Truth is a Beautiful Thing.

Hell to the Liars, those who grind people down with stupidity. One day's musings in the theatre of madness.

It is Thursday. I am in the middle of writing a number of pieces for my Substack. The question of deciding which one to go with next is buzzing around. One is a fairly complex one about technology. I’ve been thinking about that one a lot recently. Unfinished, so far, it is informed by my reading of Heidegger’s The Question Concerning Technology. That’s complex. Technology changes us, has changed us. We think about and perceive things differently because of it. First we have to define it. What is technology?

I am in my car. Technology here making my life more convenient and saving me time. The car is old now, but still buzzes me around when I need it. Convenience is becoming a thing to watch. To pay attention to. It’s the convenience that will get us in the end. I enhance my journey with music. I rush to switch my in-car radio off and put in a cd. Old fashioned technology by today’s standards. Incredible by my lifetime’s standards. Pleasure in the music. Pleasure is also becoming a thing to watch. To pay attention to. It is the pleasure that will get us in the end.

So. My day.

It more or less begins with a visit to the dentist which I have avoided due to the rigid and non-scientific obsession with covidian madness. The masked face has meaning. Until yesterday, in my culture, it meant malevolence. You were up to no good if you hid your face. And so it does to me now. I don’t think I will see some people’s faces ever again. I hope that’s not true.

Recently, I have had many imaginary conversations with my dentist. This is in lieu of actually visiting him. He is a nice enough man, a little younger than me. I imagine having rational discussions about the situation and calling him out for the non-scientific approach he, as a scientifically trained person is taking. Futile of course. I am apprehensive. Not so much about the temporary filling I know I shall need, but about the fight now required for a rational approach to the world based on empirical science and medical ethics. Who would have thought it.

I imagine that behind closed doors he describes me as “hard work” because I have challenged him about the scientific method in the past. He had once asked me about my work, I bet he wished he hadn’t. I spoke about how the humanities had adopted something that appeared to be a scientific methodology in a bid to be taken seriously and to appear truthful. This is probably due to the overtaking of science not just as a practice but as a way of looking at the world since the Enlightenment. (As it happens dear reader, I am not against the idea of empiricism. Science, as it was, has produced incredible improvements in human progress. So I am not against it. On the contrary. These days, I am all for it now that it has been jettisoned).

Well, (years ago, still) I was talking to him (once he had fingers and implements out of my mouth) in something like those terms, the point about the humanities adopting a pseudo-scientific approach. Actually, it concerned my doctoral thesis which has to address methodology. His answer was, strangely, “you’ve lost me there.”

I’m thinking of leaving. The dentist. Or rather the surgery. I’ve been with them for decades. In the days when they were under the auspices of the nationalised socialised health service my dentist was another chap (I’ll call him “Gee”). We were always friendly. We always had a little “put the world to rights” chat after the consultation. This was frequently centred around the humanities and the sciences. Those were the days after all when you could have disagreements about things without the world coming to an end. Interestingly, Gee had begun his education within the humanities, and had to switch over to the sciences later in life to become a dentist. I admired that, someone able to chart a new course. It made for interesting discussions. Over time, as my own views on politics began to change, we realised we had quite a lot in common. I missed our little chats when he had to quit the job. We remained in touch fairly loosely.

Recently, the arrangement to meet for a discussion about a mutual interest fell apart. I guess it was probably due to my unguarded comment in an email, where I wrote that that I didn’t give a stuff about his vaccination status. Oh dear. Had our former ability to see the world differently now collapsed now that I belong to the world of the deplorables? However, it is he, not me, that has turned away from empirical science and towards cultic superstition if that’s the case. The alternative is that he is ill. Either scenario is dreadful to my way of thinking. However, I’m digressing from my day. I cannot help but link all of this together. Still driving, I am caught by the railway barriers coming down. I’ll just about make the appointment. Still. I can hear the music I chose. It’s the wonderful London Grammar. It’s a favourite track.

Hell to the Liars.

Here’s to the things you love.

I read that Klaus Schwab wants to be the arbiter of what can be made and consumed and what cannot. How could he know this? (I initially typed that wrongly. I typed “Kalus” and I guess that’s a message. Pay attention. Callous.) I think about Heidegger’s essay, The Question Concerning Technology and how I now sense that technology is now ready to “set upon” humanity like a wolf. When he wrote that essay it was a kind of warning. The song comes again.

Hell to the liars,

Here’s to you and me,

Hell to the best of us,

Here’s to you and me.

Hell to the righteous ones,

Here’s to them,

Grey suited walkers,

Prestigious men.

Songs are strange aren’t they. I used to listen to the same song back in the olden days of two and half years ago and it felt like a totally different song. I bet the writers had a completely different take on the thing. We do that. We interpret through our own lenses. Many lenses, over time. This is what is meant by something having no fixed meaning. A song can have such a personal meaning to a listener, and one so completely different from the writer’s. And now I hear those words in a different key.

