The end of a decade of resistance to my own end, and what next?

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Every task I have undertaken since my late teens has been a resistance against an inevitable final crash; from running daily, walking when running wasn’t possible, every artwork I have made and, before that, the songs I wrote – even the ‘nights out’ were intended to build a bridge over this knowing of a final crash (picture of pretty young women smiling in pub, with quest for ‘the great times’ in their eyes). Now, I have finally learned how to write about this ‘closing-in’ oppression and my written words seem to be forming my last method of resistance I have; Imagine and orb closing in around an individual and he is throwing everything he possesses at it, but knows it will be not enough.
I think it would be too vague to name this reaper as life itself, for it is a very particular oppressor who is responsible for ours in the time we our living in; this all consuming monster is the Industrial Machine It is swallowing up life in its entirety.
When the industrial revolution began, humanity handed its reigns over to a machine which acts as an unstoppable parasite upon the earth with one objective; to grow and to keep growing. Corporate executives, politicians, and the citizens of all the developed nations are all slaves to the machine’s demands. Whilst insurgents in under-developed nations do their best to prevent this ‘demon seed’, rooted in western philosophy, from enslaving them also – often using the ultimate act of resistance; using their own lives for suicide attacks.
Killing one’s self is a terrible thing to do, but sometimes – from the bottom of my belly – I even find myself resonating with the belief that this resort, this ultimate act, is the only thing left for an individual to do who he feels powerless in the face of this industrial machine, which requires them to becomes automatons/ numbers that slot perfectly into its mechanics who are then, eventually, required to lose their soul.
Aren’t the majority of suicides – post 1800’s – a reaction to western philosophies all conquering industrial machine? The Islamic suicide bombers most certainly are; the kamikaze were the last and ultimate resort to prevent western powers, and I am sure that the majority of suicides in the already westernized nations are an indirect result of the industrial machine.
Family breakdown, loneliness, depression, self hate – possibly the main causes of suicide in the west – are symptoms caused by the isolation-increasing processes, on the individual, caused by the technological advances of the industrial machine: de-localisation; as the machine spreads out to find cheaper labour it breaks up communities based around that industries, leading to an uncountable amount of social problems as people are left stranded and isolated. Also technological advances in communication/entertainment, which serve to spin the wheels of profit, but which forces the individual to adapt to ever more unitary methods of communication with the rest of the world – often isolating them from any physical contact with the world, leading to an unhappiness from which one feels helpless to escape.
If you imagine the industrial machine as the ‘fizzing’ in a carbonated drink, as it races up a bottle; once it burst out of the bottle that moment symbolises the moment when it will bring the planet to state of climatic hell. This moment – a future echo – is the final nail in the coffin, in trying to overcome my own personal crash. It is only a coincidence that I have come to feel that my own resistance has reached an end at the same time that the crucial talks at the Copenhagen summit have ended in a, possibly ‘doom-drenched’, poorly made deal, but this is a coincidence that is solidifying into the symbolic, in my mind.
I honestly tried to fit in to the machine and dumb down my holistic view of the world, and at one point I truly thought that I’d have a life as easy as the consumer advertisements made out; a new easy living house from Barrat, a L’Oreal wife, settling down to eat an Italian cooked pizza in a nice kitchen, and lots of other things made to make life look easy and great. But all that was to happen, due to my over sensitive/worried approach to everything, was that I became an ‘extreme’ automaton, because I had too much ‘shit’ going off in my head to be, what I viewed to be, ‘normal’ – so I covered this all up with an extreme routine.
This routine became incredibly similar to the larger Industrial Machine; the routine absorbed all aspects of my life, hobbies, enjoyments and made them into mere tools to be utilised for its benefit, only to burn me out of everything that I am – just like how the Industrial machine is burning us all out of a planet. All my neurosis and depressions, that I have, are intrinsically bound up with the changes made to our world made by this all conquering industrialisation; its evolution into Consumerism has had the most damaging implications to me, personally.
It has left me nothing to work from, more so because I am, now certain that, if not stopped right in its tracks, it has to (because of its mechanics) leave us planet-less. So, when people, who try to give me solutions to tackling my coming crash, tell me to look at the ‘beautiful natural world, the flowers, the hills’ etc, one must remember that my vision of all these wonderful things is currently tainted with this parasitic machine, that will eat them all up if not stopped (for good) now. For me, a new system of Green-Marxism isn’t an ideal it is a necessity!
Perhaps it is only certain people, like myself, who cannot exist in this automated world of the industrial machine; perhaps I’ve been accidentally passed down some Neanderthal genes which, although no less intelligent, are ill equipped to stave off their overdue extinction. Of course, this is bollocks, and perhaps all I need in the 21st century is a large blow to the head to numb my questioning, but still, I cannot help thinking…
World aside, this little universe of my own needs some hope desperately soon, but I fear that this wont come until the cogs of the industrial machine are stopped, and this whole dilemma seems to be similar to an hamster spinning in a wheel towards the edge of a table. How clearer can I make this point without it appearing melodramatic?

 

About John Ledger

A visual Artist, eternal meanderer and obsessive self-reflector by nature, who can’t help but try to interpret everything from within the tide of society. His works predominantly take the form of large scale ballpoint pen landscape drawings and map-making as social/psychological note-making. They are slowly-accumulating responses to crises inflicted upon the self in the perplexing, fearful, empty, and often personality-erasing human world.

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