"...The system doesn't work!" - A Political Essay

Urgh! Politics is boring! Thats what they say and while I understand where its detractors are coming from (white haired old men, stuffy bureaucracies, dreary debate) I also cannot understand it. Humanity, in its current form, exists in a society, so called civilisation. We are a group, a collective entity and how we govern ourselves, the rules, laws and restrictions we place upon ourselves, how we support and define one another, is fundemental to our future and past.

Politics is not dull. The debate rages on. The battle for opposing policies, philosophies, beliefs is unending. We all must let our voices be heard, even if they are questionable, false or morally reprehensible. Free speech is important, it is a required part of a free and vibrant democracy.

Right now, in Iran, free speech is not free. Its cost, its price, is often a bullet.

I am a frequenter of the Onion AV Club, the satirical newspaper's 'arts' section on the internet. They have a feature, 'Videocracy', where they list the top 10 watched online videos of the week. I clicked on one yesterday, not really understanding what I was getting myself in for. I just reacted, and a press of my mouse later, I'm watching a young woman die on the streets of Tehran.

She is standing for a mere second when the video starts. She clutches her chest as a bullet slices into her without notice or fuss. She begins to fall, a friend and several passers grab out for her and brace her. Let me take a moment to dwell on that. This woman is moments from death and those around her, friends, strangers, reach out and catch her as she drops. They do so because the fall will hurt her, damage her. She will be injured, she will feel pain, her soft, pliable form will bounce off of immovable, hard concrete. In short, they don't know she has suffered a fatal gunshot wound.

She falls anyway and they hold the wound, she is conscious. She is silent. Blood pours from her mouth and nose, so very much. I had always assumed that coughing up blood was a Hollywood invention, a way to tell audiences that there is no hope. The person you're watching is a goner. I was wrong. She has been on the floor for mere seconds and a pool of blood coagulates around her head. She closes her eyes, people cry and despair. She is gone. She had no weapon, no placard, she was dressed all in black, a headscarf wrapped around her head, her face uncovered. A bullet has torn through her heart.

So, an unarmed civilian is gunned down by pro-government militia. Here's the score. Iran is a theocratic dictatorship, run by an opressive religious zealot. His name is Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, a hard liner Muslim who controls his country absolutely. There is an elected, civilian representative within Iran, his name is President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. The 'democratic' process in Iran is essentially there to allow the people to let off steam, recently the vote ended in bloodshed and violence after reported vote rigging and fraud. The main challenger, Mir Hussein Moussavi is the probable victor and the people sensing disenfranchment have openly rebelled, an outpouring of anger and rage not only about the civilian leadership, but the Ayatollah himself.

You see the youth, the liberal, the moderates of Iran are numerous and plentiful. Iran is not merely the central point of the 'Axis of Evil' as George Dubya would have had us believe. They are a vibrant, proud, wise and tolerant people. It is the hard-liners, the hate mongers, the religious zealots who are to blame here.

The sorry part is, Moussavi is no better than Ahmadinejad. All candidates swore to uphold the Religious elite, this is how they were allowed to run in the first place. So, both men are puppets, none of them have an solution to the problems which Iran faces.

So a woman, plus hundreds of others are dead. The greed, power-mad, shameful rulers of Iran have blood on their hands. But I'm sorry to say, that I am not the least bit suprised by any of it. Rest in peace Neda Agha-Soltan. I hope your death is not for nothing.

"Oh woe is me..." the duality of myself.

I lost my keys. Haha, how ridiculous is that? On top of all the other shit I'm dealing with, I lost my only car key. Its sitting outside right now, unused and rusting slowly into oblivion. Good riddance. A new key will set me back £150, money I don't have. Have never had really.
So I'm walking. I'm missing a shift or two at work, because buses don't run before seven, which is when I'm due in Alfreton, a good sixteen miles away. I'm walking everwhere, to work, to the shops, to see people and run errands. My new shoes are rubbing my feet and I have seven blisters. So yeah, I'm pretty miserable right now.

Which is probably a good time to explain my own internal duality. You see, I am two seperate entities really. There is the Tom Badlan writing this. He is a cynical, miserablist. He feels down constantly, he lacks confidence and enthusiasm. He is without direction and purpose. Sometimes he doubts whether anything is really worth the effort.
The second Tom is giggily, maniac, hyperactive and enthused. He is melodramatic, corny, soppy, romantic. He sees wonder and hope in all things, looks at the world through rose coloured glasses and is in love with the idea of existence.

These two men exist and they live inside me. So what? you may ask, we all have those sides to us. Of course you're right. What frightens, and I use that word purposefully, is the speed and severity in which I inhabit these personas. I swing violently to each one without rhyme or reason. I am either blissfully happy and riciculously amused or I am depressed, anxious and deafeatist. And for me, it seems, there is no happy medium.

Ask anyone who knows me. This is who I am. A Jekyll and Hyde.
Right now, with things spiralling away from me, Hyde has reared his ugly, self-obsessed, dejected head. When things pick up (and they will inevitably pick up, life is if not anything else, swings and roundabouts) I will be rejuvinated. I will bounce off of the walls, driving my housemates to distraction, laughing like Homer Simpson and a Japanese schoolgirl all rolled into one. The question is, I suppose, which of these men is really me?