I am in the dentist surgery now. The conversation with the dental practice staff feels pointless. Yet every clear and confident statement we make could make a big difference. So I try to be reasonable. I don’t say this bit. I just think it. Have they any idea how sinister they appear with their humourless, determined and staring eyes over their useless surgical splashguards? And what do they care? They must obey orders. But for the sake of whom? Or What?

It beggared belief that they were performing this risible ritual when I was the only patient on the premises. And there were no other dentists present as the others were on holiday. And still they stoutly persevered. Two assistants and the dentist, and then three receptionists. All breathing in plastic particles and their own bacteria. All defying published scientific findings from the one peer reviewed double-blind study in favour of superstitious nonsense at best, and sinister totalitarian malevolence at worst.

The dentist admits he has never contracted covid despite being close to his many patients whilst wearing the tacitly agreed useless surgical splashguards. To some, this might signify the idea that the splashguards worked. However, he had to know, as a medic of sorts, that they could not physically protect anyone from viral particles. Therefore he knew that he had not contracted covid from another patient. He had probably grown stronger immunity-wise because of his access to all those “germs.” It is all monstrous theatre. Whilst I was still in the chair he asked me if I was grinding my teeth (“has there been any stress in your life?” he asked. Are you kidding? Seriously?). Grinding my teeth down through anxiety because, in the paraphrased words of Solzhenitsyn, I am being ground down with stupidity.

I leave after making the follow up appointment. I have two filling repairs to be done. There’s a cancelation, (not mine, yet. Joke.) So I’m back on Monday.  I get back into my car. Why can’t people join things up? It is a constant question running through my head. I think about my nightmare vision which I dare not reveal lest it give someone an idea. Total control over all finance and spending. No more privacy. How it all looks set to be put in place regardless of who is in charge. All beginning with three weeks to flatten the curve. Why won’t people join things up?

I think about this point. Who can possibly take seriously and have faith in a medically trained person who believes that viral particles can be trapped in a surgical splashguard? A medically trained person with a patronising approach to alternative health. Homeopathy is “mere” placebo not science they say. Well, if it works for you... Not science. Where is the credibility? You think homeopathy is for crazy people. But what do you believe? And why?

Ironically, homeopathy is a science. It has an agreed methodology and a consistent one. It’s just not profitable enough. Said dentist is a person who insists on obeying orders above all rationality. As I said, and I recall it now. Yes, that’s what they said at Nuremberg. This is what you’re doing you idiot, you are colluding with evil. You are performing in the theatre of madness, and (shouting now), you are digging your own grave, and mine!

….was what I wanted to say, but was ushered out before the chance came to ram the point home.

I arrive home and set to work preserving food. We have cucumbers, carrots home grown and organically farmed produce that needs canning. I get to it. The figs. I have two amazing fig trees that fruit wonderfully every summer’s end. Who would have thought that the north of England could produce this but here you are. I have several canned bottles of figs so far.

I think about the woman who gave me my first fig tree. She was once my boss. She used to bring figs into work for those of us who enjoyed them. One time, in a gesture of thoughtful kindness, she gave me a small plant that would one day be the majestic beast that it is. She still gives me figs then, in a manner of speaking, every year.

Last time I saw her, at a fund raiser, she told me that she had contracted multiple sclerosis. And despite this she felt enormously grateful for the life she had had. I always admired the positive approach she always displays. I really loved her at that moment. In that moment of gratitude expressed. Later, at home, I had a terrible thought. Could it have been the injection? We had not discussed the issue of injections as such. However, her take on the situation seemed to be suitably critical. I then thought, given what I know of that disease (and I am open to being corrected) you don’t normally contract it so late in life. Usually you get it in your twenties. I’ve since seen a figure somewhere claiming that diagnoses of multiple sclerosis are up by 680% since the roll out. Pfizer dump. Yes, it’s got to be. Naomi Wolf’s crew. Maybe. Can’t recall for sure. Pfizer dump.

London Grammar interrupts the flow for a moment.

Everyone else knows why, everyone else knows why, look what you’ve done….

Everyone else knows why, everyone else knows why, look what you’ve done….

Covidian Cult. I am interested to learn about cults seeing as we’re being thrust into a few right now. So, later that evening, I watch a documentary called Holy Hell about a cult leader called Michel Rostand. It turns out that in 1968, he had a bit part in Rosemary’s Baby. That felt weird given my recent piece on it. Later, I watched an episode of To the Manor Born, a British comedy. Part of the story was about the health service and how wonderful it was to have a family doctor who knows you, on hand. That felt strange. No going to the doctors these days! But not as strange as hearing this: “tannis root, or something like that…” mentioned as a herbal remedy by Penelope Keith’s character, Audrey Forbes Hamilton. There is no such thing as tannis root. It was invented by Ira Levin for his Rosemary’s Baby story. Two unexpected references to Rosemary’s Baby in one evening. That is some coincidence. It’s telling me to pay attention. That I’m onto something. All of them witches.

London Grammar again on my way to my follow up treatment from the masked Covidians.

Could you take my place and stand here,

I do not think you could take this pain,

You’d be on your knees and,

Struggle under the weight,

Oh, the truth would be a beautiful thing,

Oh the truth is a beautiful thing.

All pictures by the Sideways Thinker.

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