​Having been involved in protests, physically emotionally and in writing, there is no doubt that it is within every species charter of “Fuck You” rights to do it. It’s imperative that it’s implemented, in order for survival.

Physical protests have changed everything from basic human and non-human rights, to demolition of Governments and nations. Emotional protests are what drive individuals and groups to support and energize the movement. Protests in writing are now the cyber protest, on a warfare level.

Governments have always feared protests and as is seen, they have proceeded to close down on as many physical protests as possible, until now.

In short, I will continue to support every type of protest in whatever way possible, against this latest attempt to trample on the rights of all inhabitants that reside on this rock.

If the world population stop everything they are doing and remain in that position for as long as it takes. If complete energy is put into a focused and emotionally driven cyber unleash. If the world wakes up from being dumbed down and as one says “Fuck You” we aint moving and neither are you. Then and maybe only then will the Doomsday Clock tick a Nano Second back.

Only Problem. Who has the Nuclear Codes and how mad is the Tangerine Terror.

Photo Credit. https://findyourmiddleground.com/tag/albert-einstein/

Those who say they still feel like they’re in their 20s when they’re in their 50s are either smoking some prime time roll mop, cultivating some mind altering tumour or in total denial.  Either way, they should share their crop, ignore that growth or look away very quickly in a crowed elevator when that involuntary fart rips out their soggy colon.

Those in their 20s are invincible hormone pumped up maniacs who can stay up all night, pumping and being pumped.  Those in their 50s can only dream of such times, in the brutal knowledge that youth really is wasted on the young and a dawning realization that the only pumping they would be involved in would be directed on their chest area.

​Those in their 20s can eat as much as they want and move as little as they please and still maintain a level weight.  Those in their 50s need to eat as little as possible and move as much as possible all while their body is screaming, slow down, just get comfortable and fill your face.

​Time to fire up a mop, lease an MRI, break wind and run.

It’s really no coincidence that unregulated consumption and its corresponding outpouring of waste are resulting in a degradation of Planet Earth, whole.  That includes its surface and its thin protective atmosphere, an unseen barrier that still encompasses the whole Planet.  It could and should have been seen and regarded as our Planet, bestowing a mutual protective position.  However seeing as we have gone to war on it and its other inhabitants, the unfortunate reality is us against it.

Which side will win this war, is probably a foregone conclusion.  Probably, would point to Earth wiping us out. However, we do unfortunately in fact, have the means to not necessarily blow the Planet to dust, but the power to possibly render it a barren and poisoned inhabitable rock.

​As a species, we are a filthy and wanton waste disposal unit.  Basically a bag of shit, kept enclosed by a thin protective covering of skin.  Unfortunately, our base instincts are still geared toward a ramp up in consumption, an ongoing addiction that is now manifesting as an out of control shit storm, all of our own making.        

​As villages morph into towns, suburbs become cities and rich become just richer, some things have to be given up.

Falling while being a part of a supportive community is one thing, but falling apart in the cacophony and chaos of city life is a totally different story indeed. When is it alright to move an indigenous woman on from a latte laden foreshore, a being that has just awakened in her tangled and threadbare sleeping bag, while a young nubile Nike nymph sits no more than meters away, sipping a short black and fingering her ipad.

Black and Grey and a combination of both appear to be the latest office colors this season and as a swarm of citizens disengage from their transport carriers, a march of the mindless begins. With ear phones in, mobile phones out and eyes downcast, an outer town tsunami of humanity descends and marches in some silent yet uncanny coordinated cohesion, upon pavements and roads toward city central. 

Like some trippy scene from a bad magic mushroom shake, the mass daily migration of mute madness engorges all space and available energy. Unknowingly and naively walking toward them is a frightening unnerving experience. An all shades of grey unhearing unseeing horde is not something to be messed with, especially when the mission is to seek out a collective caffeine hit before ascending the towers of power and money. To turn and run would be akin to out swimming a rogue wave, better to dive in and breathe deep.

It wasn’t the lack of eye contact or any human made contact or any contact at all that remained in the memory as the other side of the wave appeared. It was looking back at the homeless beggars, the disabled destitute and mentally ill. That mass of human misery that looked up and slowly moved on as the deaf and blind blast past.

​Herd mentality is rarely ever more exquisitely and painfully on exhibition than at airport departures and arrivals. Before the weary and obviously exasperated, ‘we are now ready to board your flight’ announcer has uttered the embryonic syllables leading to children and elderly, a mass of mindless meat sprints the gate. Like some Olympic event, the focus on gold has obviously rendered these prime travelers deaf as donut holes, with as much attentive intelligence. 

The strategy of only rows 15 to 48 boarding first, has had a modicum of keeping them on their starting blocks. Although depending on country location, cultural cringe can certainly blow a rather large hole in the fuselage of seat allocation. For those Platinum Business & One World elitists, the experience of witnessing the ugly underclass surging forth must be akin to an incendiary bomb exploding in their cultural cerebellum.

Getting on, so to speak, is only the delicious entrée to getting off. #getting off the plane NOW, is such a predictable eruption. After suffering the inevitability of on boarding gangway meat jam, ‘please remain in your seats and don’t unbuckle your seat belt until the plane has come to a complete stop and the pilot has switched off everything in relation to the flying bomb your still in’, is obviously an unheeded and unheard ping in the herd’s heads. Meerkats on a mission, they most certainly are not. 

So begins the end of another infuriating and amusing experience of Herds on Planes. 

And as they saunter shuffle and head off to baggage collection, the signs pointing to yet another round of trolley warfare and who has the best bag grabbing position, is really the time of herd implosion and a perfect opportunity to turn the screws on each other.

​‘When I was small I wondered what made big stuff move. Now I am big I know why small things matter’.

Everyone is travelling through grief at different stages and different intensities, at different times in different directions and with different outcomes. Some will get stuck in stages, while others will move between them all and still others will progress through to the ultimate goal, acceptance. 

Grief is not something you get over or take a pill for and be cured within a specific time frame. There is no vaccine for it and it is constantly with us at all times, we just don’t notice until the big events of life hit us hard enough that we can’t just blow it off. 

Just being alive brings us into contact with grief full time. 

Any change in our life circumstances is enough to trigger its symptoms and because change really is life’s only constant we are trapped in its gravitational pull. Losing your job or the breakup of a relationship will create grief. Moving house or location, growing older and children leaving home will do it nicely. Becoming sick and dying will give grief a free pass through an open door. 

Anything that involves loss will alert grief states, stages and symptoms, but no two people will have the same experience. 

Which is why at such heightened occasions such as death and dying, individuals and their reactions can be unpredictable in the extreme. Life becomes very bent and twisted from following no standard rules or regulations and the explosive results can blow everything apart or drag it together. 

Grief is not a malaise to conquer; it is a part of life not apart from it and living with grief and folding it into the fabric of our existence is really all we can do.

To accept, that is the lesson that grief is with us to teach.

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