Perhaps both.

Get rich or be miserable trying...

This weekend I finally hit the wall. I reached the limit of my three thousand pound overdraft. I owe the banks three grand. Plus the twenty-five plus I owe to the student loan company. Am I a shopping addict? A heavy drug user? A gambling enthusiast? No, I am none of these things. I have two jobs, one part time, one occasional hours. With any luck on my side, my hours are full time, give or take a few more or less. I have a modest house, a piece of shit car, I eat normal every day food and go to student pubs. I go to gigs occasionally and sometimes I'll even have a night out on the town. I buy supermarket offer DVDs and take advantage of Orange Wednesdays for my cinema trips. In other words, I am not a spender. I try to save, I try to watch my cash flow. But it isn't enough. Circumstance, low wages, unfortunate events have conspired to rob me of any moderate fortune I had acquired. University, my working trip to America in 2006, my bucket 'o rust car, all has contributed to my downfall.

I am broke. Bankrupt. Its over. Maybe I can scrape back, but its looking unlikely. The only man who owes me any real coinage has even less than me. And do you want to know the best part? I don't want to be rich. I really don't. I don't need a big house, or a fancy BMW or Lotus sports car. I don't want a fucking island, or private jet, or boat. I don't need fame, fortune, celebrity. I don't want a bank balance with six figures. All I want is economic freedom and security. I want to not have to worry about this crap. I want to sleep easy not having to know when the next bill falls through the letter box. Sometimes it feels like I'm the only sod on Earth who doesn't want to be a millionnaire.

So, here, at the end, I say to you all. FUCK MONEY. FUCK CAPITALISM. FUCK BANKERS AND MPs AND STOCK BROKERS AND CEOs. Fuck them all.

Clarity is what this doctor ordered...

Well, my opening post turned into just what I do best. A rambling, pretencious, quasi-philosophical rant designed to fool people into thinking that I know what the fuck I'm talking about. So, for anyone who knows me, or to anyone who comes across this blog on some tedium inspired wander across the internets, here's some much needed focus.

My name's Thomas Alun Badlan. Almost everyone calls me Tom. Which is fine by me. Thomas is reserved for those who are either exasperated or furious with me. I'm 24. I'm a care worker with Derby City Council and a charity called Leonard Cheshire. I work with disabled children for the council and disabled adults with the charity. They pay me the same money as a roadsweeper, yet despite a degree in Creative Writing, I am not qualified for much more. Do not misunderstand me, I love my work. I just wish it rewarded dedication and loyalty more than it does. I am an aspiring writer, one without any real motivation to even get my work noticed. I write infrequently these days, real life getting in the way. That's mostly an excuse, laziness also obstructs art.

That's my modus operandi. But there's more, of course there's more. I am a dreamer, a reluctant optimist, a nostalgic, melodramatic pragmatist. I am heavily interested in the works of philsophy, from the ideals of Utilitarianism and post modernism. I am a story addict. I love books, movies, comics, video games and tv drama. I am a narrative junkie. Storytelling is my passion and always will be. I tend to get obsessed over things, revelling in them until they are spent, used up or otherwise exposed to be redundant. I love my life, but also love escaping it to other worlds, both real and imagined. I am hugely opinonated, immersing myself in politics, geo-political, domestic and foreign policy issues, as well as social issues, human rights and free speech. I am a left-leaning, liberalist, socialist, with strong views and a stronger voice. I put it to you, gentle reader, that there is no real way to be certain of anything, and therefore any person who claims absolute faith in God is a fool. Devout believer, or doubting athiest, there is no distinction between such misguided souls. Ergo, I classify myself as a humanist agnostic.

And that is what I love. As for who I am. Well, I am an overweight man, who keeps fairly active and healthy. I am of average height, with light brown hair that grows far too quickly and sharp blue eyes. I am quick to anger, though never violent, and just as quick to fall into a miserablist stupor. I have a mischevous streak, with a sarcastic, quick wit which will amuse at first, but eventually aggravate. I am quite capable of becomming a giddy, giggling school child, enthused by everything and finding humour in every corner. These sudden and constantly shifting moods are alarming, especially to myself, but I muddle through. Overall, I am a content person, pleased with the man I am today and hopeful for the future.

And that is a synopsis of my existence. It is too long and without real focus, but if you wanted to know a little more about me, then there's the place to start.

Adieu, mes amis.

Its all in the name...

There are a billion thoughts buzzing through your skull each and every day. An endless drum beat of firing synapses, of surging electrical energy tearing through nueral pathways and deep into your cerebral cortex. Call it what you will, the mind, the soul, the spirit... in the end, its all about that little voice that lives inside your head. This is you, trapped deep, an island, contained, alone in the world. These thoughts will not stop, they are you and you are them. We begin and end with our thoughts and the only way to exorcise those whispering cognitive winds is to end. End our existence, our lives, our very being. All that we are is relentless, never stopping, never ceasing, never silenced. I am Relentless until death and so are all of you.