries reveal websites which can only be described as embarrassing, superstitious and pathetically inadequate.  You would have thought that in the 21st Century most of us in the civilized and educated West would have ditched charlatanism in favour of reason and science. And, yes, philosophy. Which of course has had to change much over the centuries as old superstitions were revealed to be humbug and utter hogwash.

    Surely to god we are grown up enough to ditch faith healing nutters, snakeoil salesmen and gurus? Even the Buddhists (god bless their yellow robed non-existent atman) are embracing modern science and co-operating with neurosurgeons to establish the neural correlates of the meditative state.

    And yet here are some of the headlines and articles to be found on WordPress:

    “You are inherently and innately programmed to thrive on all levels of your being” – yeah right, man. Flower power, airy fairy crap. Give me a pill any day. Tell me how qualia work in precise physical terms and how I can move from one end of the pleasure pain axis to the other.

    “There is always a counter to the negative. Call them spiritually and technologically advanced ETs, Angels, Ascended Masters etc. “. Yep, well there are fairies at the bottom of my garden and I’m not talking about LGBT+++ neighbors. I mean grow up you lunatic.

    “There is a different path of healing, a path, that keeps the balance, a path, that enhances intuition, re ignites love, my answer to this is touch massage….” Great well I’ll just check that out with my GP. Hey, I’m all for meditation and yoga. I’m all for anything, even magic mushrooms, if it works. But I’d like to skip the semi religious twaddle thanks. Metaphor is fine but if I’m feeling like a dead wet hamster in a washing machine I’d like something a little more efficacious than “touch massage” to make me feel better.

    Ooh – hang on a minute! I wonder what she is offering? Nah, I’m way too old for all that stuff.

    Oh dear. As usual this is turning into polemic so I must stop myself right away.

    I have no doubt most (but certainly not all) of these internet messiah’s honestly believe they have found “The Way”.  And I love metaphor and poetry and music and art and…..blah blah.  And yes sometimes it improves my mood.

    But if I want to read about consciousness I want to read Dennet, Chalmers, Tononi. I want to hear it from the neuro-scientists. The Blue Brain Project. Sure even my sagacious GP, if he feels he has anything to say.  I do not wish to hear from a bunch of deluded nutcases who can not see from one end of their  “chakra” to their waste pipe.

    The answer is simple of course: ignore them and move on to wiser counsel without causing offense and upset.

     

     

  • Davos 2019

    Davos 2019


    I lived in Davos-Kosters for years and loved the WEF.

    For weeks before hand I savored that much loved ten days as I watched the well oiled preparations being made. Hundreds of riot police arrived, barbed wire gates and fences appeared. I was stopped every time I went near the entrance to the town by police asking me my business and demanding to see my papers, while waving a sub machine gun ominously in my direction.

    The locals love it! They make the very great majority of their income during the conference, as they gleefully raise their prices tenfold. And frankly, if you turn up at Samedan in a private jet what do you expect? A bargain break with breakfast thrown in?

    Audi used to convert a field near the lake on the outskirts of the town into an ice rink and people with more money than sense raced around the track in vast, powerful black limmos. Presumably it was worth Audi’s while?

    And did I attend all those fascinating “Key Note” addresses? Did I give one myself perhaps? Was I busy in conferences with the great and the good, the pompous and the windbags?

    Was I wringing my hands with beautiful actresses over the state of the world poor or the global ecosystem? Or whatever the latest cause espoused by the Luvvies happened to be?

    Did I ponder matters of deep finance with the Masters of the Universe, the hugely important bankers and finance ministers, the great economic gurus?

    Did I gasp with wonder and love at our National Treasures like David Attenborough?

    Wow! World leaders in my home town! The grandeur of it! The importance! The prestige!

    Did I marvel at “Strategic Oultlooks”? The prescience of these people! The Duke of Cambridge! Wo! That genius and media star.

    Did I attend Power Breakfasts and engage in Cocktail Networking?

    Odd to relate, no, I did none of these things. My sole interest was in the fact I had over 200 km of ski piste all to myself.

    The Great and the Good are, by and large, neither. I have no interest at all in what any of them have to say.

    But the skiing while they were busy pontificating (there was no room for ordinary tourists). Well that was pure heaven.

  • We are looking for the following qualities….

    We are looking for the following qualities….

    Such words are prone to make me lift my laptop and smash it to the ground.  I don’t care what qualities you are looking for. I don’t know what your views are and I’m unlikely to find out.

    I still get these aberrant moods when I think I might like to write another book. Or publish a few more irreverent articles in worthy trading magazines. Or write a column or two for the Financial Times.

    I still get these deviant days when I believe that “society” and “people” and “engagement” are where it is at.

    Yesterday was one such day. I cursorily looked up a few editors at dull periodicals and almost convinced myself to send them one of my usual off beat and ranting diatribes.

    For that is what I have become. A “ranter”.  A dealer in diatribe.  A voice of vociferation. Harold Harangue, me.  Tommy Tirade, Ronald Rhetoric.

    Which is why I will stick to my silly little blog. It may be that no one reads the outpourings of an outraged soul but at least they are mine.

    You see, the time has come for me to give up. To admit that this is a world into which I do not fit, nor ever have.

    I wish the world well, and all its peoples. May they prosper and survive. May their happiness increase.

    Lest these words sound the outpourings of a deluded and depressed mind, let me say urgently that they are not.

    I am disillusioned not delusional.  And while it is true that the Noonday Demon never truly lets me rest in peace, accedie has not been too much in evidence for some years.

    Nothing I have to say would be of any interest to the Financial Times, since I am no longer a believer in the economic model to which they still subscribe.  I believe in Gross National Happiness and don’t give a stuff about Gross National Product.

    The Investors Chronicle (for whom I wrote the occasional article) and their readers are believers in the fundamental analysis of financial markets. They give credit even to charting and technical analytical hogwash. Not so me, I fear. And no one wants to be told they are peddling nonsense.

    There is always the possibility that I am just plain wrong of course. That I, not them, am the madman. That they are the keeper; the arbiter of truth and financial goodness.  And I, the inmate.

    But I think not.

    I am sitting in absolute silence, bar the cooing of a pigeon on a bright and dry and achingly beautiful summer’s morning. I am looking out on Tudor gables and fruit trees, grass and wild flowers.

    I am going Down Deal for coffee and a haircut.  And then to lie on the beach at Sandwich and imagine the generations of merchants coming and going down the long gone Wantsum Channel.

    I have become a dreamer; a seeker of truth perhaps.  A soul who yearns to fly above mere mortality to some more pleasant land. To Narnia perhaps; or Middle Earth. To see nyads and dryads and the spirits of streams; to parley with wizards and goblins, elves and pixies.

    Well, perhaps I exaggerate but not by very much.  The world is too beautiful for the Financial Times. The universe has more to offer.

    So back to where we began. My prospective publishers can seek whatever qualities they choose. I am seeking rather different ones and so I think, alas, our paths are unlikely to cross.