Wednesday, 12 May 2010
the trouble with morality is that it is a target, not a possession. nobody can truly declare an action moral or immoral. one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. we are all dogs and we are all deviants - any comment to the contrary is bullshit. immorality SINGS through the retail outlets, avenues, car parks and industrial estates that piece together my suburban town. there is vomit on the pavements, tramps in the street, and blood (once or twice) on my hands. it is easy to confess a sin and continue sinning: to disregard self-reflection in favour of further hedonism. whatever your vice is - cigarettes, reality TV, cocaine - it is keeping you breathing and helping you to survive. there is no long term when it comes to addiction: the hunger claws at each second, whilst the future sits, aloof and unhelpful, in the distance. in daylight we are our own judge - the pasty face in the mirror, the crack in your voice, the necessities of stomachs, bladders, bowels; but by night we succumb - and we succeed in succumbing, our hands tied and bound by alcohol, short skirts, and mediocre music - where the lights flash, the voices heckle, and up above the stars twinkle, forgotten. at night, it is our own special campaign, our own british death; the rules twist and flex beneath the lens of liquor. by night, we vindicate our same sins that we compress and regret when they are unearthed by the unforgiving light of a new day.