A Ward Of Isolation

I spent six years in the eighties and nineties without television or radio, and with very little music.

When, grudgingly, polite society welcomed me back into its folds (on the understanding that I was a very junior ne'er do well), I was able to plan and control my own re-entry into the spheres of influence of what we now call the Mainstream Media.(MSM).

There would be some more-or-less filtered product exposed to an enslaved population, and they would set off chattering about it like turkeys in a shed before vaccination time.

There is a thin line between shared interest- and being led by the nose like some uber-flock of super-active sheep.
In the nineties on my return, it seemed that this line had been crossed.
Compared to then, the modern rash of conspiracy theories is overt, benign and innocent.


Then, I was rather frightened by the apparent obsession with, for example, 'Eisenhower's Driver', a girl at that time in the 40s, but who was now the covering subject for an apparently endless (and unfocused) speculatory inference about persons unknown who were even then supposed to be bringing about great changes through the turbulence of Eastern European events. People had unwittingly crossed the line whereby nothing was said in the open, to the point where nothing sensible was said at all.

It was apparent to me that some great sickness had covered the land like a plague, a massive, shared delusion that consumed the imaginations and aspirations of what was then the last gasp of a cohesive society.
And it came to pass that I did not know whether the delusion(at that time) was mine or theirs.
They were feverish in their desire to bury me under a welter of vicious lies, hatred and plain bullshit.
I simply did my job, fixed up my car and listened to the Stranglers('Peasant In The Big Shitty') while attempting to filter and make sense of all the televisual overload.
I'd given up on the radio;the pure truth was that I was the victim of cultural generalities, the muted witness to the atrocities which were being perpetrated on an unsuspecting populace by the MSM and stirred up by those few who could tolerate no departure; I won't say that they put me in a mental hospital; they drove me mad first, then had an excuse to put me in a mental hospital.

I simply lost my tolerance for the myriad games, their Argots, and their consequences.

I was caught in the culture clash of reality versus fake, and when fake has the upper hand, murder is always on the cards.