I sat and ate breakfast, my second in as many hours, and came to the realisation that there would be no revolution. It was the type of breakfast which happened after 50 hours of work in a week; tired and unsatisfying. Orange citrus burned an ulser in my mouth. The supplementary coffee blew through, too hot, too weak and too strong after the earlier first dose. I felt anxiously alert and over-caffinated. Tired. This was the feeling I was waiting for. I was not to be a professional footballer. I had bought a house. I was 30. There would be no revolution.

After, at the laptop now, I watched short video after short video. A kernel of interest buried at their collective core, or so I was led to believe. I checked my bank account and saw it was flush. The jobs piled up around me and I couldn’t move. I supposed that this was how people came to justify getting other people to do the jobs. This was how the economy was built. On tired thirty somethings. I had no time to do them, I had short informative videos which explained how, but no time.

My interest had been revolution and I watched videos and read books but I had no time to revolt. It simply wasn’t practical with a mortgage to pay. Will I need to something about the brickwork?

My fingers rattled the keyboard as they used to. They felt stiff and arthritic from sleep and work. I produced a full page devoid of value. Does the sun really not hit that side of the garden?

I think about the wasted 50 hours, every week. Every day. All of life passing me by, enclosed in a bubble. In a van. In a factory. I could have been thinking, writing, working. It is still work. It would be good to measure those shelves out today.

I’d left The Waterboys playing in the kitchen and they squaked. That silicone needed redoing asap.

I should probably take the lino up, too.

Do I need to do anything about the brickwork?

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Comrades,

The following have been considered by the Watertoun Road Arts Secretariat.

‘Pnin’ by Nabakov, Vladimir – This was read in error however provided much of interest regarding the character of Vladimir Nabakov. The Watertoun Road Arts Council had assinged Lolita and Ada however a mistake was made in a charity shop. Pnin provided an interesting account contrasting the East and West. Unfortunately the account was provided by someone who sounded like a bougie cuck. This has lessened the immediacy with which Ada and Lolita will be read.

‘Psycho’ dir. Hitchcock, Albert – A classic in western cinema which was unseen by the Secretariat . It is understandably a classic. It maintains the shock and horror which capitalist culture often delivers the Eastern mind. The centrality of cars and suburbia should shock viewers. Recent notions of psychoanalysis are wrongly deployed here (specifically in the treatment of Mr Bates), however they provide an entertaining touchstone for audiences – damaging as they transpired to be.

‘News of the World’ – dir. Paul Greengrass – Are the Western pigs not sick yet of this buffoon which they call Tom Hanks? This was a fairly insufferably ‘parable’ about modern decisive politics in the USA. It was set in the bad old days when everyone owned slaves and there was ongoing genocide, luckily friendly old Tom Hanks is there to smile, grunt and rescue a child which the state wouldn’t. A proper state would negate the existence of Tom Hanks.

‘The Good Place’ – pr. Michael Schur – If this was pitched to the Watertoun Road Arts Secretariat, he may have replied “Schur, Michael?!”. I mostly didn’t care and episodes are short so that is a plus. It is a feature of Western Culture to imply higher cultural values are being smuggled in to popular culture to appease the Western mind. Also it should be noted that Jameela Jamil is a figure which East and West could unite upon. That sounds bad.

‘Cuba and the Cameraman’ – dir. John Alpert – This documentary follows Cuba over 45 years, tracing the stories of some comrades… and Fidel. The retrospective account adequately displays the pros of socialism which caters for the sanctity of life in all matters. However, the documentary fails miserably to confront the geopolitics which lead Cuba to hardship. The Blockades, sanctions and espionage. This is not surprising as the documentary maker appears to be a candid cameraman and takes on the character of every American pigdog daddy who ever existed in the 80’s. His life will no doubt one day be depicted by Tom Hanks.

‘My Sweet Little Village’ – dir. Jiri Menzel – These comrades bravely depict life in Czechoslovakia. The mix of quotidian life in the State, tradition of a place and mundane and prosaic family life make for quite a comic film which we watched as it was reccomended by Comrade Bezos who will surely be soon revealed to be a double agent.

‘The New Abnormal’ – com. The Strokes – A good album which has some bangers. It describes the state of being, older than before but still young, but not really.

‘For the first time’ – com. Black Country, New Road – Simply sensational debut from angsty, bougie London teens. They will soon buy houses. This will fuel a decent second album.

‘L.W.’ – King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard – What may be the final album from legendary Aussie Rockers is a tour de force. Apologies, the Secreteriat General has been momentarily possessed by your Dad’s album review section in the paper. Pigdog. Sad if true as they have popularized the Watertoun Road message.

Judgement in progress –

‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ – Hemmingway, Earnest. – Fuckin’ A, so far anyway.
‘Can’t get you out of my head’ – dir. Adam Curtis – pretty good shit, gets you there.

Hasta la Gloria! Siempre!

Comrade Hummels

Watertoun Road Arts Secretariat