30-31/12/12

I find, with subtitles to films and film credits (usually after films), that I am, as a kind of intellectual, tempted to read. But one should really pseudo-read; that is, take cognizance of the words with a passive mind, so that one does not get ahead of oneself or, more correctly, of the medium of film, whether on television or DVD or whatever, since there is usually more alpha-stemming sensuality about film than omega-oriented sensibility, the latter of which, in contemporary terms, would have less to do with, say, television than with eBooks on eReaders and/or tablets.

It was the evening of the 18^th December 2012, and largely because – as usual – of the jumping and hollowing noises coming from the autistic and somewhat macho Bangladeshi boy in the room below, I had elected to keep my wax earplugs in when I switched from listening to music via conventional padded headphones (how painful to the exterior of the ears after about an hour!) to watching television, which meant that, in order to hear what was being said on a documentary about barbarians on BBC2 (of all channels!), I had to have the volume quite loud, albeit still considerably reduced from the level of the previous evening when, my ears and head not aching or hurting me for once from protracted use of the large, peripherally padded, ostensibly around-the-ear headphones I was accustomed to resorting to (which I hadn't used for music on this occasion), I had utilized headphones with my television-viewing, though not without wax earplugs already in my ears, as was my custom in this Bangladeshi-owned house. Nevertheless, the volume must still have been quite loud, albeit in connection with a serious documentary whose knowledgeable and thoroughly entertaining presenter, being a gentleman, was generally soft-spoken. For when I switched the television off, with the conclusion of the programme an hour or so later, what did I hear, over my earplugs, but a loud, all-too-familiar knocking on my door, the sinister overtones of which were impossible to ignore as I slowly – and with the utmost contemptuous reluctance – went to answer it, only to find myself confronted, not for the first time in recent weeks, by a gang or perhaps I should say pack of Bangladeshi youths intent, with cold-blooded premeditation, upon condemning me for having had the television on too loud (why not tell me an hour before?), the son of the landlord somewhere in the middle of the assembled Bangladeshis whose sole purpose was to heap accusations upon me and brand me a defiler of their peace and, when I made to verbally defend myself from this all-too-familiar psychological pressure, a deflector from the main issue, which again was par for the course of superficial, premeditated criticism to which I was subjected with ever more intolerant intransigence on their part, the arrogant son not least, who fancied himself as the landlord's spokesman if not successor, but others too, including one or two whom I hadn't seen or, more accurately, been confronted by before, and one particularly offensive black fellow who appeared to possess a legal remit with which to bring things – from their collective standpoint – to a satisfactory conclusion. That being the threat first of all, and then, after some downstairs consultation between a few of the principal antagonists, which must have included the landlord, the issuing by the landlord himself, who had evidently been hiding in the shadows whilst others did the brunt of his dirty work, of a possession order effective as from the day in question and extending into early January of the following year.

Well, that did it! My impression was that they had been waiting for some such pretext (television on too loud, never mind the urbane context of a documentary on barbarians and their contributions, paradoxically, to culture and civilization) to drive this final nail into my domestic coffin and to give the landlord not only the pretext but, for someone who was naturally cowardly, the courage to bring things to such a draconian and, to my mind, exaggeratedly callous head. Quite frankly, with this sort of psychological pressure and intransigent attitude on their part, I couldn't wait to get out of the place, which had always struck me as being a living hell, particularly as some of the reasons the landlord gave for evicting me were, frankly, laughable or, at the very least, of dubious justification, not least in view of the fact that he had refused to extend the short-hold tenancy agreement beyond the six-month period that had elapsed some five months previously (though when it suited him in the past he had allowed six-month contracts to elapse and still collected the rent, only bothering to make out a new one when he needed a rent increase).

Be that as it may, I was in no mood, after this further instance of Bangladeshi hospitality, this sly form of ethnic cleansing, to drag my heels in looking for alternative accommodation and, within a day of the above events, I had viewed and secured a one-bed flat in another part of north London, into which I officially moved on the 22^nd December, four days after the eviction from a place I had persevered with for over twenty-one frigging years!

Moving is another story, and the way I did it, combining toing and froing on foot with the use of a removal van on the fourth day of proceedings, was nothing short of hell, not least given the time of year and the wintry conditions under which I was obliged to operate, dragging books and CDs, DVDs and clothes through the bleak streets of Hornsey. But somehow I survived it and never doubted its desirability in view of what had transpired at the old address, both on the evening described and over a period of several months if not years of persistent abuse motivated by a desire to get me out of the place – in short, to evict me no doubt for having had tastes and cultural predilections, as a West European of Irish descent, at variance with their own, whatever that might be! The fact that I had shared a kitchen, bathroom, toilet, landing, stairs, entrance hall, front door, garden, etc., with the likes of them for so many years, as well as having been subject to the landlord's discretionary economizing powers with regard to heating, water availability (which in things like the toilet flush and washing machine was barely adequate), lighting, etc., meant that any amount of trouble that led away from that towards something new and, on the surface of it, domestically and environmentally better … could only be welcomed if not exactly with open arms in view of my general dislike of north London, then, at any rate, with tired, overburdened arms and legs, back and sides, and the promise, if I survived such physical pressures, of a more dignified lifestyle to come, free of Bangladeshi oppression and, indirectly, the correlative oppression following from the kind of tenants to which this particular landlord appeared partial, including Arabs and East Europeans, particularly Poles.

Thanks in part to some financial help and moral encouragement from my mother, the only person who has ever really helped me, I did survive it, and I look forward to the New Year (it is now New Year's Eve) in the hope – nay, with the certitude – that, come what may, things will be better in 2013 than they were in 2012, the year of my domestic nemesis but also, paradoxically, of my release from the dreadful Bangladeshi-owned lodging house in which I had languished and festered, like a flea in a fat spider's web, chewed over and spat out time and time again, for over two decades!

The West was (is) not about God but, through Christ, Man, and what Man can do, humanistically, in the face of Nature and the Cosmos and, needless to say, all those peoples who still cling to some form of God(ism) and would remain – or have remained – stuck in a Nature- and Cosmos-dominated (God-fearing) past were it not for the West, both Europe and America in particular, and their continuing belief in the ability of Man to change things, life, the world, society, etc., for the better.

And out of this humanism, this belief in Man, is coming – and will increasingly come – a belief in and commitment to superhumanism with a supermasculine bias, that is, to Superman and His ability not simply to change the world for the better but, in keeping with Christian faith, to transcend the world in the interests of otherworldly criteria germane, believe it or not, to 'Kingdom Come'.

This will be the 'icing on the cake', so to speak, of humanism, and in transcending himself Man will know and become Superman, the Being who, in his heavenly realization of Self, will be at an antithetical remove from the self-denying worshippers of God who are slaves to the Cosmos, as to a superfeminine rule. For this God of theirs is, in truth, no God at all but Devil the Mother (or some equivalent thereof) hyped as God as the 'best of a bad job' starting-point for civilization in pre-Western if not Eastern and specifically Judaic terms, and instead of 'God in Heaven' such people are subject to 'Hell in the Devil', with something akin to beauty and love, or love in beauty, in free soma metachemically contrasting with the joy and truth, or truth in joy, of metaphysical free psyche, the goal and culmination, so I teach, of evolution conceived from a male-oriented psychic standpoint.